Baby Island (6 page)

When they had sobered down a little, Jean asked, “Do we dare go in?”

“Of course, we do.”

“It looks pretty dark and scary.”

“I guess William Wallace wouldn’t have been scared.”

The two girls went softly over to the mouth of the cave,
tiptoeing as if they expected to find something lurking within. But, when their eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, it seemed to be quite empty. It had a smooth sand floor that looked as if it had just been scrubbed. They stepped across the threshold, and suddenly the noise of the sea on the beach seemed much farther away. It gave them a cosy feeling of security.

“Jean,” said Mary, “maybe we could live here.”

The clean sand floor stretched back some distance to a rough, irregular wall. They had to stoop a little to enter, but once inside they could easily stand erect.

“It’s kind of clammy,” said Jean.

“Yes, it is. It might give Jonah the colic.”

“That would be awful!”

“But, at least,” said Mary, “we’d have a roof over our heads, and a cool shelter from the sun in the hot part of the day.”

“I wish it had a drinking fountain in it,” said Jean.

“You’re right, Jean—we haven’t found our fresh water yet, have we? But I believe that we have gone as far as we ought to go today. We have enough water in the jug to last a few more days if we are careful. Let’s go back to the babies now.”

It seemed a longer way back than it had been to come, but there was so much to talk about that they chattered
gayly as they went along. Mary was full of housewifely plans for the furnishing of their new home, and Jean began making up one of her nonsense songs.

“Oh, I’m going to rave

About a cave

We found on Baby Island!

It’s nice and warm

In case of storm
,

And Jean and Mary found it!

Oh, Jean and Mary live in caves

Because they’re Baby Island slaves
,

And they rode on the billowy, willowy waves

To get to Baby Island.”

Suddenly Jean stopped singing and said: “Why, Mary, the beach isn’t as wide as it was when we came by here before! I remember this place in partic’lar. Why, I believe the sea’s getting higher.”

“How could it?” said Mary.

“But, Mary, it has! Where are the little pools that we saw among the rocks? And where are the tracks we made in the sand when we came by here before?”

“You are right!” said Mary, with a sudden chill of fear. “We are walking just as near the sea as we did before, but we’re walking higher up.”

“Yes, sir,” cried Jean emphatically, “the water has covered our tracks, Mary. Oh, what do you suppose makes it?”

Suddenly Mary began to run. “I know what it is! It’s the tide! Oh, it’s the tide coming in, and the babies are alone! Oh, my darling babies!”

“The tide?” gasped Jean.

Running behind Mary, she tried to remember what she had read about the tide in the big geography at school. The moon was like a big magnet, she remembered, drawing the water of the oceans toward itself and causing the ebb and flow of tides on beaches the world around. But she had never thought how terrible it would be to see it come, each wave rushing a little farther as if it meant to swallow the land altogether. There was something about it in her old grammar book, too.
Time and tide wait for no man
, that was what it said. And the babies! Four little babies alone in a boat that had been high and dry when they left it. Where would it be now?

The girls wasted no more breath on talking. They put all their strength into running as they had never run before. Panting and stumbling over rocks and sand, they somehow managed to keep going. Such a long way it seemed now. Why had they come so far and left the babies alone? Jean needed to sing “Scots, Wha’ Hae wi’ Wallace Bled” very much just now, but even more she needed her breath and
strength for running. Mary’s legs were a little longer than hers, and, like time and tide, Mary waited for no man. It was all that Jean could do to keep up with her.

At last they saw ahead of them the ridge of rock that jutted down into the sea. On the other side of that was the beach where they had left the babies. Mary gave a little groan of anguish and relief. It was a relief to see that they were almost there, and yet she was so frightened that she scarcely dared look to see if the babies were safe. She scrambled to the top of the ridge of rock and paused there an instant, crying hoarsely: “There! There they are, Jean.”

Jean looked, too, for a fleeting instant before she began to rush down the other side. The boat, which they had struggled so valiantly to pull high and dry on the beach that morning, was floating far out in the water. It was bobbing gently with every wave that came in, but something seemed to keep it anchored in one spot.

“It’s the tarp,” gasped Mary. “The good old tarpaulin has anchored it!”

“And my safety pins!” croaked Jean.

Sure enough, the stakes which they had driven deep in the sand that morning still stood firm, and the tarpaulin tent held the boat safely moored to the stakes, so that it couldn’t drift out to sea.

As they drew nearer they heard a chorus of shouts from the frightened babies. For a moment the two girls paused at the water’s edge, wondering what to do. Then Mary Wallace stepped out into the frothy water and began splashing and floundering through the waves toward the boat.

“Mary, you know you can’t swim!” warned Jean in a frightened voice. But nothing could stop Mary now until her babies were safe. The twins saw her coming, and began to bounce themselves about, shouting, “Me-me, me-me!”

“Me-me is coming, darlings!” she called.

Then the Blue Twin remembered how he had climbed over the side of the boat to follow Jean that morning, and, seeing his beloved “Me-me” coming, he decided to try it again. Jean saw him swinging his fat legs over the side of the boat, and screamed a warning to Mary. Then,
splash!
he had lost his balance and toppled over the side into the water. The water was up to Mary’s armpits as she reached the boat, but she ducked down after Blue and finally brought him up to the surface. The anxious Jean saw them reappear, coughing and spluttering and dripping wet, Mary holding the twin aloft by a piece of his blue-trimmed jacket. As soon as Mary could get her breath and shake the water out of her eyes, she tumbled him back into the boat, and, wrenching the tarpaulin from the stakes which had held it, she began to tow the boat back to shore.

Jean splashed out to meet her and helped tow the boat in. Then they had another valiant struggle drawing it up onto the sand. But this time Mary drove a stake deep in the beach, a long way out of reach of the water, and anchored the boat securely with a piece of rope.

“Well, that’s that,” said Mary, blinking back tears of relief, “and we’re all safe.”

“Oh, Mary,” said Jean, “I’ve learned more about tides today than I ever learned in school.”

“I guess that isn’t the last thing this island will teach us, either. Now you dry Blue, and keep an eye on the others, while I see what I can do to dry myself.”

“Just one darn thing after another,” said Jean, and Mary was still so much excited that she forgot to remind Jean that she should never say “darn.”

CHAPTER SIX

“W
ELL,”
said Mary the next morning, “we can’t count on living in our cave, now that we know about tides.”

“You mean it will fill up with water at high tide?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“No wonder it looked clammy! If we were only mermaids, it would be just the thing.”

“Well, we aren’t,” said practical Mary. “We’ve got to discover something else.”

They put all the babies in the boat, took off their shoes and stockings, tucked up their skirts, and started off along the beach, Mary wading in front and pulling the boat, Jean coming behind to push and steer. They had decided never to leave the babies alone again.

“This is a wautomobile, Mary,” called Jean from the stern.

“A what?”

“Water automobile. Don’t you see?—wautomobile.”

It was rather hard going sometimes, but a breeze from the land helped to combat the force of the waves and
keep the boat offshore. The babies enjoyed the adventure hugely, the twins shouting “Gee-gee!” to Mary to make her go faster, while Ann Elizabeth played peekaboo through her fingers with Jean. At one place where palm trees grew near the shore, they found a cocoanut floating in the water and gladly took it into the boat. About noon they reached their cave. As Mary had expected they found fresh seaweed on the damp floor, and the tracks which they had left the day before had all been washed away.

“It’s just too bad,” she mourned. “But let’s eat lunch, and then go on farther. Surely we’ll find a place before night.”

The addition of the cocoanut to their rather scanty luncheon put them all in good spirits, and soon they were on their way again.

It was not easy work managing the heavy lifeboat so near the beach. Their arms ached and their bare feet were cut and bruised. But, as Mary often said, a Wallace would not give up in face of difficulties, and in the middle of a hot afternoon their courage was suddenly rewarded. They were thirsty, and the water in the jug, besides being too precious to use freely, was warm and stale.

They had been going along at the same gait for some time, when suddenly Mary stopped and cocked her head to listen. Above the steady pound of waves on sand to which
their ears had grown accustomed, was another sound—the clear, sharp gurgling of water running and falling over rocks. And there around the next bend it was—a small bright stream of sparkling water. Hastily beaching the boat, the girls ran to taste it. They threw themselves down beside it, and drank with their mouths to the water. Then they sat up with dripping noses and chins.

“It’s good!” cried Mary.

“It’s not salty!” cried Jean.

“It’s cool!” cried both together.

They jumped up, threw their arms about each other, and tried to do a highland fling. After this they took another drink.

“I never knew water could taste so good,” cried Jean. “It’s better than pink lemonade or malted milk.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” cried Mary, with happy tears running down her cheeks and splashing into the water. “I’m so glad! I’m so glad!”

“Mary, aren’t we like the Ancient Mariner or Balboa discovering the Pacific Ocean or something? Shouldn’t we take possession of this place in the name of good Queen Bess or Mary Queen of Scots or something?”

“Well—something,” agreed Mary uncertainly. “I think it ought to be in the name of the President of the United States, though, really.”

“Wait until I tie my blue handkerchief to a stick,” cried Jean. “Now! I strike this flag into the soil of Baby Island and take possession of this stream and this island in the name of the President of the United States and Mary and Jean Wallace. Amen!”

“You forgot the babies,” said Mary reproachfully.

“They’re not of age yet—I don’t think they ought to be mentioned in important matters.”

“Bye-bye!” shouted the twins from the boat. “Ba-ba, bye-bye!”

“They’re speaking for themselves,” said Mary, smiling. “Let’s take them out and give them all drinks.”

The finding of the fresh-water stream at once settled where they should live. Of course, they must live somewhere along its banks. Jean went scouting while Mary looked after the babies, and presently Jean returned to report that she had found the very spot. Following her directions, Mary went upstream a short distance until she came to a little open glade. At the back the stream came down in a pleasant waterfall. Many years of falling water had gradually hollowed out this semi-circular valley, which was about the size of a large house and almost surrounded (except on the side toward the sea) by rock walls. It was so green and sheltered, so snug and homelike, that Mary loved it at once. Above the waterfall waved the fronded
wilderness of a tropical jungle. But here they were neither in jungle nor on beach, but in a little corner all their own.