Wakulla: a story of adventure in FloridaMunroe, Kirk
General
Wakulla: a story of adventure in Florida
Munroe, Kirk
Florida -- Fiction
Begging the others to be perfectly quiet, Mr. Elmer lay down on the
ground, and reaching as far over the edge as he dared, called,
"Mark! my boy! Mark!" but there was no answer. Still Mr. Elmer
listened, and when he rose to his feet he said,
"March, it seems as though I heard the sound of running water down
there. Listen, and tell me if you hear it. If it is so, my boy is dead!"
Mr. March lay down and listened, and the others held their breath.
"Yes," he said, "I hear it. Oh, my poor friend, I fear there is no
hope."
The first faint streaks of day were showing in the east when Frank
returned with the rope and an additional supply of torches.
"Now let me down there," said Mr. Elmer, preparing to fasten the rope
around him, "and God help me if I find the dead body of my boy."
"No," said Frank, "let me go. He saved my life, and I am the lightest.
Please let me go!"
"Yes," said Mr. March, "let Frank go. It is much better that he should."
Mr. Elmer reluctantly consented that Frank should take his place, and
the rope was fastened around the boy's body, under his arms, having
first been wound with saddle blankets so that it should not cut him.
Taking a lighted torch in one hand and some fresh splinters in the
other, he slipped over the log which they had placed along the edge, so
that the rope should not be cut by the rocks, and was gently lowered by
the three anxious men into the awful blackness.
Thirty feet of the rope had disappeared, when it suddenly sagged to the
opposite side of the hole, and at the same instant came the signal for
them to pull up.
As Frank came again to the surface the lower half of his body was
dripping wet, and his face was ghastly pale.
"He isn't there," he said; "but there is a stream of running water so
strong that, when you let me into it, I was nearly swept away under the
arch. It flows in that direction," he added, pointing to the south.
CHAPTER XVI.
BURIED IN AN UNDERGROUND RIVER.
When Mark felt himself flying from his horse's back through the air, he
of course expected to strike heavily on the ground, and nerved himself
for the shock. To his amazement, instead of striking on solid earth he
fell into a mass of shrubbery that supported him for a moment, and then
gave way. He grasped wildly at the bushes; but they were torn from his
hands, and he felt himself going down, down, down, and in another
instant was plunged deep into water that closed over his head. He came
to the surface, stunned and gasping, only to find himself borne rapidly
along by a swift current. He did not for a moment realize the full
horror of his situation, and with the natural instinct of a swimmer
struck out vigorously.
He had taken but a few strokes when his hand hit a projecting rock, to
which he instinctively clung, arresting his further progress. To his
surprise, on letting his body sink, his feet touched bottom, and he
stood in water not much more than waist deep, but which swept against
him with almost irresistible force.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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