channel between isles, where a coral shelf rested just to the Atlantic side. They couldnât be in more than thirty feet of water, and yet, now the length of her body burned with the exertion of her muscles and her lips continued to quiver from the cold.
She had never felt so strained, nor so exhausted, in her life.
Just when she thought that the agony in her arms andlegs would cripple her, she felt ground at the tips of her feet. She realized that she could stand, having reached the gnarled toes of the island. She slipped off the submerged root, dragging Richard with her. Doggedly, she found a foothold again, paused, breathed and waited. She looked back to the Yankee ship, on fire now.
At last, she managed to drag him up on a spit of sand between the gnarled and twisted âlegsâ of a spiderlike clump of mangroves. She lay there next to him, panting, and feeling as if her muscles burned with the same fire that still illuminated the night sky. She breathed in the acrid and smoky air.
Turning then to Richard, she felt for his pulseâfaint, but steadyâand warmth jumped in her heart. She allowed herself to fall back for another moment, just breathing and gathering her strength. She was drenched, and her skirts were heavy with water. She felt the winterâs nip that lay around her, even here.
She thanked God that they hadnât gone in farther north, where temperatures would have been far more wicked.
She rested, and then, even as she breathed more easily, she bolted up. Looking out over the dying remnants of the Peace, she could see that the Union ship floundered, too.
She had grounded herself; she wasnât injured and limping, but she was caught on the reef, and there was no escape for her. The Union boat would have a numberof longboats, easy to send into the inlets, saving the lives of the men aboard.
Richard was alive, she knew that, and she believed in her heart that he would survive. But he wasnât coming around, and they had to leave their present position; they were like sitting ducks at a county fair.
She dragged herself to her feet. Half of the heaviness of the weight she had borne, she realized, had been that of her skirts. She wrenched off the cumbersome petticoat that had nicely provided warmthâbefore becoming saturated with seawater. Rolling the cotton and lace into a ball, she stuffed it into a gap in the tree roots, shoving up a pile of seaweed and sand to hide the telltale sign that this was where survivors had come ashore.
Something in the water caught her eye, some form of movement. It might have just been a shadow created on the water by the rise and fall of flames that still tore from the desiccating ship. Soon, the Peace would be down to charred, skeletal remains, and she would sink to the seabed. At the moment, enough of the hull remained above the surface to allow the flames to continue to lap at the sky, shooting upward with dying sparks now and then.
A shadow on the water⦠The Unionists would be comingâ¦coming after a blockade runner.
She reached down, dragging Richardâs body up. He was far bigger than she was, but she managed to get him over her shoulder. Taking a last glance back at theflame-riddled night, she started to move through the mangroves that rimmed the edge of the isle.
Â
T HE FIRE ON THE BLOCKADE runner was just beginning to subside, but Finn could still hear the lick of the flames as they consumed tinder, and the split of wood as it disintegrated in the conflagration. Soon, however, the sea would claim the fire, and the night would be lit by only the stars.
He couldnât wait for the longboats; he surveyed his surroundings from the mangrove roots he stood upon.
This side of the isletânew to time and history, created by the tenacious roots and the silt and debris caught with those rootsâwas really nothing more than a tangle of gnarled tree, slick ponds and beds of seaweed. But looking toward the east, he could
She had never felt so strained, nor so exhausted, in her life.
Just when she thought that the agony in her arms andlegs would cripple her, she felt ground at the tips of her feet. She realized that she could stand, having reached the gnarled toes of the island. She slipped off the submerged root, dragging Richard with her. Doggedly, she found a foothold again, paused, breathed and waited. She looked back to the Yankee ship, on fire now.
At last, she managed to drag him up on a spit of sand between the gnarled and twisted âlegsâ of a spiderlike clump of mangroves. She lay there next to him, panting, and feeling as if her muscles burned with the same fire that still illuminated the night sky. She breathed in the acrid and smoky air.
Turning then to Richard, she felt for his pulseâfaint, but steadyâand warmth jumped in her heart. She allowed herself to fall back for another moment, just breathing and gathering her strength. She was drenched, and her skirts were heavy with water. She felt the winterâs nip that lay around her, even here.
She thanked God that they hadnât gone in farther north, where temperatures would have been far more wicked.
She rested, and then, even as she breathed more easily, she bolted up. Looking out over the dying remnants of the Peace, she could see that the Union ship floundered, too.
She had grounded herself; she wasnât injured and limping, but she was caught on the reef, and there was no escape for her. The Union boat would have a numberof longboats, easy to send into the inlets, saving the lives of the men aboard.
Richard was alive, she knew that, and she believed in her heart that he would survive. But he wasnât coming around, and they had to leave their present position; they were like sitting ducks at a county fair.
She dragged herself to her feet. Half of the heaviness of the weight she had borne, she realized, had been that of her skirts. She wrenched off the cumbersome petticoat that had nicely provided warmthâbefore becoming saturated with seawater. Rolling the cotton and lace into a ball, she stuffed it into a gap in the tree roots, shoving up a pile of seaweed and sand to hide the telltale sign that this was where survivors had come ashore.
Something in the water caught her eye, some form of movement. It might have just been a shadow created on the water by the rise and fall of flames that still tore from the desiccating ship. Soon, the Peace would be down to charred, skeletal remains, and she would sink to the seabed. At the moment, enough of the hull remained above the surface to allow the flames to continue to lap at the sky, shooting upward with dying sparks now and then.
A shadow on the water⦠The Unionists would be comingâ¦coming after a blockade runner.
She reached down, dragging Richardâs body up. He was far bigger than she was, but she managed to get him over her shoulder. Taking a last glance back at theflame-riddled night, she started to move through the mangroves that rimmed the edge of the isle.
Â
T HE FIRE ON THE BLOCKADE runner was just beginning to subside, but Finn could still hear the lick of the flames as they consumed tinder, and the split of wood as it disintegrated in the conflagration. Soon, however, the sea would claim the fire, and the night would be lit by only the stars.
He couldnât wait for the longboats; he surveyed his surroundings from the mangrove roots he stood upon.
This side of the isletânew to time and history, created by the tenacious roots and the silt and debris caught with those rootsâwas really nothing more than a tangle of gnarled tree, slick ponds and beds of seaweed. But looking toward the east, he could
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