IN WHICH OUR HERO SETS OFF ON ANOTHER CRUISE, IN WHICH HE IS NOT BLOWN
OFF SHORE.
Gascoigne and our hero were neither of them in uniform, and they
hastened to Nix Mangare stairs where they soon picked up the padrone of
a speronare. They went with him into a wine-shop, and with the
assistance of a little English from a Maltese boy, whose shirt hung out
of his trousers, they made a bargain, by which it was agreed that, for
the consideration of two doubloons, he would sail that evening and land
them at Gergenti or some other town in Sicily, providing them with
something to eat and gregos to sleep upon.
Our two midshipmen then went back to the tavern from which they had set
off to fight the duel, and ordering a good dinner to be served in a back
room, they amused themselves with killing flies, as they talked over the
events of the day, and waited for their dinner.
As Mr Tallboys did not himself think proper to go on board till the
evening, and Mr Biggs also wished it to be dark before he went up the
ship's side, the events of the duel did not transpire till the next
morning. Even then it was not known from the boatswain or gunner, but
by a hospital mate coming on board to inform the surgeon that there was
one of their men wounded under their charge, but that he was doing very
well.
Mr Biggs had ascended the side with his face bound up.
"Confound that Jack Easy," said he, "I have only been on leave twice
since I sailed from Portsmouth--once I was obliged to come up the side
without my trousers, and show my bare stern to the whole ship's company,
and now I am coming up, and dare not show my figure-head." He reported
himself to the officer of the watch, and hasting to his cabin, went to
bed, and lay the whole night awake from pain, thinking what excuse he
could possibly make for not coming on deck next morning to his duty.
He was, however, saved this trouble, for Mr Jolliffe brought the letter
of Gascoigne up to Mr Sawbridge, and the captain had received that of
our hero.
Captain Wilson came on board, and found that Mr Sawbridge could
communicate all the particulars of which he had not been acquainted by
Jack; and after they had read over Gascoigne's letter in the cabin, and
interrogated Mr Tallboys, who was sent down under an arrest, they gave
free vent to their mirth.
"Upon my soul, there's no end to Mr Easy's adventures," said the
captain. "I could laugh at the duel, for after all, it is nothing--and
he would have been let off with a severe reprimand; but the foolish boys
have set off in a speronare to Sicily, and how the devil are we to get
them back again?"
"They'll come back, sir," replied Sawbridge, "when all their money's
gone."
"Yes, if they do not get into any more scrapes--that young scamp
Gascoigne is as bad as Easy, and now they are together there's no saying
what may happen. I dine at the Governor's to-day; how he will laugh
when I tell him of this new way of fighting a duel!"
"Yes, sir, it is just the thing that will tickle old Tom."
"We must find out if they have got off the island, Sawbridge, which may
not be the case."
But it was the case. Jack and Gascoigne had eaten a very good dinner,
sent for the monkey to amuse them till it was dark, and there had waited
till the padrone came to them.
"What shall we do with the pistols, Easy?"
"Take them with us, and load them before we go--we may want them: who
knows but there may be a mutiny on board of the speronare?--I wish we
had Mesty with us."
They loaded the pistols, took a pair each and put them in their waists,
concealed under their clothes--divided the ammunition between them, and
soon afterwards the padrone came to tell them all was ready.
Whereupon Messrs. Gascoigne and Easy paid their bill and rose to depart,
but the padrone informed them that he should like to see the colour of
their money before they went on board. Jack, very indignant at the
insinuation that he had not sufficient cash, pulled out a handful of
doubloons, and tossing two to the padrone, asked him if he was
satisfied.
The padrone untied his sash, put in the money, and with many thanks and
protestations of service, begged our young gentlemen to accompany him:
they did so, and in a few minutes were clear of Nix Mangare stairs, and,
passing close to his Majesty's ship _Harpy, _were soon out of the
harbour of Vallette.
Of all the varieties of vessels which float upon the wave, there is not,
perhaps, one that bounds over the water so gracefully or so lightly as a
speronare, or any one so picturesque and beautiful to the eye of those
who watch its progress.
The night was clear, and the stars shone out brilliantly as the light
craft skimmed over the water, and a fragment of a descending and waning
moon threw its soft beams upon the snow-white sail. The vessel, which
had no neck, was full of baskets, which had contained grapes and various
fruits brought from the ancient granary of Rome, still as fertile and as
luxuriant as ever. The crew consisted of the padrone, two men and a
boy; the three latter, with their gregos, or night greatcoats with
hoods, sitting forward before the sail, with their eyes fixed on the
land as they flew past point after point, thinking perhaps of their
wives, or perhaps of their sweethearts, or perhaps not thinking at all.
The padrone remained aft at the helm, offering every politeness to our
two young gentlemen, who only wished to be left alone. At last they
requested the padrone to give them gregos to lie down upon, as they
wished to go to sleep. He called the boy to take the helm, procured
them all they required, and then went forward. And our two midshipmen
laid down looking at the stars above them, for some minutes, without
exchanging a word. At last Jack commenced.
"I have been thinking, Gascoigne, that this is very delightful. My
heart bounds with the vessel, and it almost appears to me as if the
vessel herself was rejoicing in her liberty. Here she is capering over
the waves instead of being tied by the nose with a cable and anchor."
"That's a touch of the sentimental, Jack," replied Gascoigne; "but she
is no more free than she was when at anchor, for she now is forced to
act in obedience to her steersman, and go just where he pleases. You
may just as well say that a horse, if taken out of the stable, is free,
with the curb and his rider on his back."
"That's a touch of the rational, Ned, which destroys the illusion.
Never mind, we are free, at all events. What machines we are on board
of a man-of-war! We walk, talk, eat, drink, sleep, and get up, just
like clock-work; we are wound up to go the twenty-four hours, and then
wound up again; just like old Smallsole does the chronometers."
"Very true, Jack; but it does not appear to me, that, hitherto, you have
kept very good time: you require a little more regulating," said
Gascoigne.
"How can you expect any piece of machinery to go well, so damnably
knocked about as a midshipman is?" replied our hero.
"Very true, Jack; but sometimes you don't keep any time, for you don't
keep any watch. Mr Asper don't wind you up. You don't go at all."
"No; because he allows me to go _down; _but still I do _go, _Ned."
"Yes, to your hammock--but it's _no go_ with old Smallsole, if I want a
bit of _caulk_. But, Jack, what do you say--shall we keep watch
to-night?"
"Why, to tell you the truth, I have been thinking the same thing--I
don't much like the looks of the padrone--he squints."
"That's no proof of anything, Jack, except that his eyes are not
straight; but if you do not like the look of him, I can tell you that he
very much liked the look of your doubloons--I saw him start, and his
eyes twinkled, and I thought at the time it was a pity you had not paid
him in dollars."
"It was very foolish in me; but at all events he has not seen all."
"He saw quite enough, Ned."
"Very true, but you should have let him see the pistols, and not have
let him see the doubloons."
"Well, if he wishes to take what he has seen, he shall receive what he
has not seen--why, there are only four of them?"
"Oh, I have no fear of them, only it may be as well to sleep with one
eye open."
"When shall we make the land?"
"To-morrow evening with this wind, and it appears to be steady. Suppose
we keep watch and watch, and have our pistols out ready, with the
greatcoats just turned over them, to keep them out of sight?"
"Agreed--it's about twelve o'clock now--who shall keep the middle
watch?"
"I will, Jack, if you like it."
"Well, then, mind you kick me hard, for I sleep devilish sound. Good--
night, and keep a sharp lookout."
Jack was fast asleep in less than ten minutes; and Gascoigne, with his
pistols lying by him all ready for each hand, sat up at the bottom of
the boat.
There certainly is a peculiar providence in favour of midshipmen
compared with the rest of mankind; they have more lives than a cat--
always in the greatest danger, but always escaping from it.
The padrone of the vessel had been captivated with the doubloons which
Jack had so foolishly exposed to his view, and he had, moreover,
resolved to obtain them. At the very time that our two lads were
conversing aft, the padrone was talking the matter over with his two men
forward, and it was agreed that they should murder, rifle, and then
throw them overboard.
About two o'clock in the morning, the padrone came aft to see if they
were asleep, but found Gascoigne watching. He returned aft again and
again; but found the young man still sitting up. Tired of waiting,
anxious to possess the money, and supposing that the lads were armed, he
went once more forward and spoke to the men. Gascoigne had watched his
motions; he thought it singular that, with three men in the vessel, the
helm should be confided to the boy--and at last he saw them draw their
knives. He pushed our hero, who woke immediately Gascoigne put his hand
over Jack's mouth, that he might not speak, and then he whispered his
suspicions. Jack seized his pistols--they both cocked them without
noise, and then waited in silence, Jack still lying down while Gascoigne
continued to sit up at the bottom of the boat. At last Gascoigne saw
the three men coming aft--he dropped one of his pistols for a second to
give Jack a squeeze of the hand, which was returned, and as Gascoigne
watched them making their way through the piles of empty baskets he
leaned back as if he was slumbering. The padrone, followed by the two
men, was at last aft--they paused a moment before they stepped over the
strengthening plank, which ran from side to side of the boat between
them and the midshipmen, and as neither of them stirred they imagined
that both were asleep--advanced and raised their knives, when Gascoigne
and Jack, almost at the same moment, each discharged their pistols into
the breast of the padrone and one of the men, who was with him in
advance, who both fell with the send aft of the boat, so as to encumber
the midshipmen with the weight of their bodies. The third man started
back. Jack, who could not rise, from the padrone lying across his legs,
took a steady aim with his second pistol, and the third man fell. The
boy at the helm, who, it appeared, either was aware of what was to be
done, or seeing the men advance with their knives, had acted upon what
he saw, also drew his knife and struck at Gascoigne from behind. The
knife fortunately, after slightly wounding Gascoigne on the shoulder,
had shut on the boy's hand--Gascoigne sprang up with his other pistol,
the boy started back at the sight of it, lost his balance, and fell
overboard.
Our two midshipmen took a few seconds to breathe.
"I say, Jack," said Gascoigne at last, "did you ever--"
"No, I never--" replied Jack.
"What's to be done now?"
"Why, as we've got possession, Ned, we had better put a man at the
helm--for the speronare is having it all her own way."
"Very true," replied Gascoigne; "and as I can steer better than you, I
suppose it must be me."
Gascoigne went to the helm, brought the boat up to the wind, and then
they resumed their conversation.
"That rascal of a boy gave me a devil of a lick on the shoulder; I don't
know whether he has hurt me--at all events it's my left shoulder, so I
can steer just as well. I wonder whether the fellows are dead."
"The padrone is, at all events," replied Jack. "It was as much as I
could do to get my legs from under him--but we'll wait till daylight
before we see to that--in the meantime, I'll load the pistols again."
"The day is breaking now--it will be light in half an hour or less.
What a devil of a spree, Jack!"
"Yes, but how can one help it? We ran away because two men are
wounded--and now we are obliged to kill four in self-defence."
"Yes, but that is not the end of it; when we get to Sicily what are we
to do? we shall be imprisoned by the authorities--perhaps hung."
"We'll argue that point with them," replied Jack.
"We had better argue the point between ourselves, Jack, and see what
will be the best plan to get out of our scrape."
"I think that we just have got out of it--never fear but we'll get out
of the next. Do you know, Gascoigne, it appears to me very odd, but I
can do nothing but there's a bobbery at the bottom of it."
"You certainly have a great talent that way, Jack. Don't I hear one of
these poor fellows groan?"
"I should think that not impossible."
"What shall we do with them?"
"We will argue that point, Ned--we must either keep their bodies or we
must throw them overboard. Either tell the whole story or say nothing
about it."
"That's very evident; in short, we must do something, for your argument
goes no further. But now let us take up one of your propositions."
"Well then, suppose we keep the bodies on board, run into a seaport, go
to the authorities, and state all the facts, what then?"
"We shall prove, beyond all doubt, that we have killed three men, if not
four; but we shall not prove that we were obliged so to do, Jack. And
then we are heretics--we shall be put in prison till they are satisfied
of our innocence, which we never can prove, and there we shall remain
until we have written to Malta, and a man-of-war comes to redeem us, if
we are not stabbed, or something else in the meantime."
"That will not be a very pleasant cruise," replied Jack. "Now let's
argue the point on the other side."
"There is some difficulty there--suppose we throw their bodies
overboard, toss the baskets after them, wash the boat clean, and make
for the first port. We may chance to hit upon the very spot from which
they sailed, and then there will be a pack of wives and children, and a
populace with knives, asking us what has become of the men of the boat."
"I don't much like the idea of that," said Jack.
"And if we don't have such bad luck, still we shall be interrogated as
to who we are, and how we were adrift by ourselves."
"There will be a difficulty about that again--we must swear that it is a
party of pleasure, and that we are gentlemen yachting."
"Without a crew or provisions--yachts don't sail with a clean-swept
hold, or gentlemen without a spare shirt--we have nothing but two
gallons of water and two pairs of pistols."
"I have it," said Jack--"we are two young gentlemen in our own boat who
went out to Gozo with pistols to shoot sea-mews, were caught in a gale,
and blown down to Sicily--that will excite interest."
"That's the best idea yet, as it will account for our having nothing in
the boat. Well then, at all events, we will get rid of the bodies; but
suppose they are not dead--we cannot throw them overboard alive--that
will be murder."
"Very true," replied Jack; "then we must shoot them first, and toss them
overboard afterwards."
"Upon my soul, Easy, you are an odd fellow: however, go and examine the
men, and we'll decide that point by-and-bye--you had better keep your
pistol ready cocked for they may be shamming."
"Devil a bit of sham here, anyhow," replied Jack, pulling at the body of
the padrone, "and as for this fellow you shot, you might put your fist
into his chest. Now for the third," continued Jack, stepping over the
strengthening piece--"he's all among the baskets. I say, my cock, are
you dead?" and Jack enforced his question with a kick in the ribs. The
man groaned. "That's unlucky, Gascoigne, but, however, I'll soon settle
him," said Jack, pointing his pistol.
"Stop, Jack," cried Gascoigne, "it really will be murder."
"No such thing, Ned; I'll just blow his brains out, and then I'll come
aft and argue the point with you."
"Now do oblige me by coming aft and arguing the point first. Do, Jack,
I beg of you--I entreat you."
"With all my heart," replied Jack, resuming his seat by Gascoigne; "I
assert, that in this instance killing's no murder. You will observe,
Ned, that by the laws of society, any one who attempts the life of
another has forfeited his own; at the same time, as it is necessary that
the fact should be clearly proved and justice be duly administered, the
parties are tried, convicted, and then are sentenced to the punishment."
"I grant all that."
"In this instance the attempt has been clearly proved; we are the
witnesses, and are the judges and jury, and society in general, for the
best of all possible reasons, because there is nobody else. These men's
lives being therefore forfeited to society, belong to us; and it does
not follow because they were not all killed in the attempt, that
therefore they are not now to be brought out for punishment. And as
there is no common hangman here, we, of course, must do this duty as
well as every other. I have now clearly proved that I am justified in
what I am about to do. But the argument does not stop there--
self-preservation is the first law of nature, and if we do not get rid
of this man, what is the consequence?--that we shall have to account for
his being wounded, and then, instead of judges, we shall immediately be
placed in the position of culprits, and have to defend ourselves without
witnesses. We therefore risk our lives from a misplaced lenity towards
a wretch unworthy to live."
"Your last argument is strong, Easy, but I cannot consent to your doing
what may occasion you uneasiness hereafter when you think of it."
"Pooh! nonsense--I am a philosopher."
"Of what school, Jack? Oh, I presume you are a disciple of Mesty's. I
do not mean to say that you are wrong, but still hear my proposition.
Let us lower down the sail, and then I can leave the helm to assist you.
We will clear the vessel of everything except the man who is still
alive. At all events, we may wait a little, and if at last there is no
help for it, I will then agree with you to launch him overboard, even if
he is not quite dead."
"Agreed; even by your own making out, it will be no great sin. He is
half dead already--I only do _half _the work of tossing him over, so it
will be only _quarter _murder on my part, and he would have shown no
quarter on his." Here Jack left off arguing and punning, and went
forward and lowered down the sail. "I've half a mind to take my
doubloons back," said Jack, as they launched over the body of the
padrone, "but he may have them--I wonder whether they'll ever turn up
again?"
"Not in our time, Jack," replied Gascoigne.
The other body, and all the basket lumber, etcetera, were then tossed
over, and the boat was cleared of all but the man who was not yet dead.
"Now let's examine the fellow, and see if he has any chance of
recovery," said Gascoigne.
The man lay on his side; Gascoigne turned him over, and found that he
was dead.
"Over with him, quick," said Jack, "before he comes to life again."
The body disappeared under the wave--they again hoisted the sail,
Gascoigne took the helm, and our hero proceeded to draw water and wash
away the stains of blood; he then cleared the boat of vine-leaves and
rubbish, with which it was strewed, swept it clean fore and aft, and
resumed his seat by his comrade.
"There," said Jack, "now we've swept the decks, we may pipe to dinner.
I wonder whether there is anything to eat in the locker?"
Jack opened it, and found some bread, garlic, sausages, a bottle of
aquadente, and a jar of wine.
"So the padrone did keep his promise, after all."
"Yes, and had you not tempted him with the sight of so much gold, might
now have been alive."
"To which I reply, that if you had not advised our going off in a
speronare, he would now have been alive."
"And if you had not fought a duel, I should not have given the advice."
"And if the boatswain had not been obliged to come on board without his
trousers, at Gibraltar, I should not have fought a duel."
"And if you had not joined the ship, the boatswain would have had his
trousers on."
"And if my father had not been a philosopher, I should not have gone to
sea; so that it is all my father's fault, and he has killed four men off
the coast of Sicily, without knowing it--cause and effect. After all,
there's nothing like argument; so having settled that point, let us go
to dinner."
Having finished their meal, Jack went forward and observed the land
ahead; they steered the same course for three or four hours.
"We must haul our wind more," said Gascoigne; "it will not do to put
into any small town: we have now to choose, whether we shall land on the
coast and sink the speronare, or land at some large town."
"We must argue that point," replied Jack.
"In the meantime, do you take the helm, for my arm is quite tired,"
replied Gascoigne: "you can steer well enough; by-the-bye, I may as well
look at my shoulder, for it is quite stiff." Gascoigne pulled off his
coat, and found his shirt bloody and sticking to the wound, which, as we
before observed, was slight. He again took the helm, while Jack washed
it clean and then bathed it with aquadente.
"Now take the helm again," said Gascoigne; "I'm on the sick list."
"And as surgeon--I'm an idler," replied Jack; "but what shall we do?"
continued he; "abandon the speronare at night and sink her, or run in
for a town?"
"We shall fall in with plenty of boats and vessels if we coast it up to
Palermo, and they may overhaul us."
"We shall fall in with plenty of people if we go on shore, and they will
overhaul us."
"Do you know, Jack, that I wish we were back and alongside of the
_Harpy; _I've had cruising enough."
"My cruises are so unfortunate," replied Jack; "they are too full of
adventure; but then, I have never yet had a cruise on shore. Now, if we
could only get to Palermo, we should be out of all our difficulties."
"The breeze freshens, Jack," replied Gascoigne; "and it begins to look
very dirty to windward. I think we shall have a gale."
"Pleasant--I know what it is to be short-handed in a gale; however,
there's one comfort, we shall not be blown _off shore _this time."
"No, but we may be wrecked on a lee shore. She cannot carry her whole
sail, Easy; we must lower it down, and take in a reef; the sooner the
better, for it will be dark in an hour. Go forward and lower it down,
and then I'll help you."
Jack did so, but the sail went into the water, and he could not drag it
in.
"Avast heaving," said Gascoigne, "till I throw her up and take the wind
out of it."
This was done; they reefed the sail, but could not hoist it up: if
Gascoigne left the helm to help Jack, the sail filled; if he went to the
helm and took the wind out of the sail, Jack was not strong enough to
hoist it. The wind increased rapidly, and the sea got up; the sun went
down, and with the sail half hoisted, they could not keep to the wind,
but were obliged to run right for the land. The speronare flew, rising
on the crest of the waves with half her keel clear of the water: the
moon was already up, and gave them light enough to perceive that they
were not five miles from the coast, which was lined with foam.
"At all events, they can't accuse us of running away with the boat,"
observed Jack; "for she's running away with us."
"Yes," replied Gascoigne, dragging at the tiller with all his strength;
"she has taken the bit between her teeth."
"I wouldn't care if I had a bit between mine," replied Jack; "for I feel
devilish hungry again. What do you say, Ned?"
"With all my heart," replied Gascoigne; "but, do you know, Easy, it may
be the last meal we ever make."
"Then I vote it's a good one--but why so, Ned?"
"In half an hour, or thereabouts, we shall be on shore."
"Well, that's where we want to go."
"Yes, but the sea runs high, and the boat may be dashed to pieces on the
rocks."
"Then we shall be asked no questions about her or the men."
"Very true, but a lee shore is no joke; we may be knocked to pieces, as
well as the boat--even swimming may not help us. If we could find a
cove or sandy beach, we might, perhaps, manage to get on shore."
"Well," replied Jack, "I have not been long at sea, and, of course,
cannot know much about these things. I have been blown off shore, but I
never have been blown on. It may be as you say, but I do not see the
great danger--let's run her right up on the beach at once."
"That's what I shall try to do," replied Gascoigne, who had been four
years at sea, and knew very well what he was about.
Jack handed him a huge piece of bread and sausage.
"Thank ye, I cannot eat."
"I can," replied Jack, with his mouth full.
Jack ate while Gascoigne steered; and the rapidity with which the
speronare rushed to the beach was almost frightful. She darted like an
arrow from wave to wave, and appeared as if mocking their attempts as
they curled their summits almost over her narrow stern. They were
within a mile of the beach, when Jack, who had finished his supper, and
was looking at the foam boiling on the coast, exclaimed:
"That's very fine--very beautiful, upon my soul!"
"He cares for nothing," thought Gascoigne; "he appears to have no idea
of danger."
"Now, my dear fellow," said Gascoigne, "in a few minutes we shall be on
the rocks. I must continue at the helm, for the higher she is forced up
the better chance for us; but we may not meet again, so if we do not,
good-bye, and God bless you."
"Gascoigne," said Jack, "you are hurt and I am not; your shoulder is
stiff, and you can hardly move your left arm. Now I can steer for the
rocks as well as you. Do you go to the bow, and there you will have a
better chance. By-the-bye," continued he, picking up his pistols, and
sticking them into his waist, "I won't leave them, they've served us too
good a turn already. Gascoigne, give me the helm."
"No, no, Easy."
"I say yes," replied Jack, in a loud, authoritative tone, "and what's
more, I will be obeyed, Gascoigne. I have nerve, if I haven't
knowledge, and at all events I can steer for the beach. I tell you,
give me the helm. Well, then, if you won't--I must take it."
Easy wrested the tiller from Gascoigne's hand, and gave him a shove
forward.
"Now do you look out ahead, and tell me how to steer."
Whatever may have been Gascoigne's feelings at this behaviour of our
hero's, it immediately occurred to him that he could not do better than
to run the speronare to the safest point, and that therefore he was
probably more advantageously employed than if he were at the helm. He
went forward and looked at the rocks, covered at one moment with the
tumultuous waters, and then pouring down cascades from their sides as
the waves recoiled. He perceived a chasm right ahead, and he thought if
the boat was steered for that, she must be thrown up so as to enable
them to get clear of her, for at every other part escape appeared
impossible.
"Starboard a little--that'll do. Steady--port it is--port. Steer
small, for your life, Easy. Steady now--mind the yard don't hit your
head--hold on."
The speronare was at this moment thrown into a large cleft in a rock,
the sides of which were nearly perpendicular; nothing else could have
saved them, as, had they struck the rock outside, the boat would have
been dashed to pieces, and its fragments have disappeared in the
undertow. As it was, the cleft was not four feet more than the width of
the boat, and as the waves hurled her up into it, the yard of the
speronare was thrown fore and aft with great violence, and had not Jack
been warned, he would have been struck overboard without a chance of
being saved; but he crouched down and it passed over him. As the water
receded, the boat struck, and was nearly dry between the rocks, but
another wave followed, dashing the boat farther up, but, at the same
time, filling it with water. The bow of the boat was now several feet
higher than the stern, where Jack held on; and the weight of the water
in her, with the force of the returning waves, separated her right
across abaft the mast. Jack perceived that the after-part of the boat
was going out again with the wave; he caught hold of the yard which had
swung fore and aft, and as he clung to it, the part of the boat on which
he had stood disappeared from under him, and was swept away by the
returning current.
Jack required the utmost of his strength to maintain his position until
another wave floated him, and dashed him higher up: but he knew his life
depended on holding on to the yard, which he did, although under water,
and advanced several feet. When the wave receded, he found footing on
the rock, and still clinging, he walked till he had gained the fore-part
of the boat, which was wedged firmly into a narrow part of the cleft.
The next wave was not very large, and he had gained so much that it did
not throw him off his legs. He reached the rock, and as he climbed up
the side of the chasm to gain the ledge above, he perceived Gascoigne
standing above him, and holding out his hand to his assistance.
"Well," says Jack, shaking himself to get rid of the water, "here we
are, ashore at last--I had no idea of anything like this. The rush back
of the water was so strong that it has almost torn my arms out of their
sockets. How very lucky I sent you forward with your disabled shoulder.
By-the-bye, now that it's all over, and you must see that I was right,
I beg to apologise for my rudeness."
"There needs no apology for saving my life, Easy," replied Gascoigne,
trembling with the cold; "and no one but you would ever have thought of
making one at such a moment."
"I wonder whether the ammunition's dry," said Jack; "I put it all in my
hat."
Jack took off his hat, and found the cartridges had not suffered.
"Now then, Gascoigne, what shall we do?"
"I hardly know," replied Gascoigne.
"Suppose, then, we sit down and argue the point."
"No, I thank you, there will be too much cold water thrown upon our
arguments--I'm half dead; let us walk on."
"With all my heart," said Jack, "it's devilish steep, but I can argue up
hill or down hill, wet or dry--I'm used to it--for, as I told you
before, Ned, my father is a philosopher, and so am I."
"By the Lord! _you are_," replied Gascoigne, as he walked on.