You will fancy that the lesson I had thus received should have been a
warning to me to keep away from the water. Not so, however. So far as
that went, the ducking did me no good, though it proved beneficial in
other respects. It taught me the danger of getting into water over
one's depth, which I had before then but little appreciated; and young
as I was, I perceived the advantage of being able to swim. The peril
from which I had so narrowly escaped, stimulated me to form a resolve,
and that was--to learn the art of swimming.
I was encouraged in this resolution by my mother, as also by a letter
received from my father, who was then abroad; and in which he gave
directions that I should be taught to swim in the best manner. It was
just what I desired, and with the intention of becoming a first-rate
swimmer, I went about it in right earnest. Once and sometimes twice
each day during the warm weather--that is, after school was out--I
betook myself to the water, where I might be seen splashing and
spluttering about like a young porpoise. Some bigger boys, who had
already learnt to swim, gave me a lesson or two; and I soon experienced
the delightful sensation of being able to float upon my back without
assistance from any one. I well remember how proud I felt on the
occasion when I first accomplished this natatorial feat.
And here, young reader, let me advise you by all means to imitate my
example, and learn to swim. You know not how soon you may stand in need
of a knowledge of this useful art; how soon you may be called upon to
practise it perforce. You know not but that sooner or later it may be
the means of saving your life.
At the present time, the chances of death by drowning are multiplied far
beyond anything of the kind in past ages. Almost everybody now travels
across seas, oceans, and upon large rivers, and the number of people who
annually risk their lives on the water, voyaging on business, pleasure,
or in the way of emigration, is scarce credible. Of these, a
proportion--in stormy years a large one--perish by drowning.
I do not mean to assert that a swimmer, even the best, if cast away at a
great distance from shore, in mid-Atlantic, for instance, or even in the
middle of the English Channel--would have any prospect of swimming to
land. That, of course, would be impracticable. But there are often
other chances of life being saved, besides that of getting to land. A
boat may be reached, a spar, an empty hencoop or barrel; and there are
many instances on record of lives having been saved by such slight
means. Another vessel, too, may be in sight, may hasten to the scene of
the disaster, and the strong swimmer may be still afloat upon her
arrival; while those who could not swim, must of course have gone to the
bottom.
But you must know that it is neither in the middle of the Atlantic, nor
of any great ocean, that most vessels are wrecked and lives are lost.
Some are, it is true--when a storm rages with extreme fury, "blowing
great guns," as the seamen phrase it, and blowing a ship almost to
atoms. These events, however, are extremely rare, and bear but a small
proportion to the number of wrecks that take place within sight of the
shore, and frequently upon the beach itself. It is in "castaways" of
this kind, that the greatest number of lives are sacrificed, under
circumstances when, by a knowledge of the art of swimming, many of them
might have been saved. Not a year passes, but there is a record of
hundreds of individuals who have been drowned within cable's length of
the shore--ships full of emigrants, soldiers, and sailors, have sunk
with all on board, leaving only a few good swimmers survivors of the
wreck! Similar "accidents" occur in rivers, scarce two hundred yards in
width; and you yourselves are acquainted with the annual drownings, even
in the narrow and icy Serpentine!
With these facts before the eyes of the world, you will wonder that the
world does not take warning, and at once learn to swim.
It may be wondered, too, that governments do not compel the youth to
learn this simple accomplishment; but that indeed is hardly to be
wondered at, since the business of governments in all ages has been
rather to tax than to teach their people.
It seems to me, however, that it would be a very easy thing for
governments to compel all those who travel by ships, to provide
themselves with a life-preserver. By this cheap and simple contrivance,
I am prepared to show that thousands of lives would be annually saved;
and no one would grumble at either the cost or inconvenience of carrying
so useful an article.
Governments take special care to tax travellers for a piece of worthless
paper, called a passport. Once you have paid for this, it signifies not
to them how soon you and your passport go to the bottom of the sea.
Well, young reader, whether it be the desire of your government or not,
take a hint from me, and make yourself a good swimmer. Set about it at
once--that is, if the weather be warm enough--and don't miss a day while
it continues so. Be a swimmer before you become a man; for when you
have reached manhood, you will most probably find neither time,
opportunity, nor inclination to practise; besides, you may run many
risks of being drowned long before there is hair upon your lip.
For myself, I have had a variety of hair-breadth escapes from drowning.
The very element which I loved so dearly, seemed the most desirous of
making a victim of me; and I should have deemed it ungrateful, had I not
known that the wild billows were unreasoning, irresponsible creatures;
and I had too recklessly laid "my hand upon their mane."
It was but a few weeks after my ducking in the pond, and I had already
taken several swimming lessons, when I came very near making my last
essay at this aquatic exercise.
It was not in the pond that the incident occurred, for that, being a
piece of ornamental water, and private property, as I have told you, was
not permitted to be used as a bathing place.
But the people of a sea-shore town need no lake in which to disport
themselves. The great salt sea gives them a free bath, and our village
had its bathing beach in common with others of its kind. Of course,
then, my swimming lessons were taken in salt-water.
The beach which was habitually used by the villagers, had not the best
name as a bathing place. It was pretty enough, with yellow sand, white
shells, and pebbles; but there was what is termed an "under-tow"--in one
particular place stronger than elsewhere; and at times it was a
dangerous matter to get within the influence of this "under-tow," unless
the person so exposing himself was a good and strong swimmer.
There was a legend among the villagers, that some one had been drowned
by this current; but that was an occurrence of long ago, and had almost
ceased to be talked about. There were also one or two more modern
instances of bathers being carried out to sea, but finally saved by
boats sent after them.
I remember at that time having been struck with a fact relating to these
mishaps; and this was, that the older inhabitants of the village, and
they who were of most consequence in the place, never liked to talk
about them; either shrugging their shoulders and remaining silent, or
giving the legends a flat contradiction. Some of them even went so far
as to deny the existence of an "under-tow," while others contented
themselves by asserting that it was perfectly harmless. I always
noticed, however, that parents would not permit their boys to bathe near
the place where the dangerous current was represented to exist.
I never knew the reason why the villagers were so unwilling to
acknowledge the "under-tow," and the truth of the stories connected
therewith. That is, I knew it not until long, long afterwards--until I
came home again after my forty years of adventure. On my return, I
found the same silence and shrugging of the shoulders, although by a
generation of villagers altogether different from those I had left
behind. And this, too, notwithstanding that several accidents had
occurred in my absence, to prove that the "under-tow" did actually
exist, and that it was actually dangerous.
But I was then older and better able to reason about men's motives, and
I soon fathomed the mystery. It was this: our village is, as you know,
what is called a "watering-place," and derived some support from
visitors who came to it to spend a few weeks of their summer. It is a
watering-place upon a small scale, it is true, but were there to be much
talk about the "under-tow," or too much credence given to legends of
people who have been drowned by it, it would become a watering-place on
a still smaller scale, or might cease to be one altogether. Therefore
the less you say of the "under-tow," the better for your own popularity
among the wise men of the village.
Now, my young friends, I have been making a long story about what you
will deem a very ordinary adventure, after all. It is simply to end by
my telling you that I was drowned by the "under-tow"--actually
_drowned_!
You will say that I could not have been _drowned dead_, though that is a
doubtful point, for, as far as my feelings were concerned, I am certain
I should not have known it had I never been restored to life again. No,
I should not have felt pain had I been cut into a hundred pieces while I
was in that state, nor would I ever have come to life again had it not
been for somebody else. That somebody else was a fine young waterman of
our village, by name Harry Blew, and to him was I indebted for my
_second_ life.
The incident, as I have said, was of the ordinary kind, but I relate it
to show how I became acquainted with Harry Blew, whose acquaintance and
example had an important influence on my after-life.
I had gone to the beach to bathe as usual, at a point new to me, and
where I had not seen many people bathe before. It chanced to be one of
the worst places for this "under-tow," and shortly after entering the
water I got into its gripe, and was drawn outward into the open sea, far
beyond the distance I could have swum back. As much from terror, that
paralysed my strength, as aught else--for I was aware of my danger--I
could swim no further, but sank to the bottom like a piece of lead!
I did not know that I had ever come up again. I knew nothing at all
about what happened after. I only remembered seeing a boat near me, and
a man in it; and then all was dark, and I heard a loud rumbling like
thunder in my ears, and my consciousness went out like the snuffing of a
candle.
It returned again, thanks to young Harry Blew, and when I knew that I
was still alive, I re-opened my eyes, and saw a man kneeling above me,
rubbing me all over with his hands, and pushing my belly up under my
ribs, and blowing into my mouth, and tickling my nostrils with a
feather, and performing a great variety of such antic manoeuvres upon
me.
That was Harry Blew bringing me to life again; and as soon as he had
partially succeeded, he lifted me up in his arms and carried me home to
my mother, who was nearly distracted on receiving me; and then wine was
poured down my throat, and hot bricks and bottles were put to my feet,
and my nose anointed with hartshorn, and my body rolled in warm
blankets, and many other appliances were administered, and many remedies
had I to take, before my friends considered the danger to be over, and
that I should be likely to live.
But it was all over at length, and in twenty hours' time I was on my
feet again, and as brisk and well as ever.
I had now had my warning of the water, if that could have been of any
service. But it was not, as the sequel will show.