"Oh, you are a fellow. Come on."
"No, I sha'n't bathe," I said in a doubtful tone.
"Oh, here's a chap! I say isn't he a one! Always tied to his mother's
apron-string: can't play cricket, or rounders, or football, and can't
swim. I say, isn't he a molly."
The others laughed, and being now out of their misery, as they termed
it, they were splashing about and enjoying the water, but neither of
them went far from the bank.
"I say, why don't you come in?" cried the boy who jumped in feet first.
"You will like it so."
"Yes: come along, and try to swim. I can take five strokes. Look
here."
I watched while the boy went along puffing and panting, and making a
great deal of splashing.
"Get out!" said the other; "he has got one leg on the ground. This is
the way to learn to swim. Look here, Dennison, my father showed me."
I looked, and he waded out three or four yards, till the water was
nearly over his shoulders.
"Oh, I say, isn't the tide strong!" he cried. "Now, then, look."
He threw up his arms, joined his hands as he stood facing me, made a
sort of jump and turned right over, plunging down before me, his legs
and feet coming right out, and then for some seconds there was a great
deal of turmoil and splashing in the muddy water, and he came up close
to the bank.
"That's the way," he cried, panting. "You have to try to get to the
bottom, and that gives you confidence."
"I didn't learn that way," shouted George Day. "See me float!"
We all looked, and he turned over on his back, but splashed a good deal
to keep himself up. Then all at once he went under, and my heart seemed
to stand still, but he came up again directly, shaking his head and
spitting.
"Tread water!" he cried; and he seemed to be wading about with
difficulty.
"Is it deep there?" I shouted.
"Look," he cried; and raising his hands above his head he sank out of
sight, his hands disappearing too, and then he was up again directly and
swam to the bank.
"I wish I could swim like you do," I said, looking at him with
admiration.
"Well, it's easy enough," he said. "Come along."
"Shall I?"
"Yes. Why, what are you afraid of? Nobody ever comes down here except
us boys who want a bathe. Slip off your clothes and have a good dip.
You're sure to like it."
"But I've never been used to it," I protested.
"Then get used to it," he cried. "I say, boys, he ought to learn,
oughtn't he?"
"Yes," cried the others. "Let's get out and make him."
"Oh, I don't want any making," I said proudly. "But I say--is it
dangerous?"
"Dangerous! Hark at him! Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Day. "Why, what are you
afraid of? There, jump out of your jacket. I sha'n't stop in much
longer, and I want to give you a lesson."
"He's afraid," shouted the other two boys.
"Am I! You'll see," I said sturdily; and, feeling as if I were going to
do something very desperate, and with a curious sensation of dread
coming all over me, even to the roots of my hair, I rapidly undressed
and went to the edge.
"Hooray!" shouted Day. "Now, look here: you can jump in head first,
which is the proper way, or sneak in toes first, like they do. Show 'em
you aren't afraid. They daren't jump in head first. Come on; I'll take
care you don't come up too far out, as you can't swim."
"Would it matter if I did?" I said excitedly.
"Get along with you! no," cried Day.
I hesitated, for the water looked very dreadful, and in spite of the
burning sunshine it seemed cold. I felt so helpless too, and would
gladly have run back to my clothes and dressed, instead of standing on
the brink of the river.
"In with you," shouted Day, backing away from the bank, and the other
two boys stood a little way off, with the water up to their chests,
grinning and jeering.
"He daren't."
"He's afraid."
"I say, don't you jump in: you'll get wet."
"I say, young 'un, don't. You learn to swim in the washing-tub in warm
water."
"Don't you take any notice of them," cried Day. "You jump in. Join
your hands above your head and go in with a regular good leap. They
can't."
I felt desperate. The water seemed to drive me back, but all the time
the jeers of the boys pricked and stirred me on, and at last, obeying
Day to the letter, I placed my hands above my head, diver fashion, and
took the plunge down into the darkness of the chilly water, which seemed
to roar and thunder in my ears, and then, before I knew where I was, I
found myself standing up, spitting, half blind, with a curious burning
sensation in my nostrils, and a horrible catching of the breath.
"Hooray!" shouted Day. "You've beat them hollow. Now you're out of
your misery and can show them. I bet a penny you learn to swim before
they can."
This was encouraging, and I began to feel a warm glow of satisfaction in
my veins.
"Catch hold of my hand," cried Day.
"No, no," I cried excitedly. "You'll take me where it's deep."
"Get out!" he said. "I shouldn't be such a fool. There, go on then by
yourself. Don't go where it's more than up to your chin."
"Oh, no!" I said, stooping and rising, and letting the water, as it ran
swiftly, send a curious cold thrill all over me. And then, as I began
cautiously to wade about, panting, and with my breath coming in an
irregular manner, there was a very pleasurable sensation in it all.
First I began to notice how firm and close and heavy the water felt, and
how it pressed against me. Then I began to think of how hard it was to
walk, the water keeping me back; and directly after, as I stepped
suddenly in a soft place all mud, which seemed to ooze up between my
toes, the water came to my shoulders, and I felt as if I were being
lifted from my feet.
"I say how do you like it?" cried Day, who was swimming a few yards
away.
"I don't know," I panted. "I think I like it."
"Oh, you'll soon think it glorious," he replied. "You'll love it as
soon as you can swim."
The other two had waded on for some distance against the current, taking
no further interest in me now I had made my plunge.
"I should like to swim," I said.
"Oh it's easy enough once you get used to it. That chap down below
there swims twice as well as I can, but I don't know who he is."
"What shall I do first?" I asked.
"Oh, throw yourself flat on the water, and kick out your arms and legs
like I do--like a frog. You'll soon learn. Now I'm going to swim up as
far as they are, and then let myself float back. You'll see me come
down. It's so easy. You watch."
"All right!" I said.
"You keep close in to the bank," he shouted; "the tide don't run there.
Keep on trying to throw yourself down and kick out like a frog. You'll
soon swim."
I nodded, and stood holding on by a tuft of coarse sedge, watching him
as he threw himself on his side, and went off pretty close to the bank,
where the water was eddying; and the next minute he was beyond a clump
of sedge that projected into the river, and I was alone.
I felt no dread now, for the water seemed pleasantly cool, and I began
to grow more confident. The buoyancy was delicious, and I found that by
holding on with both hands to the long rushes I could float on the
water, throwing myself down and keeping close to the surface, but with
my legs gradually sinking, till I gave them a kick and rose again.
I amused myself this way for a minute or two, and then, leaving the tuft
of rushes, I began to wade slowly along with the water up to my chest,
and every now and then I stooped down, so that it came above my
shoulders, and struck out with my hands; but I dare not throw myself
flat with my legs off the bottom. That was too much to expect, and I
had not recovered yet from the desperate plunge in, the recollection of
which made me wonder at my temerity.
It was very nice, that first lesson in the water's buoyancy, and as I
jumped up, or lowered myself down, or held on by the tufts by the brink,
and let myself float, I could not help comparing myself to the soap in
the bathtub at home, for that almost floated, but gradually settled down
to the bottom, just as my body seemed to do.
"I shall soon swim," I thought to myself; but I felt no inclination to
risk the first plunge and begin the struggle. It was far more pleasant
to keep on wading there with the water up to my chest, and the delicious
sensation of novelty, half fear, half pleasure, making me now venture
out a few inches into deeper water, now shrink back towards the bank.
How beautiful it all seemed, with the mellow afternoon sunlight dancing
on the water as a puff of warm wind came now and then along the river.
The trees were so green and the sky so blue, and the barges, and horses
that drew them by the towing-path on the other side, all seemed to add
to my pleasure, for the barges seemed to glide along so easily, and they
floated, and that was what I wanted to do.
I forgot all about my companions, who must have been a couple of hundred
yards higher up the river, while I was wading down.
By degrees I found the water a little deeper, and I shrank from it at
first, but I was close to the bank and had only to stretch out my hand
to catch hold of a tuft of grass or sedge, and, after the shrinking
sensation, it seemed pleasant to have the water higher up about my
shoulders. It was so much harder to walk, and I could feel myself
almost panting. Beside this there was a nice soft muddy bottom,
pleasanter to the feet than the gravel where I had plunged in.
Yes: I thought it a much nicer place there, and I was slowly and
cautiously wading on, while all at once I found the water seeming to
come in the opposite direction, curving round towards me in a place
where the bank was scooped out.
It looked so smooth that I pressed on, taking one step forward, so that
the water might rush up against me, and--then I was floating, for my
feet found no bottom, and with an excited thrill of delight I felt that
I could swim.
Yes; there was no doubt about it. I could swim as easily as George Day,
only I was not moving my hands, while the water was bearing me up and
carrying me round as in a whirlpool just once, and then I was swept into
the tide-way with the water thundering in my ears, a horrible strangling
sensation in my nostrils, and a dimness coming over my aching eyes.
I could never remember much about it, only that it was all a confusion
of thundering in my ears and rushing sounds. I kept on beating the
water with my hands as I had seen a dog beat the surface when he could
not swim, and I seemed to throw my head right back as I gasped for
breath. But I do not remember that it was very horrible, or that I was
drowning, as I surely was. Confusion is the best expression for
explaining my sensations as I was swept rapidly down by the tide.
What do I remember next? I hardly know. Only a sensation of some one
catching me by the wrist, from somewhere in the darkness that was
closing me in. But the next thing after that is, I remember shutting my
eyes, because the sun shone in them so fiercely as I lay on my back in
the grass, with my head aching furiously, and a strange pain at the back
of my neck, as if some one had been trying to break my head off, as a
mischievous child would serve a doll.
Just then I heard some one sobbing and crying, and I felt as if I must
be asleep and dreaming all this.
"Don't make that row. He's all right, I tell you. He isn't drowned.
What's the good of making a row like that!"
It was George Day's voice, and opening my eyes I said hoarsely:
"What's the matter? Is he hurt?"
"No: it's only Harry Leggatt thought you were--you were hurt, you know.
Can you get up, and run? All our clothes are two fields off. Come on.
The sun will dry you."
I got up, feeling giddy and strange, and the aching at the back of my
head was almost unbearable; but I began to walk with Day holding my
hand, and after a time--he guiding me, for I felt very stupid--I began
to trot; and at last, with my head throbbing and whirring, I found
myself standing by my clothes, and my companions helped me to dress.
"You went out too far," Day said. "I told you not, you know."
I was shivering with cold and terribly uncomfortable with putting on my
things over my wet chilled body. It had been a hard task too,
especially with my socks, but I hardly spoke till we were walking home,
and when I did it was during the time I was smoothing my wet hair with a
pocket comb lent me by one of the boys.
"How was it I went too far?" I said at last, dolefully.
"I don't know," said Day. "I shouldn't have known anything if that chap
Shock hadn't come shouting to us; and when we came, thinking he was
going to steal our clothes, he brought us and showed us where he had
dragged you out on to the bank. It was him we saw swimming when we
first went in."
"Where is he now?" I said wearily. "Let's ask him all about it."
"I don't know," replied Day. "He ran off to dress himself, I suppose,
and he didn't come back. But I say, you're better now."
"Oh yes!" I said, "I'm better now;" and by degrees the walk in the warm
afternoon sunshine seemed to make me feel more myself; beside which I
was dry when I got back home, but very low-spirited and dull.
I did not say anything, for my mother was lying down, and Mrs Beeton
never invited my confidence; beside which I felt rather
conscience-stricken, and after having my solitary tea I went to the
window, feeling warmer, and less disposed to shiver.
And as I sat there about seven o'clock on that warm summer evening it
almost seemed as if my afternoon's experience had been a dream, and that
Shock had not swum out and saved me from drowning, for there he was
under one of the pear-trees, with a switch and a piece of clay, throwing
pellets at our house, one of which came right in at the open window
close by my cheek, and struck against Mrs Beeton's cheffonier door.