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 Gergentif 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 stem 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 hastening 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 ye 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 there 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, and 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 Valette.
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 desert and waning
moon threw its soft beams upon the snow-white sail. The vessel, which
had no deck, 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
great-coats 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--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 great-coats 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 look-out."
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 not 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 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 those 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 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, etc, 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 further up, but, at the
same time, filling it with water. The bow of the boat was now several
feet higher than the stem, 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.