We had not proceeded more than a mile, when the tide commenced to run out, the wind came sweeping in through the “Golden Gate,” and the waters began to evince their illest humor.
The first trifling mishap that befel us was that a rough, ill-natured, foam-crested wave came slashing along, wrested an oar from my hand, and left it floating on the “briny deep.” The boat became unmanageable, turned with her side to the waves, and lay in a trough of the—harbor.
In endeavoring to recover the truant oar, Gilmore pitched out into the “yeast of waves;” and, in endeavoring to recover him, by means of his coat-tail, I pitched out; and, in endeavoring to save himself from the same fate, Brooker pitched out; and there, with
“Nothing save the waves and”—us,
and the boat, (half-full of water,) we commenced a manly and awkward struggle for existence. With this boon in view, Gilmore clung to the oar, and Brooker and I to the boat.
By this time, the wind was blowing with actual fierceness, and the waves swept clear over our heads every second. There can be little doubt that we would all have found an eternal nest among the slimy harbor-weed, with only the monsters of the shallow to drop a (crocodile) tear upon our “moist, uncomfortable bodies,” but for certain timely “succor” that appeared on the scene at this critical juncture. The said “succor” comprised two skillful oarsmen, who owned the boat, and, having seen that we managed it poorly, and fearing the loss of their property, had put out to our assistance some minutes prior to the startling accident—arriving just in time to save their boat (and us) from an aqueous tomb.
They hauled us and the lost oar aboard their own boat, like so many packages of damaged goods, (flotsam Blackstone would have styled us,) took the other boat in tow, and started for shore,—giving us a good round cursing for our awkwardness in so nearly sacrificing their property.
I never told Foard of this adventure till about two months had elapsed, and it had got a little “old.” Then, having first exacted a promise from him that he would not scold me for what I was about to tell him, frankly confessed the whole affair, bringing out all the little extenuating points, such as, “The morning was so fine,” “The harbor was so smooth,” “We thought that three of us could surely manage one boat.” “We had partaken of fluid refreshments,” “We hadn’t seen each other for several days, and felt so jolly glad,” et cetera.
He did not break his promise: but——
“Smith,” said he, “if I had not promised not to scold you, I would give you the (blank)est blackguarding any man ever got in San Francisco! To think that, in the very face of the good, healthy advice I gave you, you should have the unparalleled audacity to—Well, never mind: I promised not to scold: but if you ever do such a thing again—I wonder what time it is? I feel dry.”