“Be cool, boys, as the doctor says,” he called out to us. “This is no use. We’re not going with the tide, but fighting against it.”
“But the tide’s coming in,” I said.
“Yes, underneath,” cried Bigley; “but the top part of the water’s running out like a mill-race, and we must go with it now. Follow me.”
There was no help for it. The tide carried us along into a tremendous current, caused by the meeting of two waters at the point formed by the ridge of rocks which ran down into the sea, and to my horror, as I swam steadily on, still holding to my bundle, I found that we were in a line with the cliff about which I had watched the gull flying, but that it was getting farther and farther away.
It was all plain enough. We were well in the fierce current that ran off the point, and being carried straight out to sea.
My first idea was to shout this to my companions; but I felt that if I did I should frighten them, and I knew well enough that as soon as anyone grew frightened when he was swimming the best half of his power had gone.
It was a great thing to recollect, and I held my tongue. It was hard work, and something seemed to keep prompting me to shout the bad news, but somehow I mastered it, and instead of swimming faster made myself take my strokes more slowly, so as to save my breath.
Bigley told me afterwards, and so did Bob Chowne, that they felt just the same, and would not shout for fear of frightening me, swimming steadily on, though where we did not know.
“I say, how warm the water is!” cried Bigley; and we others said it was. Then I thought of something to say.
We had each tied our clothes up as tightly as we could in our pocket-handkerchiefs, and so it was a long time before they were regularly saturated and heavy.