“No, sir, I just didn’t, for it was all as slipper as slither, and as soon as I tried, the water seemed to lay hold on me and pull me back and send me on again.”
“And did you keep on like that?”
“Oh, no; I got up sometimes and tried to walk, and other times I went along sittin’.”
“But didn’t you try to come back?”
“Try, sir? What was the good? Why, the water did just what it liked with me, and wouldn’t even let me try to swim. Do you think I could ha’ got back up that waterfall? Bless your ’art, sir, seems to me as if you might as well try to get up to the moon.”
“Never mind that,” said Oliver, excitedly; “tell us about what followed,” and then he turned his head sharply, for Smith was rubbing his hands down his legs and chuckling softly now in his intense delight to see his messmate back safe and sound.
“Told you so—I told you so,” he muttered.
“Course I will, sir,” said Wriggs. “Well, you see the water kept carrying me along in the dark, and as fast as I managed to get up it downed me again and began to stuffycate me, only I wouldn’t have that, and got up again and tried to stand. But it warn’t no use, the bottom was too slithery, and down I goes again in the darkness, thinking it was all over with me, but I gets the better of it again, and on I goes sailing along, sometimes up and sometimes down, and a-swallering enough water to last me for a week.”
“Yes, go on,” cried Oliver.
“Right, sir, I’m a-goin’ on,” said Wriggs. “Where was I?”