Jack at Sea: All Work and No Play Made Him a Dull Boy

by George Manville Fenn

On they went, with the wind sending the canoe rapidly along, and the blacks sat on the edge to keep her well down, and on the outrigger. The speed now was wonderful, the long elastic vessel bent and glided like some live creature over the swell, and had the blacks had another mile to go, the fate of the two prisoners would have been sealed; but at full speed now the yacht, with sail after sail shaken out to the help of the propeller, came up hand over hand, and when pretty close swayed off to windward, curved round as she glided by, and was once more answering her helm in the other direction, racing for the canoe’s bows, the steering being so true that the fore-part was forced under water while the stern rose slowly in the air. “Now for it,” said Ned sharply. Jack hesitated for a moment or two, and then tried to plant one foot upon the side and leap after his companion; but his momentary hesitation was nearly fatal, for one of the blacks made a dash at him, caught him by the shoulder, and struck at him with his raised club.

In his despair the lad forced himself forward, and instead of the head of the heavy club, it was the man’s arm which struck him across the shoulder, and the next moment they were thrown by the rising of the stern headlong amongst the struggling crowd as the canoe filled. Then all was darkness and confusion as the lad felt himself dragged down lower and lower, till it seemed as if he would never rise again.

Moments are changed to minutes at such times as these, but prolonged as the agony seemed, he was soon at the surface once more, panting for breath and beating the water like a drowning dog.

But coolness came with the strong desire for life, and he now struck out bravely as he saw the water about dotted with the black heads of his enemies, one and all swimming for the floating wreck of their canoe, whilst the yacht was far away, and Jack’s courage became despair as he kept on swimming slowly, better than he could have believed, so as to keep himself afloat.

“That’s the way, Mr Jack, sir,” came from behind him; “and you said you couldn’t swim.”

“Ned,” gasped the boy, turning in the direction of the sound, and his slow, steady strokes became on the instant fast and wild.

“Ah, don’t do that!” cried Ned, swimming alongside. “Slow and steady, sir. Don’t wind yourself. There, it’s all right; I could keep you up, but I want you to try yourself. Strike out as I told you last time we bathed. Slow and steady. Let your legs go down as far as they like. Never mind if the water comes right up to your mouth; lay your head sideways and screwed round so that you can look over your right shoulder, and rest the back of it on the water. That’s the way. Think you’re having a lesson in swimming, and do just as I do. See? We only want to keep afloat till a boat comes from the yacht to pick us up. Well done, sir. This is the best lesson in swimming you ever had.”

Jack took stroke for stroke feebly enough, and kept well afloat, but he felt all the time that if Ned were not at his side he would have begun to strike out again in frantic despairing haste, wearied himself in a very short time, and gone down.

“Man never knows what he can do till he tries, sir,” said Ned cheerily. “It’s all right. Just keep your mouth above water while you take a good long breath, and then shut it again. Lower you are the easier you float. When you’re tired you shall turn on your back, and I’ll guide you.”

“Shall we be drowned, Ned?” panted the lad. “We’ll talk about that by and by, sir. We can go on like this easy in the sea for an hour, if you do as I tell you. Now then, we’re not running a race. Just try to think you’re standing in the water, and to move your hands as slowly as you can. It’s all right, Mr Jack, sir. We’ve escaped. Here’s the yacht coming back to pick us up, and they’ve got one of the cutters ready to drop with the men in her. Don’t you say nothing. You just attend to your swimming lesson: I’ll do all the talking. I learnt to swim when I was a little bit of a nipper and went with the boys at school. They used to pitch me in, so that I was obliged to swim, I can tell you. That was only fresh water. It’s ever so much easier to swim in the sea—when it’s smooth. Mind you, I don’t know nothing about it when it’s rough.”