“But we are never going to the yacht in that crazy little boat?” whispered Jack nervously.
“The sailors came to shore in it,” said Sir John quietly, “so why should we mind?”
“But it seems so slight and thin,” faltered the boy to his father.
“Are you afraid, Jack?” asked Sir John gravely. “If so you had better stay on the pier while we go.”
The lad was silent. That he was afraid was plainly written in his face—plainly, that is, to those who knew him. To a stranger it would have seemed to be the pallor of his complexion.
Sir John said no more, but made way for Doctor Instow to step down into the boat, and at a sign he descended and held out his hand to Jack.
“I can manage, thank you,” said the lad, and he jumped down on to one of the thwarts, and then, without assistance, took his place in the stern sheets; his father and the captain followed, the latter gave a short, sharp order, the boat was vigorously thrust away into the stream, and the next minute the four men were sending her along with a regular stroke which seemed to make the slightly-built boat throb and quiver.
For a few minutes the utterly foreign sensation was absolutely painful to the boy; and as the land appeared to glide away from them, a sensation of giddiness attacked him as he sat hearing conversation going on, but understanding nothing, till, as he turned his eyes in the captain’s direction, he saw that this gentleman was watching him curiously.
A pang shot through him, and the blood began to rise to his white cheeks, as he made a tremendous effort to master the miserable sensation of abject fear which troubled him, and succeeded so far that in a minute or two he was able to give himself the appearance of looking about him, as if examining the boats they passed.
“There, young gentleman,” said the captain suddenly, “there’s the Silver Star. What do you say to her? Doesn’t she sit the water like a sea-bird?”