“Well, skipper,” growled Wat, “I won’t say I don’t know the bearings of the channels; but if you like to take the rudder I’ll give up to you.”
This being tantamount to a declaration of his own want of knowledge, Gil began cautiously to feel his way about, with the result that the first two steps he took placed him up to his chin in water, that would, he felt, be over his head at the next.
Dressed as he was, swimming was a most difficult task, the high, heavy boots he wore filling with water, and being sufficient to drag him down; and yet sooner or later he felt that he should be obliged to trust to his powers as a swimmer, and gave the hint to his companion.
“Be ready to swim, Wat,” he whispered.
“No, no; there be no need to swim,” was the response. “Only hit the right place, and it won’t reach above your boots.”
Gil did not respond, but tried in various directions, always to find the water deepen; and at last he stood with it bubbling at his lips, and he knew that the next moment he must strike out.
Even now he could have made an effort to go back ashore in the direction of the house, but it might mean an encounter with the founder, and this was to be avoided at all hazards, for Mace’s sake; and after all, he thought, what was before them was nothing more than a good swim, for he never once realised the fact that there was danger in his position: it seemed more ludicrous than full of peril.
He gave a glance round, and, having decided in his own mind where lay the shore they sought to reach, he uttered a low warning to Wat, and tried to wade towards it.
The second step rendered it necessary for him to swim, and striking out boldly he had gone a few yards before he turned his head to speak to Wat.
“This way,” he whispered; but there was no response for a few moments, and then, with a hoarse blowing noise, the old sailor spluttered out, “Why, I went right over my head.”