"You are not smart enough for that," he replied, looking me over.
"If I don't know, I can learn," I answered, seeing my hopes slipping away.
"You are too slight, my son, that is what I mean. There, go away; I have no time to talk to you," and with that he turned and faced the crew as before.
Rebuffed and discouraged, I stood still, but he taking no further notice of me, I at last made my way to the lower deck, and now by the opposite stairs, so as not to be seen from the shore. In this way I reached the farther side of the boat, where I stopped, filled with such disappointment and shame that I could not find it in my heart to go back to Constance. While thus waiting, not knowing what to do, a woman standing by my side gave a cry, and as she did so I heard a splash and at the same moment the wail of a frightened child.
"Oh, my God, my baby!" she screamed, wringing her hands and leaning over the water as if about to throw herself headlong into the stream. Looking down, the child had disappeared, but while I gazed it came to the surface a little way below, and doing so, threw up its hands imploringly as it again sank beneath the water. This distressing sight and the cries of the poor woman were such as would have stirred any one, and without thinking I threw off my shoes, and running to the spot where the child had disappeared, plunged into the stream. The water being clear, I found the little thing directly, and supporting it with my arm, brought it to the surface. Now, indeed, I was thankful to my dear father for having one day thrown me headlong into the pool at Wild Plum, in sport, he said, to make me swim whether I would or no. Putting my arm about the child, I lifted it to my shoulder, and with the other turned about to regain the boat. This I might easily have done had the water been still, but the current turning outward with the bend in the river, or from some other cause, carried me swiftly in the opposite direction. Saying some soft words to the child, I soon had it quieted, for it was in no way the worse for the ducking that I could see. Then, on its showing some further uneasiness, I made as if we were having a lark, whereupon it laughed, and taking up the water in its hand, dashed it in my face, crowing with glee, as if it were great sport. The little thing's weight was nothing, and I carried it as easily as I would a riding-whip; but having the use of only one arm I could make no headway whatever. As we drifted farther into the stream the current grew stronger, boiling and bubbling about us, but without adding much, if any, to the labor of keeping afloat. At first I plainly heard the captain giving orders to man the yawl, but while this was being done, the father of the child, a poor deck-hand, frenzied with grief, sprang into the river. This, foolishly, as it appeared, for he could not swim a stroke, and so sank where he fell. Thus he had first to be rescued, and when the boat at last turned in my direction I was but a speck on the distant water. The exertion of keeping afloat did not in any way tax my strength, but not knowing the cause of the delay I could not make out why they were so long in coming to our relief. Finally, no boat appearing, I thought they had given us up for lost. At this I was greatly discouraged, for I could see no way by which I could reach the shore unaided, because of the swift current, which now ran like a mill-race. While meditating on what I should do, I looked back, and to my great joy saw the boat coming toward us. At this I felt as good as new, and thus we floated on past the bend in the river, and out of sight. This only for a moment, for the boat quickly came into view again, throwing the spray high on either side, as if skimming the water like a bird. Then in a moment they lifted us aboard, and we were saved, the captain taking off his jacket and wrapping it about my body, the mate doing the same for my little companion. When we were thus tucked up, and not until then, the captain spoke, but it was no longer the voice I had heard, but that of a soft-hearted, compassionate man.
"How do you think you find yourself now, my son?"
"I'm all right, sir," I answered, as indeed I was.
"We should have reached you sooner, but for that fool of a deck-hand. I expect you found the water pretty cold?" he asked, fastening his jacket more securely about my body.
"Not at first, sir, nor enough to hurt. The little one, though, looks pinched. See how blue its lips are," I answered, no whit the worse for my bath.
Upon this the captain called to the mate to rub the child's hands and limbs and wrap it up more warmly, but the little thing was in nowise cast down. Brought up on the river, it looked on the water as its home, and this fortunately for me, for it gave me no trouble whatever, but from the first treated the whole thing as if it were play.