It would not do for me to go beyond. I should have too long a swim for it; besides, the barque was about being got under sail—her canvas was already loose; and once the sails were sheeted home, they would catch the wind and carry her rapidly through the water—so rapidly that I might not be able to get aboard.
I had gone far enough. I had reached the point where it was best for me to take to the water; and, flinging off my shoes and most of my clothing, I stepped down to the water’s edge and plunged in.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The barque was not yet opposite me; but, by the rate at which she was moving, I calculated she would be so by the time I could arrive in midstream.
Brace had told me to swim for the bows—for he would be there with his rope; while, in case I should not be able to lay hold of it another would be ready at the gangway ports with a second rope. One or other would be sure to haul me in; but it would be better if I could get aboard at the bows, as then I might not be observed either by mate or skipper, and even should his majesty come after me I could be hidden away about the forecastle. The skipper, not knowing I was aboard, would, of course, deny me with a will. I was determined, therefore, to do all I could to get aboard by the bows.
I was an excellent swimmer—not surpassed by any of the Pandora’s crew, except, perhaps, by Brace himself, who was one of the best in the world. I had practised a great deal in my schooldays in rivers, fresh-water lakes, and the sea itself; and I thought nothing of swimming a mile or more without rest. Crossing from the bank of the river to midstream—a distance of not over two hundred yards—was a mere bagatelle, and I had no apprehension of not being able to accomplish it at my ease.
But although I had no apprehension about my powers of swimming, I was keenly sensible of danger from another source. I had not thought of it before that moment—for the excitement of escaping, and the difficulty of making my way through the underwood, had driven every thought of danger out of my head, except that of being pursued. The peril from behind had prevented me from dwelling upon dangers ahead; and, it was only after I had plunged into the stream, that I became the victim of a keen apprehension. Then, and not till then, did I remember the fate of the unfortunate Dutchman!—then, and not till then, did I think of the crocodiles!
A horrid sensation came over me—a dread feeling of fear. My blood ran cold—far colder than the water of the stream—perhaps at that moment I was within reach of a huge man-eating crocodile? at all events, within sight, for some of these hideous monsters were sure to be near, either by one bank or the other. Indeed, as I was about to plunge in I saw a long dark form by the shore, some twenty yards further down, which I had taken for a floating log. The noise made by my body striking the water had caused it to move. I thought then it was the current; but now, under my keen apprehensions, I thought differently. It was no dead log—it was the motion of a living creature—beyond doubt a huge crocodile!