The men were not slow to obey, and when it touched the water they swarmed into it, so that, being overloaded, it upset and left its occupants struggling in the water. A number of the men who could swim, immediately jumped overboard and tried to right the skiff, but they failed, and, in the effort to do so, broke the rope that held it. Some clung to it. Others turned and swam for the shore.
A good many of the men, however, still remained in the wreck, which was fast breaking up. To these the captain turned.
“Now, men,” he said, “those of you who can swim would do well to take to the water at once, for it is clear that we shall not have a plank left to stand on soon. Come, mate, show them an example.”
The man, though not very courageous, as his pale face betrayed, happened to be a good swimmer, and at once leaped into the sea. He was followed by all who could swim. Those who could not, were encouraged to make the attempt with planks and oars to aid them. As for Bladud, he busied himself like the captain in giving heart to the non-swimmers and showing them how best to use their floats.
The last of the men to leave was little Maikar.
He stood at the bow with his arms crossed on his chest and a look of melancholy interest on his countenance.
“What! not gone yet?” exclaimed the captain, turning to him.
“I cannot swim,” said the man.
“But neither can these,” returned the captain, pointing to the men who had left last.
“My father used to say,” rejoined Maikar, as if murmuring to himself, “that I was born to be drowned, and I’m inclined to think he was right.”