It was not a cry of fear, still less was it a shout for help. It seemed rather like an effervescing roar of indignant surprise.
The boatman held up his arms to catch the unfortunate man, but his strength availed nothing against such a weight. He was hurled into the bottom of the boat for his pains, and the captain went into the water feet first as deep as the waist. Here, however, the disaster was checked, for his strong arms caught the boat and held on.
The missionary, meanwhile, sprang forward and laid hold of him, while his man rose with wonderful agility and lent his aid.
“Heave—ahoy!” cried the missionary, grasping a waist-band.
“Yo, heave, ho!” shouted the boatman, seizing a leg. Another moment and the captain was safe in the bottom of the boat, which by that time was floating quietly down the Thames!
Great was the regret expressed by the missionary at this unfortunate event, and loud was the laughter with which it was treated by the captain himself, on being re-seated in the stern sheets.
“We must go ashore and get a change of dry clothes for you, sir.”
“Not a bit of it,” cried the captain. “Row back to the ship; I’ll mount that ladder yet. If I didn’t I’d keep dreaming of my discomfiture for a twelve-month to come.” They ran alongside the vessel a second time, and went up the side in safety.
But, arrived on deck, the skipper, who happened to be a hospitable man and friendly to the missionary, insisted on having Captain Bream down into his cabin.
“Now you’ll put on a suit of my clothes,” he said, “till your own are dry.”