In Which I Pass Through Deep Waters
But I came to the surface after a time—and with all my wits about me. I had need of them.
In these months that I had been knocking about the seas I had been in peril often. Nor was this the first time that death by drowning had threatened me.
But on no former occasion had I been in so desperate a strait. I know that in this rising gale the Gullwing could neither be hove to, nor could a boat be launched for me.
The schooner had gone on at the pace of a fast steamship. And the tide was sweeping me astern just as rapidly as the ship was sailing. When I rose breast high on the first breaker I saw the Gullwing’s twinkling lights so far ahead that they seemed like candle flames.
I was alone—and this was one of the loneliest seas upon all this great, round globe!
But when one is thrown into such a situation of peril as I was then, his thoughts are so confused that it is only afterward—if there is an afterward—that he analyzes his mental activities. Just then I had only the clear desire to live.
I turned on my back almost immediately and letting my legs hang well down, floated easily with my nostrils just out of water, and enjoyed two or three minutes of very, very grateful repose. I had been under the surface so long that it was some time before I could breathe clear to the bottom of my lungs again.
The buzzing in my head gradually died away. I began to think collectedly. I did not waste time thinking of rescue. At least, I could expect no help from my comrades on the Gullwing.
When I took my headlong plunge from the rigging I was clad in the heavy garb that most deep-water seamen wear. I had on two thick shirts, a heavy pea-jacket closely buttoned, and, worse than all, boots to my hips. Sooner or later all this weight of clothing would drag me down.