From Sea to Sea; Or, Clint Webb's Cruise on the Windjammer

by W. Bert Foster

I had paddled half a day at a time in Bolderhead Bay; and even the fresh water ponds about Darringford House, with their hidden springs and under-tows, had never frightened me. I was the first boy to go in swimming in the spring and it had to be a pretty cold day in the fall that drove me out of the water after the first plunge.

Of course, this sea off the boisterous islet of Cape Horn, was no warm bath. The chill of it struck through to the marrow of my bones; yet I believed I was good for several hours yet, if I could get rid of those clothes.

Undressing under water was a trick I had tried more than once; but it was those long-legged boots that scared me. They already made my lower limbs feel as heavy as lead.

Paddling with one hand I tore open my jacket with the other, ripping the buttons off or through the buttonholes as they pleased, and finally got one shoulder and arm clear. As I was fumbling to get the other arm out of the sleeve I felt the handle of my knife.

The coat stuck to my left shoulder; but a few slashes cleared me of the garment. It went floating away on the tide.

I had bobbed up and down in this operation; but was none the worse for the plunges under the surface, being careful to breathe no water into my lungs.

With the knife I slit both my shirts and tore them off. But the boots were the problem that shook me. I had to rest a bit before I tackled them.

I doubled up in a sitting posture and made a slash at one bootleg. Down I went—down, down, until it was a fight to get up again—especially with my fist closed upon my knife handle. It was pretty hard work; every slash meant a plunge under. It was slow.

I would draw up my left foot, for example, paddle vigorously with my left hand, take a long breath, make a slash with the knife in my right hand—and start for the bottom of the sea!

But I got those boots off at last, though not without suffering several cuts and slashes upon my legs, which the salt seawater stung tremendously. I had already gotten rid of my belt, and my trousers came off easier. I was sorry to lose some things in my pockets; but was glad to think that my father’s chronometer was hanging above my berth in the Gullwing’s fo’castle and that what money I had was in the keeping of Captain Bowditch.