The day after he met Clara he started for Birmingham, and although York was certainly not ‘on his way,’ he pushed forward to the city and reached it on a Saturday evening. He was to spend Sunday there, and on Sunday morning he proposed that they should hear the cathedral service, and go for a walk in the afternoon. To this suggestion Benjamin partially assented. He wished to go to the cathedral in the morning, but thought his father had better rest after dinner. Baruch somewhat resented the insinuation of possible fatigue consequent on advancing years.
‘What do you mean?’ he said; ‘you know well enough I enjoy a walk in the afternoon; besides, I shall not see much of you, and do not want to lose what little time I have.’
About three, therefore, they started, and presently a girl met them, who was introduced simply as ‘Miss Masters.’
‘We are going to your side of the water,’ said the son; ‘you may as well cross with us.’
They came to a point where a boat was moored, and a man was in it. There was no regular ferry, but on Sundays he earned a trifle by taking people to the opposite meadow, and thus enabling them to vary their return journey to the city. When they were about two-thirds of the way over, Benjamin observed that if they stood up they could see the Minster. They all three rose, and without an instant’s warning—they could not tell afterwards how it happened—the boat half capsized, and they were in eight or nine feet of water. Baruch could not swim and went down at once, but on coming up close to the gunwale he caught at it and held fast. Looking round, he saw that Benjamin, who could swim well, had made for Miss Masters, and, having caught her by the back of the neck, was taking her ashore. The boatman, who could also swim, called out to Baruch to hold on, gave the boat three or four vigorous strokes from the stern, and Baruch felt the ground under his feet. The boatman’s little cottage was not far off, and, when the party reached it, Benjamin earnestly desired Miss Masters to take off her wet clothes and occupy the bed which was offered her. He himself would run home—it was not half-a-mile—and, after having changed, would go to her house and send her sister with what was wanted. He was just off when it suddenly struck him that his father might need some attention.
‘Oh, father—’ he began, but the boatman’s wife interposed.
‘He can’t be left like that, and he can’t go home; he’ll catch his death o’ cold, and there isn’t but one more bed in the house, and that isn’t quite fit to put a gentleman in. Howsomever, he must turn in there, and my husband, he can go into the back-kitchen and rub himself down. You won’t do yourself no good, Mr Cohen,’ addressing the son, whom she knew, ‘by going back; you’d better stay here and get into bed with your father.’
In a few minutes the boatman would have gone on the errand, but Benjamin could not lose the opportunity of sacrificing himself for Miss Masters. He rushed off, and in three-quarters of an hour had returned with the sister. Having learned, after anxious inquiry, that Miss Masters, so far as could be discovered, had not caught a chill, he went to his father.
‘Well, father, I hope you are none the worse for the ducking,’ he said gaily. ‘The next time you come to York you’d better bring another suit of clothes with you.’
Baruch turned round uneasily and did not answer immediately. He had had a narrow escape from drowning.