“You are all right now,” I said; “but before you attempt to do anything else, learn to strike out with your feet with regular strokes. Pull your knees up, and then shove them out horizontally even with the surface of the water. There, that will do capitally; you see how fast you shove the grating ahead.”
Truck on this slackened out more rope; and Dick, delighted, soon carried the rope out as far as it would go. Then, turning the grating round, I made him push it back again towards the vessel.
“Now rest a bit—just as I am doing,” I said; “don’t move, but let your legs and body float up; just touch the grating with your arms stretched out, and as much of your body as possible under the water. There, you see, you float like a cork. Now you observe that, if you remain perfectly quiet, the water will float your body. All the grating now does is to support your head; but if you were to turn on your back, and let your head sink down into the water, with only your face above, the water would support your head.”
Dick did as I suggested, and was quite surprised to find how perfectly he floated.
“Now, you see, when swimming, you require only the movement of your arms to keep your head above water, although they also assist you to progress and to guide yourself; but the feet make most of the onward movement. Just try without the grating, and the rope will bring you up if you sink.”
Dick, who was quite rested again, did as I advised, and managed to get from one end of the vessel to the other, although it must be confessed that more water ran down his throat than he found pleasant. I then showed him how he could tread water, by keeping his body perfectly upright with his arms folded; here was a still greater surprise to him, and he was thus able to keep his chin well out of the water, and sometimes, by striking hard, to raise his shoulders even above the surface.
“This is capital!” he exclaimed. “Though I had read about swimming, I had no notion how it was done; and I could not have supposed it possible that water could float me so easily. I had tried several times in the ponds, and nearly drowned myself.”
“Ah, but we have got the salt-water of the Atlantic here, which is far more buoyant than the fresh water,” I observed.
Dick was so delighted that it was with difficulty we could get him to come on board again and dress for breakfast.
“You’ll make a first-rate swimmer in a few days, sir,” said Paul Truck, as he assisted him up the side. “I’ll tell you why—you have no more fear than a Newfoundland dog. The reason people can’t swim is that they fancy that they can’t; whereas, the Newfoundland dog knows that he can, and goes in and does it.”