Dick was in a rage, no doubt about that. I pulled round, and in spite of all my efforts could make no headway. Dick shouted, and swore, but to no purpose. I might have cracked my sinews with pulling, but still the boat would keep drifting down and down, running a great risk of getting athwart-hawse of some of the vessels moored a dozen yards below me. At last, Dick did what he might as well have done at first—stepped into another boat with his mate, and came after me. He soon brought me back as a prize. His temper was in no way soothed, though I cried out, again and again, I could not help it.
“Jump ashore now, lad,” he said, as we touched the Hard. “Next time you’ll do what I tell you you may do. I never said you might go and run the chance of getting the boat stove in, and yourself drownded. I keeps my family in order, whatever other people may do.”
Obeying old Dick, I stood disconsolately on the Hard, while he took his fare on board, and pulled away across to Gosport, without deigning to waste another word on me. However, I soon recovered my spirits, and amused myself making an excursion over the huge logs of timber that occupy a considerable space in that nook of the harbour.
I was running along on the more steady pieces of timber which formed the boundary of the pond, when I saw a boy in a boat, placed very much in the position from which I had just escaped. In vain he attempted to stem the tide. He was evidently not accustomed to a boat. He looked round, and saw that the boat was drifting towards the cable of a vessel moored off the Hard. I shouted out to him to pull hard with his starboard oar; but, instead of so doing, he jumped up, and caught hold of the cable, across which the boat had just then come, letting go at the same time one of his oars, which fell overboard. He now clung to the chain, and the current swept the boat away from under his feet.
“Hold on! hold on, for your life!” I shouted out; but, instead of so doing, he let go, expecting to regain his boat. He tried to swim, but he was evidently a bad swimmer. I looked round. No boat was near. I saw there was every chance of his being drowned. I was a capital swimmer; so, hoping to save the lad, I plunged in, and followed him. Just as I was taking the leap, I caught sight of old Dick, coming across the harbour. I shouted at the very top of my voice, pointing to the place where the boy was floating away. This gave me some hopes that we should be picked up. I soon saw that I had miscalculated the distance, for the boy seemed a very, very long way off. I had very little hopes of helping him, and thought it very likely I should get drowned myself, when I saw a hawser, somewhat slack, stretched across the course down which the boy was drifting. “If he has got any sense, he will catch hold of it,” I thought. How thankful I felt when I saw him grasp it! As I got near, he cried out—
“Help! help! I can hold on no longer!”
“Hold on, whatever you do?” I cried out. “Oh dear! oh dear!” he shouted again, “what will become of the boat? what will become of the boat?”
He was evidently getting somewhat stupid and confused. I redoubled my efforts, and grasping the hawser with one hand, caught hold of his jacket with the other, just as he was relaxing his grasp.
“Now, stupid!” I cried out, “just catch hold of this rope again, and hold on! You don’t want to get drowned, do you?”
“No, I don’t; but you had no business to call me stupid,” he exclaimed, in an indignant tone.