Boy Tar Page 12

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  HUGGING THE STAFF.

  Fortunately for me I had learnt to swim, and I was a tolerably good handat it. It was the most useful accomplishment I could have possessed atthat moment; and but for it I should have been drowned on the instant.Diving, too, I could do a little at, else the ducking I then receivedwould have discomfited me a good deal; for I went quite to the bottomamong the ugly black stones.

  I stayed there not a moment longer than I could help, but mounted backto the surface like a duck; and then, rising upon the wave, lookedaround me. My object in so doing was to get sight of the signal-staff,and with the spray driving in my eyes this was not so easy. Just like awater-dog searching for some object in the water, I had to turn twice orthrice before I saw it; for I was uncertain in which direction to lookfor it, so completely had the sudden plunge blinded me and blunted mysenses.

  I got my eyes upon it at length; not within reach, as might have beenexpected; but many yards off, quite twenty, I should think! Wind andtide had been busy with me; and had I left them to themselves for tenminutes more, they would have carried me to a point from which I shouldnever have been able to swim back.

  As soon as I espied the post I struck directly for it--not indeed that Ivery clearly knew what I should do when I got there, but urged on with asort of instinct that something might interfere in my favour. I wasacting just as men act when in danger of being drowned. I was catchingat straws. I need not say that I was cool: you would not believe me,nor would there be a word of truth in it, for I was far from cool in themoral sense of the word, whatever I might be personally and physically.On the contrary, I was frightened nearly out of my senses; and had justenough left to direct me back to the post, though this might only havebeen instinct. But no, something more than instinct; for I had at thesame time a keen and rational sense of the unpleasant fact, that when Ishould arrive at the post, I might be not a bit nearer to _safety_. Ihad no fear about being able to reach the staff. I had confidenceenough in my natatory powers to make me easy on that score. It was onlywhen I thought of the little help I should find there, that myapprehensions were keen, and this I was thinking of all the while I wasin the water.

  I could easily have climbed the staff as far as the cask, but nofarther. To get to the top was beyond my power; one of thosedifficulties which even the fear of death cannot overcome. I had triedit till I was tired of trying; in short, till I saw I could not do it.Could I only have accomplished that feat, I might have done so before,for I took it for granted that on that high perch I should have beensafe, and the nine-gallon barrel would have been large enough to havegiven me a seat where I might without difficulty have weathered thestorm.

  Another reason there was why it would have been the best place for me.Had I succeeded in mounting up there before nightfall, some one upon theshore might have noticed me, and then the adventure would have endedwithout all this peril. I even thought at the time of those things, andwhile clambering up the shaft entertained hopes that some one mightobserve me. I afterwards learned that some one did--more than one--idlers along shore; but not knowing who it was, and very naturallybelieving that some Sabbath-breaking boys had gone out to the reef toamuse themselves--part of that amusement being to "swarm" up thesignal-staff--I was set down as one of those, and no farther notice wastaken of me.

  I could not have continued to go up the staff. It speedily tired meout; besides, as soon as I perceived the necessity for erecting theplatform, I needed every second of the time that was left me for thatwork.

  All the above thoughts did not pass through my mind while I was in thewater struggling back to the staff, though some of them did. I thoughtof the impossibility of climbing up above the barrel--that was clear tome; and I thought also of what I should do when I reached the post, andthat was not clear to me. I should be able to lay hold upon the staff,as I had done before, but how I was to retain my hold was the unsolvedproblem. And it remained so, till I had got up and seized the staff,and indeed for a good while after.

  Well, I reached the pole at length, after a great deal of buffetting,having the wind and tide, and even the rain in my teeth. But I reachedit, and flung my arms around it as if it had been some dear old friend.Nor was it aught else. Had it not been for that brave stick, I might aswell have stayed at the bottom.

  Having clutched hold of it, I felt for some moments almost as if I hadbeen saved. I experienced no great difficulty in keeping my limbsafloat so long as I had such a support for my arms, though the work wasirksome enough.

  Had the sea been perfectly calm I could have stood it for a long time;perhaps till the tide had gone out again, and this would have been all Icould have desired. But the sea was not calm, and that altered thecase. There had been a short lull with the smoother sea just as Ireturned to the staff, and even this was a fortunate circumstance, as itgave me time to rest and recover my breath.

  Only a short respite it was, and then came wind and rain and roughseas--rougher than ever. I was first lifted up nearly to the barrel,and then let down again with a pitch, and then for some minutes was keptswinging about--the staff serving as a pivot--like some wonderfulacrobat performing his feats in a gymnasium.

  I withstood the first shock, and though it bowled me about, I held onmanfully. I knew I was holding on for my life, and "needs must;" but Ihad slight reason to be satisfied. I felt how near it was to taking me,and I had gloomy forebodings about the result. Worse might come after,and I knew that a few struggles like this last would soon wear me out.

  What, then, could I do that would enable me to hold on? In the intervalbetween the great seas, this was my ruling thought. If I had only beenpossessed of a rope, I could have tied myself to the staff; but then arope was as far away as a boat, or an easy chair by my uncle's fireside.It was no use thinking of a rope, nor did I waste time in doing so; butjust at that moment, as if some good spirit had put the idea into myhead, I thought of something as good as a rope--a _substitute_. Yes,the very thing came up before my mind, as though Providence had guidedme to think of it.

  You are impatient to hear what it was. You shall hear.

  Around my arms and shoulders I wore a garment familiarly known as a"cord jacket"--a roundabout of corduroy cloth, such as boys in thehumbler ranks of life use to wear, or did when I was a boy. It was myeveryday suit, and after my poor mother's death it had come to be mySunday wear as well. Let us say nothing to disparage this jacket. Ihave since then been generally a well-dressed man, and have wornbroadcloth of the finest that West of England looms could produce; butall the wardrobe I ever had would not in one bundle weigh as much in myestimation as that corduroy jacket. I think I may say that I owe mylife to it.

  Well, the jacket chanced to have a good row of buttons upon it--not thecommon horn, or bone, or flimsy lead ones, such as are worn nowadays,but good, substantial metal buttons--as big as a shilling every way, andwith strong iron eyes in them. Well was it for me they were so good andstrong.

  I had the jacket upon my person, and that, too, was a chance in myfavour, for just as like I might not have had it on. When I started toovertake the boat, I had thrown off both jacket and trousers; but on myreturn from that expedition, and before I had got as badly scared as Ibecame afterwards, I had drawn my clothes on again. The air had turnedrather chilly all of a sudden, and this it was that influenced me tore-robe myself. All a piece of good fortune, as you will presentlyperceive.

  What use, then, did I make of the jacket? Tear it up into strips, andwith these tie myself to the staff? No. That might have been done, butit would have been rather a difficult performance for a person swimmingin a rough sea, and having but one hand free to make a knot with. Itwould even have been out of my power to have taken the jacket off mybody, for the wet corduroy was clinging to my skin as if it had beenglued there. I did not do this, then; but I followed out a plan thatserved my purpose as well--perhaps better. I opened wide my jacket,laid my breast against the signal-staff, and, meeting
the loose flaps onthe other side, buttoned them from bottom to top.

  Fortunately the jacket was wide enough to take in all. My uncle neverdid me a greater favour in his life--though I did not think so at thetime--than when he made me wear an ugly corduroy jacket that was "milestoo big" for me.

  When the buttoning was finished, I had a moment to rest and reflect--thefirst for a long while.

  So far as being washed away was concerned, I had no longer anything tofear. The post itself might go, but not without me, or I without it.From that time forward I was as much part of the signal-staff as thebarrel at its top--indeed, more, I fancy--for a ship's hawser would nothave bound me faster to it than did the flaps of that strong corduroy.

  Had the keeping close to the signal-staff been all that was wanted Ishould have done well enough, but, alas! I was not yet out of danger;and it was not long ere I perceived that my situation was but littleimproved. Another vast breaker came rolling over the reef, and washedquite over me. In fact, I began to think that I was worse fixed thanever; for in trying to fling myself upward as the wave rose, I foundthat my fastening impeded me, and hence the complete ducking that Ireceived. When the wave passed on, I was still in my place; but whatadvantage would this be? I should soon be smothered by such repeatedimmersions. I should lose strength to hold up, and would then slidedown to the bottom of the staff, and be drowned all the same--althoughit might be said that I had "died by the standard!"