by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THREE.
THE "UNDER-TOW."
You will fancy that the lesson I had thus received should have been awarning to me to keep away from the water. Not so, however. So far asthat went, the ducking did me no good, though it proved beneficial inother respects. It taught me the danger of getting into water overone's depth, which I had before then but little appreciated; and youngas I was, I perceived the advantage of being able to swim. The perilfrom which I had so narrowly escaped, stimulated me to form a resolve,and that was--to learn the art of swimming.
I was encouraged in this resolution by my mother, as also by a letterreceived from my father, who was then abroad; and in which he gavedirections that I should be taught to swim in the best manner. It wasjust what I desired, and with the intention of becoming a first-rateswimmer, I went about it in right earnest. Once and sometimes twiceeach day during the warm weather--that is, after school was out--Ibetook myself to the water, where I might be seen splashing andspluttering about like a young porpoise. Some bigger boys, who hadalready learnt to swim, gave me a lesson or two; and I soon experiencedthe delightful sensation of being able to float upon my back withoutassistance from any one. I well remember how proud I felt on theoccasion when I first accomplished this natatorial feat.
And here, young reader, let me advise you by all means to imitate myexample, and learn to swim. You know not how soon you may stand in needof a knowledge of this useful art; how soon you may be called upon topractise it perforce. You know not but that sooner or later it may bethe means of saving your life.
At the present time, the chances of death by drowning are multiplied farbeyond anything of the kind in past ages. Almost everybody now travelsacross seas, oceans, and upon large rivers, and the number of people whoannually risk their lives on the water, voyaging on business, pleasure,or in the way of emigration, is scarce credible. Of these, aproportion--in stormy years a large one--perish by drowning.
I do not mean to assert that a swimmer, even the best, if cast away at agreat distance from shore, in mid-Atlantic, for instance, or even in themiddle of the English Channel--would have any prospect of swimming toland. That, of course, would be impracticable. But there are oftenother chances of life being saved, besides that of getting to land. Aboat may be reached, a spar, an empty hencoop or barrel; and there aremany instances on record of lives having been saved by such slightmeans. Another vessel, too, may be in sight, may hasten to the scene ofthe disaster, and the strong swimmer may be still afloat upon herarrival; while those who could not swim, must of course have gone to thebottom.
But you must know that it is neither in the middle of the Atlantic, norof any great ocean, that most vessels are wrecked and lives are lost.Some are, it is true--when a storm rages with extreme fury, "blowinggreat guns," as the seamen phrase it, and blowing a ship almost toatoms. These events, however, are extremely rare, and bear but a smallproportion to the number of wrecks that take place within sight of theshore, and frequently upon the beach itself. It is in "castaways" ofthis kind, that the greatest number of lives are sacrificed, undercircumstances when, by a knowledge of the art of swimming, many of themmight have been saved. Not a year passes, but there is a record ofhundreds of individuals who have been drowned within cable's length ofthe shore--ships full of emigrants, soldiers, and sailors, have sunkwith all on board, leaving only a few good swimmers survivors of thewreck! Similar "accidents" occur in rivers, scarce two hundred yards inwidth; and you yourselves are acquainted with the annual drownings, evenin the narrow and icy Serpentine!
With these facts before the eyes of the world, you will wonder that theworld does not take warning, and at once learn to swim.
It may be wondered, too, that governments do not compel the youth tolearn this simple accomplishment; but that indeed is hardly to bewondered at, since the business of governments in all ages has beenrather to tax than to teach their people.
It seems to me, however, that it would be a very easy thing forgovernments to compel all those who travel by ships, to providethemselves with a life-preserver. By this cheap and simple contrivance,I am prepared to show that thousands of lives would be annually saved;and no one would grumble at either the cost or inconvenience of carryingso useful an article.
Governments take special care to tax travellers for a piece of worthlesspaper, called a passport. Once you have paid for this, it signifies notto them how soon you and your passport go to the bottom of the sea.
Well, young reader, whether it be the desire of your government or not,take a hint from me, and make yourself a good swimmer. Set about it atonce--that is, if the weather be warm enough--and don't miss a day whileit continues so. Be a swimmer before you become a man; for when youhave reached manhood, you will most probably find neither time,opportunity, nor inclination to practise; besides, you may run manyrisks of being drowned long before there is hair upon your lip.
For myself, I have had a variety of hair-breadth escapes from drowning.The very element which I loved so dearly, seemed the most desirous ofmaking a victim of me; and I should have deemed it ungrateful, had I notknown that the wild billows were unreasoning, irresponsible creatures;and I had too recklessly laid "my hand upon their mane."
It was but a few weeks after my ducking in the pond, and I had alreadytaken several swimming lessons, when I came very near making my lastessay at this aquatic exercise.
It was not in the pond that the incident occurred, for that, being apiece of ornamental water, and private property, as I have told you, wasnot permitted to be used as a bathing place.
But the people of a sea-shore town need no lake in which to disportthemselves. The great salt sea gives them a free bath, and our villagehad its bathing beach in common with others of its kind. Of course,then, my swimming lessons were taken in salt-water.
The beach which was habitually used by the villagers, had not the bestname as a bathing place. It was pretty enough, with yellow sand, whiteshells, and pebbles; but there was what is termed an "under-tow"--in oneparticular place stronger than elsewhere; and at times it was adangerous matter to get within the influence of this "under-tow," unlessthe person so exposing himself was a good and strong swimmer.
There was a legend among the villagers, that some one had been drownedby this current; but that was an occurrence of long ago, and had almostceased to be talked about. There were also one or two more moderninstances of bathers being carried out to sea, but finally saved byboats sent after them.
I remember at that time having been struck with a fact relating to thesemishaps; and this was, that the older inhabitants of the village, andthey who were of most consequence in the place, never liked to talkabout them; either shrugging their shoulders and remaining silent, orgiving the legends a flat contradiction. Some of them even went so faras to deny the existence of an "under-tow," while others contentedthemselves by asserting that it was perfectly harmless. I alwaysnoticed, however, that parents would not permit their boys to bathe nearthe place where the dangerous current was represented to exist.
I never knew the reason why the villagers were so unwilling toacknowledge the "under-tow," and the truth of the stories connectedtherewith. That is, I knew it not until long, long afterwards--until Icame home again after my forty years of adventure. On my return, Ifound the same silence and shrugging of the shoulders, although by ageneration of villagers altogether different from those I had leftbehind. And this, too, notwithstanding that several accidents hadoccurred in my absence, to prove that the "under-tow" did actuallyexist, and that it was actually dangerous.
But I was then older and better able to reason about men's motives, andI soon fathomed the mystery. It was this: our village is, as you know,what is called a "watering-place," and derived some support fromvisitors who came to it to spend a few weeks of their summer. It is awatering-place upon a small scale, it is true, but were there to be muchtalk about the "under-tow," or too much credence given to legends ofpeople who have been drowned by it, it woul
d become a watering-place ona still smaller scale, or might cease to be one altogether. Thereforethe less you say of the "under-tow," the better for your own popularityamong the wise men of the village.
Now, my young friends, I have been making a long story about what youwill deem a very ordinary adventure, after all. It is simply to end bymy telling you that I was drowned by the "under-tow"--actually_drowned_!
You will say that I could not have been _drowned dead_, though that is adoubtful point, for, as far as my feelings were concerned, I am certainI should not have known it had I never been restored to life again. No,I should not have felt pain had I been cut into a hundred pieces while Iwas in that state, nor would I ever have come to life again had it notbeen for somebody else. That somebody else was a fine young waterman ofour village, by name Harry Blew, and to him was I indebted for my_second_ life.
The incident, as I have said, was of the ordinary kind, but I relate itto show how I became acquainted with Harry Blew, whose acquaintance andexample had an important influence on my after-life.
I had gone to the beach to bathe as usual, at a point new to me, andwhere I had not seen many people bathe before. It chanced to be one ofthe worst places for this "under-tow," and shortly after entering thewater I got into its gripe, and was drawn outward into the open sea, farbeyond the distance I could have swum back. As much from terror, thatparalysed my strength, as aught else--for I was aware of my danger--Icould swim no further, but sank to the bottom like a piece of lead!
I did not know that I had ever come up again. I knew nothing at allabout what happened after. I only remembered seeing a boat near me, anda man in it; and then all was dark, and I heard a loud rumbling likethunder in my ears, and my consciousness went out like the snuffing of acandle.
It returned again, thanks to young Harry Blew, and when I knew that Iwas still alive, I re-opened my eyes, and saw a man kneeling above me,rubbing me all over with his hands, and pushing my belly up under myribs, and blowing into my mouth, and tickling my nostrils with afeather, and performing a great variety of such antic manoeuvres uponme.
That was Harry Blew bringing me to life again; and as soon as he hadpartially succeeded, he lifted me up in his arms and carried me home tomy mother, who was nearly distracted on receiving me; and then wine waspoured down my throat, and hot bricks and bottles were put to my feet,and my nose anointed with hartshorn, and my body rolled in warmblankets, and many other appliances were administered, and many remedieshad I to take, before my friends considered the danger to be over, andthat I should be likely to live.
But it was all over at length, and in twenty hours' time I was on myfeet again, and as brisk and well as ever.
I had now had my warning of the water, if that could have been of anyservice. But it was not, as the sequel will show.