The Junior Classics, Volume 5: Stories that never grow old
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The Junior Classics, Volume 5: Stories that never grow old
Children's literature
What the shore was, whether rock or sand, whether steep or shoal,
we knew not; the only hope that could rationally give us the least
shadow of expectation was, if we might happen into some bay or
gulf, or the mouth of some river, where by great chance we might
have run our boat in, or got under the lee of the land, and
perhaps made smooth water. But there was nothing of this appeared;
but as we made nearer and nearer the shore, the land looked more
frightful than the sea.
After we had rowed, or rather driven, about a league and a half,
as we reckoned it, a raging wave, mountain-like, came rolling
astern of us, and plainly bade us expect the _coup de grace_.
In a word, it took us with such a fury that it overset the boat at
once; and separating us as well from the boat as from one another,
gave us not time hardly to say, "O God!" for we were all swallowed
up in a moment.
Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I
sank into the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could not
deliver myself from the waves so as to draw breath, till that wave
having driven me, or rather carried me, a vast way on toward the
shore, and having spent itself, went back and left me upon the
land, almost dry, but half dead with the water I took in. I had so
much presence of mind, as well as breath left, that seeing myself
nearer the mainland than I expected, I got upon my feet, and
endeavored to make on toward the land as fast as I could, before
another wave should return and take me up again; but I soon found
it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the sea come after me as
high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy, which I had no
means or strength to contend with: my business was to hold my
breath, and raise myself upon the water, if I could; and so by
swimming to preserve my breathing, and pilot myself toward the
shore if possible, my greatest concern now being that the wave, as
it would carry me a great way toward the shore when it came on,
might not carry me back again with it when it gave back toward the
sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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