William Kingston - Digby Heathcote - The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir

“Toby,” said Digby, “I want to learn how to swim.”

“Then come along, master,” replied the old man, and they rowed across to a quiet little bay, with a sandy shore, sheltered by rocks, on the side of the river opposite the town. “Pull off your clothes, master,” said Toby, as they were still some little way from the shore.

Digby did as he was bid.

“Now, jump overboard,” added Toby.

Digby stood up, but as he looked into the water and could see no bottom, he shuddered at the thought of plunging in. Toby passed a band round his waist with a rope to it, but Digby scarcely perceived this – he felt himself pushed, and over he went, heels over head, under the water.

“Oh, I’m drowning, I’m drowning,” he cried out when he came to the surface.

“Oh no, you’re not, master, you’re all right,” said the old man. “Strike out for the shore, and try if you can’t swim there.”

Digby did strike out, but wildly, and not in a way that would have kept him afloat.

“That’s the way you’d have done if the boat was capsized, and you’d have drowned yourself and any one who came to help you,” remarked Toby; “but catch hold of this oar. Now strike away with your feet, right astern; not out of the water, though; keep them lower down. That’s the way to go ahead. Steady, though; strike both of them together. Slow, though; slower. We’re in no hurry, there’s plenty of time; you can learn the use of your hands another day. Draw your legs well under you. Now, as I give the word – strike out, draw up; strike out, draw up. That will do famously. If you keep steadily at it you’ll learn to swim in a very few days.”

Digby felt rather tired when he and the boat at length reached the shore. He had some notion that he had towed her there, which he had not, though. He had learned an important part of the art of swimming. When he came out of the water, and had dressed, Toby showed him how to use his hands.

“Now, Master Heathcote, look here. Do as I do.”

Toby put his hands together, with the fingers straight out and close to each other, and the palms slightly hollowed. Then he brought them up to his breast, and darting them forward, separated his hands and pressed them backwards till he brought his elbows down to the hips, close to his body, and again turned his wrists till his hands once more got back to the attitude with which he had started. He made Digby do this over and over again, till he was quite eager to jump into the water and put his knowledge into practice.

“No, no, master,” said Toby, “you’ve had bathing enough to-day. Just do you keep on doing those movements whenever you have a spare moment, and to-morrow we’ll see how well you can do them in the water.”

Digby was certain that not only would he do them perfectly, but that he should be able to swim any distance.

Toby said nothing, but his nose curled up in its quiet funny way.

The next day was very fine, and all the boys came down to bathe, and to see Digby swim, as he boasted he could do perfectly well. They crossed over to the bay, all of them getting ready for a plunge.

“Now, Digby,” cried Marshall, when they got near the shore, “overboard we go.”

“All right,” cried Digby, putting his hands into the scientific attitude, as far as he could recollect it; and, with great courage, he jumped into the water.

Somehow or other, he could not tell why, down he went some way under the surface, and when he came up he had forgotten all about the way to strike out which Toby had taught him. Instead of that, he flung about his arms and kicked his legs out in the wildest manner, and would have gone down again had not Marshall swam up alongside him, and, putting his hand under his chin, told him to keep perfectly quiet till he had collected his senses. He had resolution enough to do this, and was surprised to find himself floating on the surface of the water with so little support.

“Bravo, Master Marshall,” cried Toby. “Now strike out, Master Heathcote, as I showed you.”

The recollection of how to strike came back to Digby, and, to his great delight, he found himself making some progress towards the shore, his friend still holding him up by the chin.

“Let me go, I am sure I can swim alone,” he cried.

Marshall did so, but, after a few strokes, down he went, and again he forgot what he had done so satisfactorily on dry land. His feet, however, touched the bottom, and, hopping on one leg, he went on striking out with his hands, and fancying that he was swimming, till he reached the shore. His companions, of course, laughed at him, but he did not mind that, and, running in again, he made one or two more successful attempts, but he forbore boasting any more of the distance he was going to swim. When once again he had gone out till the water reached his chin, he found the boat close to him.

“Don’t be swimming any more, Master Heathcote, but give me your hand,” said Toby, taking it. “There, now throw yourself on your back, stick your legs out, put your head back as far as it will go, lift up your chest, now don’t move, let your arms hang down. There, I’ll hold you steady; a feather would do it. Now you feel how the water keeps you up. There, you might stay there for an hour, or a dozen hours for that matter, if it wasn’t for the cold, in smooth water. You’ll learn to swim in a very few days now, I see, without your clothes, and then you must learn with your clothes on. If I couldn’t have done that I should not have been here; I should have been drownded long ago.”

Thus discoursing, the old man let Digby float by the side of the boat till he had been long enough in the water, and then he helped him out and made him dress quickly.

The other boys then got in, and consulted together how they should spend the remainder of the afternoon. Power, who was the chief fisherman of the party, voted for going outside and trying to catch some mackerel. No objections were made. Toby consented: he had lines and hooks in the boat.

They pulled down to the mouth of the river, and were very soon in the open sea. There was scarcely any wind, the sea was blue and bright, the coast was picturesque, with rocky headlands, and white sandy bay; and green downs above, and cliffs on which numberless wildfowl had taken up their habitations. As they pulled close under the rocks, numbers of gulls flew out, screaming loudly at the intruders on their domains.

“I have often thought, when I have heard people talking of their ancient families and their ancient homes, how much more ancient are the families and the abodes of those white-coated gentry,” observed Marshall. “Up there, now, perhaps, the ancestors of those birds have lived, from generation to generation, since the flood. They witnessed the first peopling of our tight little island by the painted savages, who were as barbarous as the New Zealanders or the Fejee Islanders of the present century; the landing of Julius Caesar and his warriors, the battles of the Norsemen, the Danes, and the Saxons, and the defeat of the Spanish armada. I wish that they could tell us all the interesting things they have seen.”

Easton liked the idea. Digby did not understand it, for his knowledge of history was very limited.

“I know what they’ve seen,” observed Toby. “They’ve seen many a cargo of smuggled silks, and teas, and brandies run hereabouts, in days gone by.”

“Oh, those smugglers are jolly fellows!” exclaimed Digby. “I should like to see something of their fun. I can’t fancy any finer sport than landing a cargo and having to run the gauntlet among a whole posse of revenue officers.”

“Something like prisoners’ base, you would say,” observed Marshall, “only, I suspect, with a greater chance of being caught and shut up for a longer time than would be pleasant.”