That
splendid, lithe young lad performed prodigies of strength and courage;
the hulk and the little boat sank down,--down until the steamer's
mast-head disappeared; then with a rush the wave slid away, and the
craft came toppling down the hither side of the mountain, and still that
lithe figure was there, toiling fiercely and cleverly. Soon with a bound
and a loud laugh, he was on board of us again, and no one could tell
from one tremor of his merry, tawny face that he had been, of a truth,
looking into the very jaws of death.
This splendid man was innocent as a child of all worldly affairs
unconnected with the sea. He once told me, "I can make a shift to get
along with an easy book; but if I come to a hard word, I cry
'Wheelbarrows,' and skip him." On his own topics he was very sensible,
and no owner could have found fault with him had he not been just a
little racketty on shore. In my refined days I remember reading in one
of Thackeray's books about a young lord who was much loved by one Henry
Esmond: My friend Jack was very like that young man, and you could not
get vexed with him,--or, at any rate, you could not keep vexed very
long.
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