We did not, however, allow his profanity to delay us, but hastened
to the Cross, expecting to take a coach for the Old Swan. But none was to
be found, so we went to the river, where we were compelled to take an
open boat with a steersman and one oarsman. We made poor headway, having
to beat against the wind and the tide, so George and I each took an oar.
After a time the man at the steering oar said that he would row if George
or I would steer the boat, but neither of us knew the river and therefore
could not take his place.
Betty said that she knew the river, having kept a small boat since she
was strong enough to lift an oar, so she took the steering oar, and with
four sweeps out we sped along at a fine rate. I shall never forget that
water ride. We seemed to be pulling uphill every fathom of the way. The
black, oily waves, with their teethlike crests of white, rose above our
bow at every stroke of the sweeps, and when I looked behind me it seemed
that we must surely be engulfed.
The snow, driven by the wind, swirled in angry blasts, and the damp, cold
air chilled us to the bone. Our greatest danger would be when we came to
land at the Bridge stairs, for the tide was pouring in through the arches
of the Bridge and was falling in a great cataract just below the foot of
the stairs. One false stroke of Betty's steering oar when we came to
land, and our boat would be swamped. But she clung to the oar and brought
us safely to the stairs within a fathom of the breakers.
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