Terror raised his hair
erect--his mouth was wide open--he could not speak--he tried to analyse
it, but a wave dashed in his face--his eyes and mouth were filled with
salt water, and the corporal threw himself down on the thwarts of the
boat, quite regardless whether it went to the bottom or not; there he
lay, half groaning, half praying, with his hands to his eyes, and his
huge nether proportion raised in the air, every limb trembling with
blended cold and fright. One hour more, and there would have been
nothing but corporal parts of Corporal Spitter.
The reason why the last movement of the corporal did not swamp the boat,
was simply that it was aground on one of the flats; and the figure which
had alarmed the conscience-stricken corporal, was nothing more than the
outside beacon of a weir for catching fish, being a thin post with a
cross bar to it, certainly not unlike Smallbones in figure, supposing
him to have put his arms in that position.
For upwards of an hour did the corporal lie reversed, when the day
dawned, and the boat had been left high and dry upon the flat. The
fishermen came down to examine their weir, and see what was their
success, when they discovered the boat with its contents.
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