IV BUSTING OFF 205 



In very gingerly fashion I backed the boat 

 ashore. A swell carried It right up to him. He 

 began sliding the wood aboard over the stern. 

 ■ But the sea receded, leaving the boat high and dry 

 on the ledge. Succeeding waves were not big 

 enough to float her oft. Instead, they rocked her 

 on her keel, as if she herself had been a piece of 

 wreckage. The wood slid from one side to the 

 other. The heavy pit-props began rolling about: 

 one could hear the boat crack under them. I was 

 rolling too, and nearly broke an oar; did break a 

 thole-pin. Wave after wave fell short; they only 

 hit the boat, without lifting her. The rough rock 

 was grinding Into her timbers underneath. To 

 hear it, to feel it. . . . One feels for a boat 

 at such times as If It were a living thing. 

 Benjie's leisurely sliding in of his rubbishy wood 

 seemed deliberate cruelty to the unhappy little 

 craft. I 'busted off' ; and with all the long- 

 shore language at my command, I swore hard at 

 him. 



And then, of course, after we were once more 

 afloat, I was ashamed. For Benjie is venerable 

 and to be respected, above all in a boat. 



He, however, was not In the least put out. 

 He treated my forcibleness as merely another 



