"This
cannot and shall not be. You shall not drive the boy out in such
weather; the sea is an open grave, as it were!"
"Mr. Lion!" cried Mohammed, advancing toward him, his arms folded on
his breast. "Look at me! Why do you call me a boy? Am I not taller
than many of the men on our island; am I not stronger than many boys
of eighteen?"
"It is true," said Mr. Lion. "Though only fourteen, you are no
longer a boy. I beg your pardon, Mohammed Ali, for considering your
years and not your strength. But all the same, whether youth or boy,
no one goes to sea in such weather."
"I will show you that one does go to sea in such weather, when good
wages are to be made!" exclaimed Mohammed, as he, before the
merchant could prevent him, quickly ran down to the little inlet,
loosened Omar's boat from its fastening, and sprang into it.
He was soon out among the waves. They roar and surge around him, but
what cares he? He throws himself down in the boat and holds fast
with both hands. The waves alternately lift him aloft, and bury him
out of sight. It is splendid sport. It is long since Mohammed has
felt so well as now, when tossed in his frail skiff on the foaming
deep. He shouts in exultation
"Thus will I battle my life long! Thus will I ever vanquish
difficulties through life! And see, the wind is favorable, and I
shall get over!"
What he had exultingly shouted to the waves, took place; he got
safely over, found the nets in good condition, drew them ashore, and
waited on the rock until the storm had somewhat subsided.
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