When all is said and done, it is my steadfast belief that homicide is worse than suicide, especially if, in the former case, it is a woman.Ford saved me from being a homicide."Imagine your legs are a rudder," he said."Hold them close together, and steer with them." A few minutes later I came charging in on a comber.As Ineared the beach, there, in the water, up to her waist, dead in front of me, appeared a woman.How was I to stop that comber on whose back I was? It looked like a dead woman.The board weighed seventy-five pounds, I weighed a hundred and sixty-five.The added weight had a velocity of fifteen miles per hour.The board and Iconstituted a projectile.I leave it to the physicists to figure out the force of the impact upon that poor, tender woman.And then I remembered my guardian angel, Ford."Steer with your legs!" rang through my brain.I steered with my legs, I steered sharply, abruptly, with all my legs and with all my might.The board sheered around broadside on the crest.Many things happened simultaneously.
The wave gave me a passing buffet, a light tap as the taps of waves go, but a tap sufficient to knock me off the board and smash me down through the rushing water to bottom, with which I came in violent collision and upon which I was rolled over and over.I got my head out for a breath of air and then gained my feet.There stood the woman before me.I felt like a hero.I had saved her life.And she laughed at me.It was not hysteria.She had never dreamed of her danger.Anyway, I solaced myself, it was not I but Ford that saved her, and I didn't have to feel like a hero.And besides, that leg-steering was great.In a few minutes more of practice I was able to thread my way in and out past several bathers and to remain on top my breaker instead of going under it.
"To-morrow," Ford said, "I am going to take you out into the blue water."I looked seaward where he pointed, and saw the great smoking combers that made the breakers I had been riding look like ripples.I don't know what I might have said had I not recollected just then that Iwas one of a kingly species.So all that I did say was, "All right, I'll tackle them to-morrow."The water that rolls in on Waikiki Beach is just the same as the water that laves the shores of all the Hawaiian Islands; and in ways, especially from the swimmer's standpoint, it is wonderful water.It is cool enough to be comfortable, while it is warm enough to permit a swimmer to stay in all day without experiencing a chill.
Under the sun or the stars, at high noon or at midnight, in midwinter or in midsummer, it does not matter when, it is always the same temperature--not too warm, not too cold, just right.It is wonderful water, salt as old ocean itself, pure and crystal-clear.
When the nature of the water is considered, it is not so remarkable after all that the Kanakas are one of the most expert of swimming races.
So it was, next morning, when Ford came along, that I plunged into the wonderful water for a swim of indeterminate length.Astride of our surf-boards, or, rather, flat down upon them on our stomachs, we paddled out through the kindergarten where the little Kanaka boys were at play.Soon we were out in deep water where the big smokers came roaring in.The mere struggle with them, facing them and paddling seaward over them and through them, was sport enough in itself.One had to have his wits about him, for it was a battle in which mighty blows were struck, on one side, and in which cunning was used on the other side--a struggle between insensate force and intelligence.I soon learned a bit.When a breaker curled over my head, for a swift instant I could see the light of day through its emerald body; then down would go my head, and I would clutch the board with all my strength.Then would come the blow, and to the onlooker on shore I would be blotted out.In reality the board and I have passed through the crest and emerged in the respite of the other side.I should not recommend those smashing blows to an invalid or delicate person.There is weight behind them, and the impact of the driven water is like a sandblast.Sometimes one passes through half a dozen combers in quick succession, and it is just about that time that he is liable to discover new merits in the stable land and new reasons for being on shore.
