Three Men in A Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

Of course their having mistaken him for a friend excused it.  I remember Harris telling me once of a bathing experience he had at Boulogne.  He was swimming about there near the beach, when he felt himself suddenly seized by the neck from behind, and forcibly plunged under water.  He struggled violently, but whoever had got hold of him seemed to be a perfect Hercules in strength, and all his efforts to escape were unavailing.  He had given up kicking, and was trying to turn his thoughts upon solemn things, when his captor released him.

He regained his feet, and looked round for his would-be murderer.  The assassin was standing close by him, laughing heartily, but the moment he caught sight of Harris’s face, as it emerged from the water, he started back and seemed quite concerned.

“I really beg your pardon,” he stammered confusedly, “but I took you for a friend of mine!”

Harris thought it was lucky for him the man had not mistaken him for a relation, or he would probably have been drowned outright.

Sailing is a thing that wants knowledge and practice too—though, as a boy, I did not think so.  I had an idea it came natural to a body, like rounders and touch.  I knew another boy who held this view likewise, and so, one windy day, we thought we would try the sport.  We were stopping down at Yarmouth, and we decided we would go for a trip up the Yare.  We hired a sailing boat at the yard by the bridge, and started off.

“It’s rather a rough day,” said the man to us, as we put off: “better take in a reef and luff sharp when you get round the bend.”

We said we would make a point of it, and left him with a cheery “Good-morning,” wondering to ourselves how you “luffed,” and where we were to get a “reef” from, and what we were to do with it when we had got it.

We rowed until we were out of sight of the town, and then, with a wide stretch of water in front of us, and the wind blowing a perfect hurricane across it, we felt that the time had come to commence operations.

Hector—I think that was his name—went on pulling while I unrolled the sail.  It seemed a complicated job, but I accomplished it at length, and then came the question, which was the top end?