The thing was no sooner said than done.

There were plenty of boats below the iron bridge; so we chose one of the cleanest, and jumped into it without any kind of reference to the owner, whoever he might be.
"_Batelier, Messieurs?
Batelier_ ?" cried a dozen men at once, rushing down to the water's edge.
But Dalrymple had already thrown off his coat, and seized the oars.
"_Batelier_, indeed!" laughed he, as with two or three powerful strokes he carried us right into the middle, of the stream.

"Trust an Oxford man for employing any arms but his own, when a pair of sculls are in question!" * * * * * CHAPTER VIII.
THE ISLAND IN THE RIVER.
It was just eight o'clock when we started, with the twilight coming on.
Our course lay up the river, with a strong current setting against us; so we made but little way, and enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the evening.

The sky was pale and clear, somewhat greenish overhead and deepening along the line of the horizon into amber and rose.

Behind us lay the town with every brown spire articulated against the sky and every vane glittering in the last glow that streamed up from the west.
To our left rose a line of steep chalk cliffs, and before us lay the river, winding away through meadow lands fringed with willows and poplars, and interspersed with green islands wooded to the water's edge.
Presently the last flush faded, and one large planet, splendid and solitary, like the first poet of a dark century, emerged from the deepening gray.
My companions were in high spirits.