Want to read a good book on line?

A portion of the Book,...AN ISLAND TO ONESELF which you can read on line at :
http://www.janesoceania.com/suvarov_tom_neale/

A wave caught me, forcing me under the warm water. When I surfaced, eyes smarting with the salt, gasping, spitting out sea water I found I had been swept several yards away from the boat. Everything was so confused - the big waves were charging at me all the time - that at first I thought I'd lost the boat, for it was all so dark - the darkness of storm clouds covering the sky. Then I saw a patch of white and knew the boat at least was safe - even if upside down. I struck out towards her, and tried to grab her for support but it was impossible to obtain any hold on that smooth bottom. Luckily I was thoroughly at home in the water, a legacy of my old Tahit days. I knew that somewhere under the water the mast must be pointing downwards, and felt confident that if I could only get a grip on it, give it a sharp jerk and a heave, I might have a chance of turning her upright again. It was not so much a question of strength; given a well-placed shove, a capsized boat with a mast will naturally tend to move upwards in the right direction. I took a deep breath and submerged. But I had underestimated my task. Time after time I had to dive before I was able to grab the mast by its tip. I knew that once I caught hold of it I would have to swim under water and push it with one hand whilst I kicked out with my feet. Fortunately the water at midday was warm, but I think that I must have had to dive ten or a dozen times. The struggle seemed never-ending. Each time I shot to the surface for air, I had no support on which to rest and was forced to dog-paddle whilst getting a breather. Finally I managed to teach the mast and give it one enormous jerk. Immediately it seemed to give, to slip away from my pushing fingers. I followed it up until I could feel the wind on my face, and as I gulped in air and spray and trod water in the violent chop, I felt something brush my leg. I knew at one that if it told me that this was no shark. It was the mast. It was horizontal at last, just under the waves, and I grabbed it and had my first real rest, leaning across it, indifferent as wave after wave swept over me, just hanging on grimly, half submerged, wondering what on earth I was going to do next. For a moment I toyed with the idea of trying to push the mast out of the water. But I abandoned this plan since I knew that were I to let go of it for long the waves would seep me away.

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