Chapter 11

PAUL'S FIRST CRUISE IN THE FAWN.

At breakfast time the next morning, John Duncan was among the missing. His mother had charged him, when he first got up, to study his Sunday school lesson, which, in the extraordinary excitement of the preceding evening, had been neglected. Paul searched for him in their chamber, and in all the other apartments of the house; but he was not to be found.

Neither Paul nor his mother had any fears that he had run away or committed suicide; so that his absence produced more of indignation than alarm.

"He must have gone down to the boat," suggested Mrs. Duncan.

"If he has, I will throw him overboard."

"O, no, my son! you would not do that."

"He has no business on board the boat on Sunday."

"That is very true, Paul; but I suppose he cannot keep his thoughts away from her. I don't much wonder, either."

"I don't know as I am very much surprised myself," added Paul, whose second thought was more reasonable than the first.

When he considered how many times his thoughts had wandered to the beautiful Fawn, and how many times he had permitted himself to anticipate the pleasure of the first cruise in her, during the morning, he was more charitable towards his younger brother, who had only done what he had thought.

"I will find him," said Paul, taking his cap.

"Don't be harsh with him, Paul, for he means right, only he has not so much strength of mind as you have."

"I won't be hard upon him."

"Because you are older than he is."

"I won't be a hypocrite, mother, and I may as well own that, while getting my lesson, I could not help thinking of the new boat. I don't want you to believe I am better than I am."

"It is very natural that you should think of her; but you must try not to do so. It is almost a pity the boat had not come on Monday, so that you could have had a whole week to think about her before Sunday."

Paul ran down to the beach, and discovered that the door of the cuddy of the Fawn was open. Jumping on board, he found John stretched out upon one of the beds, apparently very busily engaged in studying his Sunday school lesson.

"What are you doing here, John?" demanded Paul, though his tones were very gentle.

"I am getting my lesson," replied John, as demurely as though he had not chosen an unusual place for the exercise.

"Have you got it?"

"All but two questions."

"What made you come here?"

"I couldn't help thinking of the boat, and I made up my mind that I could get my lesson here better than anywhere else."

"I'm afraid you haven't studied it much."

"Hear me say it, then," said John, jumping up, and handing Paul the book.

"Not now; breakfast is ready. But I want to have an understanding with you, as you are part owner of the Fawn, that neither of us go on board of her on Sunday, unless there is some strong reason for it. Will you agree to it?"

"I shan't want to after to-day."

"No matter; will you agree to it?"

"Yes; but there was a strong reason this morning."

"What was it?"

"Why, I wanted to see her."

"That's no reason at all. I have just as hard work as you have to keep away from her; but we mustn't do everything we want to do. Come, lock the cuddy, and let us go up to the house."

"That's honest, and not a bit like preaching," said John to himself, as he locked the cuddy, and followed his brother up the hill.

"I am trying to make money, John, but I don't believe money is all we have to live for."

"Of course not; there is a good deal of fun to be had in this world, that costs money instead of bringing it in," answered John, very soberly; and it was evident that his thoughts were not upon his Sunday school lesson.

"I wasn't speaking of fun. Up to the time I went to sleep last night I was thinking how I should make money; this morning, the first words I saw when I opened the Testament to get my Sunday school lesson, were, 'For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?'"

"I guess you had the nightmare last night, and have got the blues this morning," said John, trying to get up a laugh, in which, however, he did not succeed very well, for it is hard, even for a tolerably well-disposed boy, to make fun of serious things.

"I mean just what I say, John; you needn't laugh. I feel that we have something else to live for besides money. It is a very pleasant thing to make money----"

"Little by little," added John, adopting his brother's favorite motto.

"But I wouldn't be a rich man, if I had to be as mean and selfish as old--no matter who. He is poorer than I am now, with his hundreds of thousands. I mean to lay up good principles----"

"Little by little," interpolated John.

"Little by little, if you please; but even a little every day will make a good man one of these days. A good thought every day will make a man rich in good principles; at any rate, my book says so."

"How can a fellow help thinking of the boat, if it is Sunday?"

"We must try to think of our lesson, and when we go to church, of what the minister says. I am going to try and not think of the Fawn again till I wake up to-morrow morning."

"I am willing to try, but it's no use. I wish Sunday was over, and Monday had come."

How many boys and girls have thought the same thing! That Sunday, whose moments seemed so heavy, was a golden opportunity which may have passed never to be recalled. We are indebted to the still hours of the quiet Sabbath, to the leisure moments of our daily life, nay, to the sleepless couch of pain and suffering, and to the bitter time of woe and bereavement, for some of the best and truest thoughts which illuminate our mortal pilgrimage, and which give birth to our good resolutions. A single instant may produce an impression upon the heart which shall last to the end of life.

The words of the Scripture which Paul had read and heard read a hundred times, without feeling the tremendous truth they contain, were now full of meaning. They seemed to connect themselves with his individual future, and to have produced an impression which the excitement of possessing the new boat could not overcome. He was in the right frame of mind to receive such an impression, and it had an important influence on all his subsequent career.

As the family seated themselves at the breakfast table, Mrs. Duncan improved the opportunity to enlarge upon the duties we owe to ourselves and to others, in connection with the Sabbath day. It is true that John's levity occasionally detracted from the effect of the lessons; but it was not wholly lost, even upon that wayward youth.

Paul struggled hard with his thoughts during the day, and he was surprised, when night came, to find how successful he had been. It had been a good day to him, and he had profited by the instruction it afforded him; for the first step towards moral or spiritual improvement is to fasten the mind earnestly upon some moral or religious topic.

Long before the sun rose the next morning, Paul and John were on the beach. And when Mrs. Duncan rang the bell out of the window for them to come to breakfast, they had dug a bucket of clams, and had prepared the Fawn for her first trip down the bay.

"You won't be anxious about us now, mother, for we have a boat that can't sink," said Paul, as he took the luncheon prepared for them.

"I shall feel easier now."

"Besides, you know we have two good berths on board the boat, and we should be just as comfortable, if out all night, as though we were in our own beds up-stairs."

"That may be, but I hope you will never stay out all night, when you can help it."

"We shall not, mother; you may depend upon it; but we might get aground; or the wind might die out, and the Fawn is too large to be rowed up."

"I shan't worry about you, if I can help it, for I know you are very careful, Paul."

The boys hastened down to the boat, and Mrs. Duncan went out upon the bluff to see them off. The wind blew fresh from the southwest when they started, and the Fawn went out under jib and mainsail only; but even with this sail, she flew like a racehorse over the waters.

"Shall I hoist the foresail, Paul?" asked John.

"I think not; she is doing very well."

"But she will do better with the foresail."

"Let well enough alone."

"I want to see her do her best."

"I have promised mother a hundred times that I would be careful; and if she should see us put on all sail in this wind, though there might not be any danger, she would think we were going straight to the bottom. We will not hoist the foresail."

This answer satisfied the impatient boy, and in a short time they reached the perch ground; but either there were no fish there, or they had not got the hang of the new boat; for the fishermen could hardly get a bite. After trying for an hour, and catching only half a dozen small perch, the boys became disgusted with their ill luck, and it required but little persuasion on the part of John to induce Paul to get up the anchor, and go farther down the bay.

An hour's sail brought them to a reef of rocks, which was quite a noted locality with the fishermen. The Fawn was anchored in a safe place, and the young fishermen threw over their lines. Better success attended their efforts here, and in three hours they had caught eight dozen fine perch, besides ten handsome rock-cod.

While they were fishing under the lee of the rocks, they had scarcely noticed that the wind had been steadily increasing, and that it was producing a heavy sea in the bay.

"We shall have a chance to find out what kind of a sea boat the Fawn is," said Paul, as he weighed the anchor.

"I am glad of it," replied John.

"The wind is freshening every moment," said Paul, casting an anxious glance to windward.

"Hope it will blow a gale."

"I think we shall get more than we want."

"Not more than I want, at any rate."

Paul hoisted the jib, and the Fawn rushed out among the white-capped waves; but she walked over them so majestically, that John declared she could weather any gale that ever blew. For a time she breasted the foam of the head sea in a most gallant manner; but the wind came in fearful gusts, increasing in violence every moment till Paul came to the conclusion that it was no longer safe to carry the jib and mainsail, and proposed to set a reefed foresail. John scouted the idea, but he did not want the mainmast blown out of her, and consented to the change.

John took the helm, and Paul, after lowering the jib and mainsail, hoisted the reefed foresail. The boat rode easier then; but as the wind and tide were both against them, it was soon discovered that she made no headway. As the gale steadily increased in fury, Paul would not attempt to carry any more sail, though John insisted that she could bear the jib and a close-reefed mainsail.

It was evident to Paul that, unless he put on more sail, he could not beat up to Bayville against the tide; but it was clearly imprudent to carry any more sail, and for two hours more the Fawn struggled with her hopeless task without making a single mile.

"What are you going to do, Paul?" asked John, impatient, but not terrified by their situation.

"We can't beat up in this sea."

"I know that."

"We will run over to Farm Island, and anchor under the lee of the high bluff;" and he headed the Fawn in the direction indicated.