Chapter 12

PAUL SLEEPS ON HIS WATCH.

Farm Island was about two miles distant, and as the Fawn had the wind on the quarter, it required but a short time for her to reach her haven of safety. Under the high bluff on the seaward side of the island, the water was comparatively tranquil; and here Paul anchored.

"We are all right now," said he, with a feeling of relief, as he took in the foresail.

"When do you suppose we shall get home?" asked John.

"I don't know; we will not borrow any trouble, so long as we are in a place of safety."

"Mother won't think we are in a place of safety," added John.

"Yes, she will: I have often told her that when a gale came on, I should always get into a safe place, and keep quiet till it was prudent to run home."

"It is lucky we are in the Fawn instead of the Blowout."

"We should not have gone down so far in the old boat. I felt so safe in this craft that I did not mind much about the weather."

"We have been safe enough all the time; and if you would only have put on the jib and reefed mainsail, we should have been at home by this time."

"I did not think it was prudent to do so. I may have been mistaken; if I was, I have erred on the safe side."

"I suppose we must sleep on board," said John.

"If you don't like the idea, you can go on shore, and sleep at the farm house."

"But I do like the idea; we have good beds, and I had just as lief sleep here as in my own bed at home. In fact, I am rather glad we are caught."

"I thought so," said Paul, laughing; "but there it one thing we are not prepared for."

"What is that?"

"Supper."

"I wish we had a frying pan and a furnace; we could have some fried perch for supper."

"As we have not those things, we must make the best of what we have. Our luncheon is all gone; but there are two or three crackers in the locker, which I threw in from the old boat."

"We shan't starve before morning," replied John, whose philosophy was proof against an empty stomach.

"I know that; but it would be a good deal better to have some supper, if we could get it."

"Can't we go on shore?"

"No, we can't land on this shallow beach. It wouldn't be safe to get aground here."

Both boys were very hungry, for it was now nearly night and they had taken their lunch in the middle of the day. The crackers were eaten, and washed down with a drink of cold water from the jug; but it was a dry and unsatisfactory supper and Paul resolved in future to keep the Fawn provisioned for such an emergency as the present.

The wind still blew with undiminished violence, and the black clouds indicated rain. By and by the darkness came on, and there was no longer any prospect of getting home before the next day. Just before dark, a man hailed them from the shore, and offered them a bed at the farm house; but Paul thanked him and declined the offer, at the same time hinting that they had nothing on board to eat.

"Come ashore, then, and get some supper," replied the man.

"We can't get ashore; we draw too much water," answered Paul.

"I will bring you off then."

The man pushed a skiff into the water, and soon came alongside the Fawn.

"You have got a fine boat here," said he.

"Yes, sir; she is a very nice boat."

"But this is pretty heavy weather for boys to be out. Whose boat is she?"

"She belongs to us."

"To you?" replied the man, apparently much astonished.

"Yes, sir; she was given to us by Captain Littleton."

"O, ho! so you are Paul Duncan."

"Yes, sir."

"And I understand why he gave it to you. Come, boys, you must go up to my house and stay with me to-night. I should rather have Paul Duncan under my roof than the governor of the state."

"We must stay on board, sir, to look out for the boat. If anything should happen to her in the night, I should never forgive myself for deserting her. We have a nice place to sleep," continued Paul, opening the doors of the cuddy, and pointing to the two berths.

"That looks very comfortable, but there is not much fun in sleeping on board a small boat such a night as this will be. But come up to the house, and have some supper."

"Thank you, sir; we will do that, for we are both very hungry. Stop a moment. John, hand out two or three of those rock-cod. Won't you take these, sir?"

"I am much obliged to you for them. Though we live so near the fish we don't have much time to catch them," replied Mr. Drake,--for that was the name of the farmer,--as he threw the fish into his skiff.

The two boys got into the boat with him, and he rowed them on shore. They were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Drake and the children, and a nice supper was soon placed before them; but all the arguments and expostulations of the farmer and his wife could not induce them to spend the night at the house. Paul was too fearful in regard to the safety of the Fawn to leave her, and John was too deeply smitten with the romantic idea of sleeping on board, to think of spending the night in any other manner. Mr. Drake, therefore, reluctantly put them on board their boat again.

"Now, Paul, we are in for it," said John, as he saw the farmer land, and draw up his skiff upon the beach.

"Yes, and it is going to be a very dirty night. I think the wind has shifted since we went ashore," replied Paul.

"So do I; we feel it as much again as we did."

"It blows full as hard as it has any time to-day."

The boys sat down in the standing room, and had a long talk about home and mother, and wondered what she would think because they didn't come home. It was now quite dark, and there was not a single star to relieve the gloom of the scene. John even went so far as to admit that it "looked kind of pokerish," and he was glad they were in so comfortable a place.

"Come, Paul, isn't it time to turn in?" asked John, after they had come to the unanimous conclusion that it was a decidedly stormy night.

"You can turn in, John, if you want to," replied Paul.

"Ain't you going to sleep any to-night?"

"I have no idea of leaving the Fawn to take care of herself in such weather as this."

"Are you going to sit up all night?" asked John.

"It isn't customary, I believe, on board ship, for all hands to turn in, and let the vessel take her chance."

"There is no danger here."

"If we both go to sleep, we may wake up and find ourselves nowhere. Suppose the wind should change to the eastward; we should be fully exposed to all the fury of the storm."

"I didn't think of that. Suppose we watch by turns, then."

"Very well; I will keep the first watch, and you may turn in as soon as you please."

"What is that?" asked John as he heard three strokes of a bell.

"There is a large ship at anchor off there."

"But it isn't three o'clock yet. Her clocks must be out of order."

"Three bells; that is half-past nine o'clock."

"I don't understand it; how should three bells mean half-past nine?" inquired John, who did not like to leave any nautical subject till it had been fully investigated.

"It begins to rain, and we may as well sit in the cuddy;" and they both retreated to the little cabin, and seated themselves on their berths. "If we only had a lantern to hang up in here, we should be perfectly at home."

"We will bring one next time; but about the bells, Paul?"

"Well, they have two watches on board ship, which are called the larbord and the starbord watches. In large vessels, they are under the care of the first and second mates. The twenty-four hours, on board ship, are divided into five watches of four hours each, and two dog-watches of two hours each. During these watches, the bell is struck every half hour; that is, one bell at half past eight; two bells at nine, three bells at half-past nine; and so on, till twelve, when it is eight bells, at which time one watch goes below, and the other comes on deck. At half past twelve the bell strikes one again; at one it strikes twice, and so on. Do you understand me?"

"I think I do; but when are the dog-watches?'

"From four to six, and from six to eight in the evening. They always strike the bells by twos, as you heard just now. But, John, it rains like fury."

"So it does, but it is a dry place in this cabin."

"I wish we had a lantern, for it is as dark as a pocket in here. It would make it so much pleasanter. But you must turn in now, or you will not be able to stand your watch."

"I think I will."

John took off his boots, and placed himself under the blanket and comforter of his berth, for there were no sheets. He gaped several times, and tried to continue the conversation with Paul; but the poor fellow, worn out with the fatigue and excitement of the day, was soon fast asleep. Paul listened to the sound of his heavy breathing, between the splashes of the waves as they broke upon the bow of the boat, till he began to feel sleepy himself, and then, wrapping the greatcoat, which he always carried with him, closely around his body, he went upon deck to see if there was any change in the weather or the position of the boat.

It was clear to him that the wind had been hauling round to the eastward, for the Fawn tumbled about as she had done out upon the open waters of the bay As he lay down upon the deck to examine the cable, so as to assure himself that it was not chafing the boat, a huge wave broke over the bowsprit, and he would have been drenched to the skin, if his coat had not been water-proof.

The rain continued to pour down, and Paul retired to the cuddy again. It was a weary, lonely watch, and he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. But it seemed to him that the violence of the gale was subsiding, and he again went upon deck to satisfy himself on this point. There was still a heavy sea, but he was satisfied that the wind had very sensibly abated. Six bells sounded from the ship as he returned to the cuddy.

Throwing himself on his berth, he listened for a while to John's sonorous snores, and before he was sensible of the danger of his position, he was sound asleep himself. Worn out by the labors of the day, he could no longer keep his eyes open.

He woke with a start,--for he was conscious that he had forsaken the post of duty,--and hastened upon deck. Eight bells from the ship told him it was midnight. The wind had nearly subsided, but it rained very hard, and the heavy sea continued to break over the bow of the Fawn.

John was still sleeping like a log, and Paul, though it was time for the larboard watch to be called, had not the heart to wake up his brother. As the gale had subsided, the boat seemed to be no longer in danger, and he decided to turn in and finish his nap. But while he slept, the wind, which had abated only to come with still greater violence from another quarter, steadily increased in fury, till it blew a gale from the northeast.

The pitching of the boat soon startled Paul from his slumbers, and he rushed out into the standing room to find that the Fawn was rapidly dragging her anchor, and was in imminent peril of being dashed to pieces on the rocky shore.