Chapter 13

PAUL MAKES A NIGHT RUN IN THE STORM.

"John, John!" shouted Paul, when he realized the dangerous situation of the Fawn.

But the first mate of the craft slept too soundly to be disturbed by mere words, and the skipper had to shake him before he came to his senses.

"What is the matter, Paul?" asked he, as soon as he could get his eyes open and realize where he was.

"Put on your greatcoat and shoes, and come out here and be lively about it," cried Paul.

John obeyed, and before he was ready to join Paul in the standing room, he began to apprehend the state of affairs on board, for the furious wind and the angry waves that stormed against the hull and rigging of the Fawn told their own story.

"What's the trouble?" he asked, as he joined his brother.

"Don't you see there is a gale of wind down upon us?" replied Paul, sharply.

"Well, what of it?" demanded the young salt, with provoking indifference.

"A good deal of it; the boat has dragged her anchor, and at this rate will be upon the rocks in fifteen minutes! Come, be alive, and don't stand there like a log."

"What shall I do? You are the skipper, and I am ready to do anything you say," replied John, who was by this time fully awake.

"Can we pay out any more cable?"

But this was a useless question, for Paul knew very well that the cable was all out. Our young readers may not all understand the meaning of Paul's question. If the vessel rides at anchor with a short cable, her motion, as she rises and falls with the sea, raises up the shaft of the anchor, which has a tendency to detach the flukes, or points from the bottom. But Paul had been careful the night before to give the Fawn all the cable he could spare; and it was evident, therefore, that the anchor was not heavy enough, or that there was no holding-ground at the bottom.

"There is only one thing we can do, John," said Paul, desperately, after he had fully examined the situation of the boat.

"Say on, then," replied John; "I am ready for anything that you say."

"We must get up the anchor, and leave this place."

"Up it is, then."

"But this is an awful bad time, and an awful bad place to hoist a sail."

"Let her drive; we shall go it well enough. It blows like all-possessed: but what's the use of having a life boat, if you can't go out in her when it blows?"

"Stand by the fore halliards, then," cried Paul. "The sail is close-reefed, just as we used it yesterday."

The foresail was hoisted, and slammed with tremendous fury in the fresh gale. The boys then grasped the cable, and it required the full effort of their united strength to weigh the anchor; but the task was accomplished at last, and Paul leaped to his place at the helm. Laying her course parallel with the shore of the island, the Fawn dashed over the furious waves, within ten rods' distance from the breakers on the beach. In a few moments she passed beyond the reach of this peril, and rushed out among the billows of the open bay.

It was a fearful night even for strong men to venture upon the stormy sea; it was doubly perilous for these two boys; yet they had no choice, for to avoid a greater danger they had chosen the less. But the Fawn behaved in a very gallant manner, and her noble bearing promised to achieve all that could be done for the safety of the young fishermen. Notwithstanding the violence of the gale, she rested buoyantly on the top of the waves, and did not seem to labor in her course.

"Do you know where you are, Paul?" asked his brother, after they had sat in silence for half an hour.

"Certainly I do; there is South Point light dead ahead."

"Yes; but there is any quantity of rocks between us and the light."

"I know that; but I know where they are just as well as I know where the kitchen is, when I get into the house. Don't talk to me now, John; go below and turn in, if you like."

"Don't you want me?"

"No."

Paul did not think that John could act upon this suggestion, in such a storm and in the midst of so many perils; but he did, and as the young skipper heard no more from him, he concluded he was asleep.

"What a fellow!" thought Paul. "He could sleep in the midst of an earthquake or a tornado. Well, let him sleep; he is tired enough."

The Fawn dashed madly on, yet under perfect control, and the gallant skipper, when he saw through the deep darkness, the white breakers on Rock Island, felt entirely relieved from the responsibility which had before almost crushed his spirits, for it was plain sailing after he had passed that point and the dangerous reefs which environed it. If the Fawn could stand such a sea as that, she could stand anything, and her character was fully established for the future.

His spirits rose as he neared South Point light, which was not more than a mile and a half from his mother's house. He whistled merrily, to give expression to his satisfaction, as he passed the light, for he and the boat were now safe beyond a peradventure. Taking an extra turn in the foresheet, he laid the course of the boat a little closer to the wind, which soon brought her into the comparatively still water behind Long Island.

He saw the cottage of his mother now, and a light was burning in her chamber. He was grieved to see this, for he feared she might be sick, or that in her anxiety for the safety of her boys, she had sat up all night thinking of them. But in a few moments, he let go the anchor off the beach, and lowered the foresail. After making everything secure on board, he hauled the old boat, which he had moored there in the morning, alongside. John was still asleep; neither the paying out of the cable, nor the noise of Paul's feet, as he furled the foresail, had roused him from his deep slumbers, and the skipper decided to let him finish his night's rest on board.

Sculling the old boat ashore, he ran up the hill, and knocked at the side door of the cottage.

"Who's there?" asked his mother.

"Paul."

The door was opened, and the fond mother clasped her son to her heart, while the great tears coursed down her furrowed cheeks.

"I am so glad you have got back!" exclaimed she; "I was sure you were drowned. Where is John? He isn't with you, Paul! O, he is----"

"Fast asleep on board the Fawn, mother."

"Then he is safe."

"Yes; safe--yes."

"You have had a terrible time of it--haven't you?"

"Not very bad, mother; the wind and tide were against us, and we couldn't get up without carrying more sail than I thought it was safe to carry; so I ran under the lee of an island, and anchored."

"But what did you start back in the night for?"

"The wind hauled round to the northeast, and blew so that we dragged our anchor, and had to make sail to keep off the rocks."

"And John is safe, you say?"

"Perfectly safe. But why are you not in bed, mother?"

"I couldn't sleep in such a tempest as this, when I knew my boys were on the water."

"Well, go to bed now, then, for I must go on board again and clean my fish."

"You shall do nothing of the kind! I will warrant you haven't had a wink of sleep all night long."

"Yes; I slept two or three hours."

"Go right up-stairs, and go to bed, then. You will kill yourself, working all night, and losing your sleep."

"But John is asleep in the cabin of the Fawn. Shall I leave him there? Suppose the boat should go adrift?"

"Well, then, go down to the boat, and go to bed there. You needn't clean your fish yet."

Paul decided to adopt this suggestion, and in a few moments he was snoring with his brother in the little cabin of the boat.

It was six o'clock when the first officer of the Fawn began to show signs of life, and it was fully quarter past six before he realized, in the fullest sense, that he was still in the land of the living. An unpleasant dream that the gallant craft had been dashed in pieces on Rock Island reef, and that he, the before mentioned first officer of the schooner Fawn, had been thrown upon the rocks, where an enormous green lobster, about the size of a full-grown elephant, had seized him in one of his huge claws, and borne him down among the rock weed and devil's aprons for his breakfast, happily proved to be a mere fantasy of his slumbering faculties.

John sat upon his berth and congratulated himself upon his escape from the claw of the lobster. Then the occurrences of the night, the run off the lee shore, and the white-capped billows that had growled so in the gloom, began to come to his recollection, and he realized that they had had a tough time of it. But it was all right now, for though the rain pattered upon the deck above him, the boat did not pitch much. And there was Paul fast asleep in the other berth; of course it was all right, or he would not be there.

"But where are we?" thought John. "That's the next question. The last thing I remember was, that we were driving like mad over the rough sea. Then Paul told me to turn in; and I did, but I could hardly keep in my berth, the boat rolled and pitched so. Of course Paul couldn't get up while the wind blew so, and he must have anchored under some island. I wonder where we are."

At last John came to the conclusion that he could find out by simply walking out of the cuddy into the standing room. Acting upon this brilliant idea, he soon ascertained that the Fawn was at anchor near the beach of Bayville. He was somewhat astonished at the fact, and then paid a very high, though inaudible, compliment to the sleeping accommodations of the Fawn, whereof he was first mate.

He then returned to the cuddy,--he and Paul invariably dignified the little place as the _cabin_,--and found that Paul still slumbered. He was considerate enough not to wake him, for he knew that he had had a hard time of it; but it occurred to him that their mother might be desirous of knowing whether they were still in the land of the living or not, and he decided to go up to the house and reveal that important fact. It was very affectionate of him to think of his mother, after he had been snoring like a trooper all night; but John, in spite of his waywardness, was a kindhearted boy, and he came to the unanimous conclusion--he and John--that it was not right to let his mother worry any longer about them. She would be astonished to see him alone, and would immediately make up her mind that Paul was drowned; and he should have the pleasure of informing her that his brother still lived, and was fast asleep in the cabin of the Fawn, whereof he was captain, and he, the speaker, was first mate.

John, on his arrival at the house, walked into the kitchen where Mrs. Duncan was getting breakfast; walked in as he who does the ghost in Hamlet walks in--with the confident assurance that he is about to create a sensation.

"Well, John, you have got back. Did you sleep well, my son?"

"First rate," growled John. "Why the deuce isn't she astonished?" thought he. "She ought to be astonished to see me come home after being on the briny deep all night."

"You had a hard time of it--didn't you, John?"

"Well, rather hard; I slept like a log all night--except about half an hour. You didn't expect to see us back--did you?"

"I was a good deal worried till Paul came up and told me you were safe, and that you were asleep in the cabin."

"O, ho! so Paul has been home--has he? That accounts for it. Paul is asleep in the cabin now."

"Let him sleep--he needs rest," replied Mrs. Duncan; and it was after nine o'clock when the family breakfasted that morning.