Little By Little Part 22

"But I can't afford to go," he added.

"Why not? It won't cost you anything."

"I shall lose my time, for the Fawn will lie idle at her moorings while I am gone."

"No, she won't. I will go a fis.h.i.+ng in her every day."

"I think not, John."

"Do you think I can't manage her?" demanded the first officer, indignant that such an aspersion should be cast upon his nautical skill.

"She's too heavy a boat for you to manage alone."

"I will get a couple of fellows to help me; they will be glad enough of the chance."

"I dare say they will; but you are not quite old enough yet to run the boat yourself."

"What odds does it make how old I am, if I only know how to handle her?

Could you work her any better if you were a hundred years old?"

"But you are reckless, careless, John; you know you are."

"I don't think I am; but I will promise to be very careful. You may take the foresail off, if you please, before you go; then you will be sure I shall not carry too much sail."

"I don't intend to go; so it is of no use to talk about it."

"You are a fool if you don't; that's all I have to say."

"You have a right to your own opinion, John."

"I wish I had a chance to go. I would give all my old shoes, if I could only be one of the party. What a glorious time they will have!"

Paul was of precisely the same opinion, but the idea of letting John run the Fawn during his absence was not for a moment to be tolerated. He would certainly run her on the rocks, or carry sail till the wind took the masts out of her.

As it was a very pleasant day, Paul decided to run down below, and try his luck among the cod and haddock; and they went farther out than they had ever been before. A fine lot of fish, including a mammoth cod, that had required the strength of both of them to pull out of the water, rewarded their enterprise.

The wind was very light, and instead of getting home before the tide turned, as Paul had calculated, they were two miles below Rock Island, when the ebb tide set in against them. To add to this misfortune, the wind entirely died out, and they were forced to come to anchor, to prevent drifting down with the tide. With a good wind they were only two hours' sail from home; but, as it was, there was a prospect of spending another night in the cabin of the Fawn--not a very unpleasant alternative, John thought, especially as they had a lantern, and plenty of provisions on board.

The cod and haddock had all been dressed, and there was nothing for the boys to do; so Paul went into the cabin and stretched himself on his berth. He had placed two or three books on board for such an emergency as the present, and he was soon absorbed in the contents of one of them.

He did not read long, for a hard day's work is not a good preparation for literary labors. The book fell from his hand, and to the music of the flapping sails he dropped asleep.

It is a noticeable fact that fishermen can sleep twenty-four hours on a stretch. Many years ago, we went down a-fis.h.i.+ng in one of the pinky-stern schooners, which were much more common then in the waters of Ma.s.sachusetts Bay than at the present time. The crew consisted of the skipper and three men, the former of whom was an old, weather-beaten fisherman, who had roughed it on the coast from his boyhood. We went down one night intending to fish the next day, and return by sunset; but unfortunately a heavy rain kept us at our anchorage off Spectacle Island for twenty-four hours. The old skipper got out of his berth and ate his breakfast about ten, and after going half way up the companion ladder, to smell the weather, turned in again, and slept till four, when he was called to partake of a greasy chowder. As soon as he had disposed of a reasonable allowance for four hearty men, he tumbled into his berth once more, and was not visible again till the next morning. The rest of the crew slept about two thirds of the time. They were the sleepiest men we ever encountered during their leisure; but even the old skipper suddenly joined the "wide-awakes" when we reached the fis.h.i.+ng grounds.

Paul had already contracted this fisherman's habit, and while the Fawn lay at anchor, he slept like a rock. After amusing himself for an hour on deck, John went below to take an observation, and to announce the prospect of "a breeze from the south-ward," for he had discovered a gentle ripple on the water at a distance. But when he saw that Paul was "having his watch below," he quickly returned to the standing room, closing the cabin doors behind him.

"There is a capful of wind," said he to himself, "and I will just show the skipper of the Fawn that I can handle her as well as he can."

He waited till the breeze reached her, and then, with as little noise as possible, he weighed the anchor, and took his place at the helm.

"All right, Captain Duncan; you can finish your snooze at your leisure,"

muttered he, congratulating himself upon the fact that he had got off without waking Paul.

The wind freshened into a nice little breeze, and the Fawn, close-hauled rippled merrily through the water. Still Paul slept on, unconscious of the progress she was making, while John was jubilant over the success of his trick. He was obliged to tack so as to go to the windward of Rock Island, but he twice accomplished this manoeuvre without disturbing the sleeper.

The boat was now up with Rock Island, and John, who could never see why Paul always wanted to keep half a mile away from this dangerous reef, laid her course very near the rocks.

"All right, my boy," said John, who had a bad habit of talking to himself when there was no one present to whom he could address his remarks; "won't Captain Duncan be astonished when he comes out of the cabin?"

And Captain Duncan was astonished when he came out, for just as the rash first officer arrived to the conclusion that the boat had run clear of all the dangers of the navigation in that quarter,--

b.u.mp! went the Fawn on a hidden ledge.

"What are you about?" cried Paul, angrily, as he rushed out of the cabin.

"About got aground, I should say," replied John, a good deal more astonished than he had calculated Paul would be.

"Let go your sheets! Take the boat hook, and let us push her off, if we can," cried Paul.

Both the boys went to work, and after a few moments of hard labor, succeeded in pus.h.i.+ng the Fawn off the ledge upon which she had struck.

"I suppose this is a specimen of your management," said Paul, as he hauled the sheets home, and seated himself at the helm.

"Rather bad management, I am willing to own," replied John, who felt that his reputation as a skilful navigator had departed in the twinkling of an eye.

"Next time, when you undertake to sail the Fawn without me, don't you do it. You would be a pretty fellow to run the boat if I were away a week; there wouldn't be a board left on her ribs in three days."

"It hasn't hurt her any, Paul."

"I suppose it hasn't; but it would have been just the same if it had been blowing a ten-knot breeze."

But John felt that, if it hadn't hurt the Fawn any, it had hurt himself a great deal; and he made a tremendous great resolution to be more careful in the future. The boat reached her mooring in good season, notwithstanding the detention.

CHAPTER XV.

PAUL GOES ON A CRUISE IN THE FLYAWAY.

"There has been a gentleman here to see you," said Mrs. Duncan, when Paul went to the house.

"Who was he?"

"He left his name and residence on a piece of paper, and wants you to call and see him this evening," replied Mrs. Duncan, handing him the address of the gentleman.

"Charles Morrison, Chestnut Street, third house from the depot," said Paul, reading the paper. "What does he want?"