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THE FOURTH WATCH
BY
H. A. CODY
AUTHOR OF THE FRONTIERSMAN, UNDER SEALED ORDERS, THE LONG PATROL, ETC.
TO ALL
"Messengers, Watchmen and Stewards of the Lord," who have faithfully
toiled through Life's long night, and now in their Fourth Watch and Last
Watch behold the dawn of a new Life breaking, this book is affectionately
dedicated by one but yet in the Second Watch.
Contents
I.--The Awakening
II.--The Vision
III.--Glendow Rectory
IV.--The Warder of the Night
V.--The Breath of Slander
VI.--The Auction
VII.--The Farringtons
VIII.--The Golden Key
IX.--Beating the Devil
X.--In Camp
XI.--Guarding the Flock
XII.--Light and Shadow
XIII.--For the Sake of a Child
XIV.--The Long Night
XV.--Deepening Shadows
XVI.--For Sweet Love's Sake
XVII.--Hitting Back
XVIII.--Wash-Tub Philosophy
XIX.--The Sting
XX.--The Overseer
XXI.--Decision
XXII.--In the Deep of the Heart
XXIII.--Where Is Dan?
XXIV.--The Rush of Doom
XXV.--Beneath the Ashes
XXVI.--A Rope of Sand
XXVII.--In the Toils
XXVIII.--Waiting and Serving
XXIX.--Rifted Clouds
XXX.--Beneath the Surface
XXXI.--Light at Eventide
The Fourth Watch
Chapter I
The Awakening
The boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were
elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest, glorious
in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the wary partridges
were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough, fallen log or ragged
stump. To the left the waters of the noble River St. John rippled and
sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over there amidst that long stretch of
marshland, in many a cove and reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely
hidden. What connection had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre
potato patch when the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him
to fields afar? There was no inspiration here--among these straggling
rows. Nothing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and
tingling through his body. But there--! He sighed as he leaned upon his
hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore; in a sheltered cove
among the trees, the _Scud_, a small boat, was idly flapping her
dirty patched sail.
"Wonder what dad left it up for?" thought the boy.
"Maybe he's going after more ducks. Wish to goodness he'd help with these
potatoes so I could get off, too."
Then his eyes roamed out over the water until they rested upon a white
sail away in the distance, bearing steadily down-stream. He watched it
carelessly for some time, but noticing the manner in which it drooped
under an occasional squall his interest became aroused.
"There's too much canvas, that's sure!" he ejaculated. "Some idiot, I
s'pose, who doesn't know 'bout these squalls. Guess he'll learn soon if he
isn't careful. Now the _Scud_, she's all right. I'd risk her any
time--My--!" and he almost held his breath as the white sail, much nearer
now, swooped to the water like the wing of a gigantic bird. The boat
righted herself, however, and sped gracefully forward. Again and again she
dipped and careened under each successive squall, winning the lad's
unstinted admiration. But even as he looked and wondered, a furious gust
caught the white sail as it listed heavily, and drove it with one sweep to
the water, overturning the boat as it did so. With a cry of fear the boy
dropped his hoe, stared for an instant at the overturned craft, and then
sped across the potato field sloping to the shore. He did not wait to go
by the path, which led straight up to a little cabin in the valley, but,
making a short cut to the left, leaped into a tangled thicket beyond. He
crashed his way through the branches and underbrush, not heeding the
numerous scratches upon face and hands.
He reached the _Scud_, tore, rather than untied the painter from an
old oak root, and sent the boat reeling backwards from its moorings. The
sail flapped wildly in the breeze, which was now growing stronger, and the
craft began to drift. Catching up the centre-board, lying near, the boy
drove it down into its narrow groove with a resounding thud. Seizing the
sheet-line with one hand, and squatting well astern he grasped the tiller
with the other. Nobly the boat obeyed her little determined commander. The
sail filled, she listed to the left and darted forward, bearing bravely up
the wind. Straight ahead the boy could see the distressed boat sinking
lower and lower in the water, with a man and a woman clinging desperately
to the upturned side. The wind was now whistling around him, and at times
threatening to rip away the patched sail. The water was rough, and the
angry white-caps were dashing their cold spray over his clothes. But not
for an instant did he swerve from his course until quite near the wreck.
Then letting go the sheet-line he permitted the boat to fall away a little
to the left. In this manner he was able to swing gradually in a
half-circle, and by the time he was up again to the teeth of the wind the
_Scud_ was lying close to the overturned boat.
So preoccupied had been the boy up to this moment that he had no time to
observe closely the shipwrecked pair. Now, however, he cast a curious
glance in their direction, as he let go the rudder and sheet-line, and
threw out the painter to the man. Eagerly the latter seized the rope, and
managed to hold the two boats together.
"Give us yer hand," shouted the boy, "and let her come out first. Be
careful now," he continued as the crafts bumped against each other.
"There, that's good."
With considerable difficulty the two strangers were rescued from their
perilous position, and then the _Scud_ dropped away from the wreck.
"Where do you want to go?" asked the boy, as once again he brought the
boat to the wind.
"Over there," responded the man, pointing to the opposite shore. "We can
land on that point and get driven home."
Almost mechanically the boy swung the _Scud_ around, and headed her
for the place indicated. From the moment he had caught a glimpse of the
woman clinging to the boat he had found it hard to turn away his eyes. Her
hat was gone, and the wind was blowing her dark-brown hair about her face,
which was white as death. But when she turned her large blue eyes filled
with gratitude and fear upon her rescuer, a strange feeling of
embarrassment swept suddenly over him. Women he had seen before, but none
such as this. How quiet she was, too--not a cry or complaint did she make.
Her clothes were wet; the water cold, and the wind raw. But she sat there
in the boat watching him with those big eyes as he guided the _Scud_
steadily forward.
He looked at her dress, how neat and clean it was. Then he glanced at his
own rough togs. How coarse, worn and dirty were they, while his shoes were
heavy grey brogans. A flush mantled his sun-browned face. He shifted
uneasily, gripped the tiller more firmly, and drove the _Scud_ a
point nearer to the wind. What must she think of him? he wondered. Was she
comparing him with the well-dressed man at her side, who was looking
thoughtfully out over the blue water? A feeling of jealousy stole into his
heart. He had never known such a thing before. He knew what it was to be
angry--to stamp and shout in his rage. He had engaged in several pitched
battles with the boys in the neighbourhood who had made fun of him. But
his life--a life of freedom--had satisfied him. To hunt, to trap, to
wander over hill, valley and forest was all that he asked for. He had
never thought of anything higher, never dreamed of any life but the one
his father led, hunting, and trapping in season and making a slight
pretence of farming. Now, however, something was stirring within him. He
longed to show this woman that though his clothes and shoes were rough, he
was almost a man and could do great things.
"What is your name, my boy?"
The words startled him, and he glanced quickly up. The woman was looking
at him still, but now she was smiling. Was she laughing at him?
"My name's Dan," was the reply.
"Dan, Dan what?"
"Oh, just old Jim's boy."
"Old Jim, Old Jim!" repeated the woman. "Do you mean Jim Flitter, the
trapper?"
"Yep, that's him."
"And do you live over there?"
"Yep. In that shanty up the valley, Dad and I live there alone."
"Have you no mother, Dan?" and the woman's voice was soft and low.
"None now."
She was about to question further, but noticing the look upon the boy's
face she desisted.
"Do you know you've saved our lives?" she remarked after a short silence.
"I can never thank you enough for what you have done for us to-day. I
don't think I could have clung to that boat much longer."
"I ain't done nuthin'," Dan replied. "But next time you go out don't carry
so much sail, specially when it's squally. I mayn't always be handy like I
was to-day. But come, we're at the pint, so I'll land you here." Saying
which, Dan let the sail go free, and ran the boat gently up the pebbly
shore.
"Now, my boy," asked the man, "how much do I owe you?" Dan had stooped and
was about to push the _Scud_ from the beach. He looked up quickly at
the question, but made no reply.
"How much?" demanded the man, somewhat impatiently.
"What do you mean?" asked the boy.
"What do I mean? Simply this. You've done us a great service, saved us
from death, and how much money do you want? How much shall I pay you?"
"Nuthin'."
Dan was standing erect now. His dark eyes fixed full upon the man's face,
flashed with anger, while his heart thumped tumultuously beneath his
little checkered shirt.
"What! won't take any pay!"
"No!"
"And why not?"
"Cause I won't. You've no right to ask me. It ain't fair!"
That was all Dan could utter. He could not express his feelings;
repugnance filled his heart at the thought of taking money for what he had
done. He felt the woman's eyes fixed upon him. What would she think, of
him, Dan Flitter, taking money for saving people's lives? He gave one
quick glance in her direction, turned, and pushing the boat from the
shore, sprang in, leaving the man and the woman upon the beach gazing
wonderingly after him.