PAUL SCOLDS THE FIRST OFFICER OF THE FAWN.
After breakfast the young fishermen cleaned their perch and cod, and
before dinner had disposed of the lot. From the proceeds of the sale,
Paul purchased a small lantern, which was suspended in the cabin of the
Fawn, for the darkness of that gloomy night was not soon to be
forgotten.
The next day was clear and pleasant, and the boat went down as usual,
and for more than a fortnight, no event worthy of a place in the history
of Paul's fortunes occurred. The new boat worked admirably in every
respect, and the boys were as proud of her as England has ever been of
the Great Eastern. During these two weeks Paul had taken down three
fishing parties, and had given them so good satisfaction, that his
services in this line promised to be in demand. As he received four
dollars a day for her, including the wages of himself and the first
officer, he always welcomed such jobs, and John liked the fun of it even
better than fishing, especially when there were any ladies in the party,
for it was very amusing to him to see them in the agonies of sea
sickness. He took a malicious delight in stowing them away in the
berths in the cabin; yet in spite of the fun he made of them John would
do all he could to assist them.
Just before the arrival of the Fawn in the waters of Bayville harbor,
Paul had been unanimously elected a member of the Tenean Boat Club. He
was very grateful for the honor conferred upon him, but his business was
such that he could not often pull an oar in the boat. The members of the
club all treated him with a great deal of consideration, though they
were all the sons of rich men; and Paul felt that, if he was not their
equal in worldly possessions, he could hold his head up with the best of
them in the management of a boat.
One day, when the young fisherman called at the house of Major Kettle to
sell fish, he met Thomas in the garden, who unfolded to him a
magnificent project in which the Teneans--as the members of the Boat
Club were generally called--were about to engage.
"We think of going on a cruise in the Flyaway," said Thomas.
"Where?"
"I don't know where yet; but we mean to be gone a week or ten days."
"Who is going with you?"
"Captain Littleton, I suppose, though I had just as lief he would stay
at home."
"Of course he wouldn't let a lot of boys go off for a week in the
yacht, without some one to take care of them," said Paul, with a smile.
"We can take care of ourselves; we don't want any one to take care of
us."
"How many of you are going?"
"Ten or twelve; we want you with us."
"But I can't go."
"Yes you can; why not?"
"I have to attend to my business."
"You can afford to take a vacation of a week or two, I should think."
Paul shook his head. He was delighted with the idea, and would have been
very glad to go, but he could not think of neglecting his business to go
away upon a pleasure excursion.
"You must go, Paul; the fellows all want you to go, and we shall have a
first-rate time."
"I have no doubt you will; and I should be very glad to go with you if I
could; but it is of no use for me to think of such a thing."
"It is not fully decided that we are to go yet; but Captain Littleton
and my father have consented to let us have the Flyaway. We shall know
all about it next week."
Paul continued his walk, but the project of the excursion in the Flyaway
haunted his imagination, and it required a great deal of self-denial for
him to forego the anticipated pleasure. He felt that the summer season
was the harvest time of his business, and he could not afford to waste a
week or two in idle play. "Little by Little," was his motto, and he was
not willing that any of those "littles" should slip through his fingers.
When they went down in the Fawn the next day, he told John about the
excursion, and that he had been invited to form one of the party.
"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 fishing 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-fishing in one of the
pinky-stern schooners, which were much more common then in the waters of
Massachusetts 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 fishing 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,--
Bump! 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 pushing 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.