Jules Varlin held the lantern above his head, and took a good look
at his visitors.
"You will pass very well for young fishermen, messieurs," he said,
"when you have dirtied your faces and hands a bit, and rubbed your
hair the wrong way, all over your head. Well, come in here. My wife
is waiting up to welcome you. It is her doing that you are here. I
should not have agreed, but what can one do when a woman once sets
her mind upon a thing?"
He opened a door. A woman rose from her seat. She was some years
younger than her husband.
"Welcome, messieurs," she said. "We are pleased, indeed, to be able
to return the kindness you showed to my brother."
The fisherman grunted.
"No, Jules," she said, "I won't have you say that you haven't gone
willingly into this. You pretended not to, but I know very well
that it was only because you like to be coaxed, and that you would
have done it for Jacques' sake."
"Jacques is a good fellow," her husband replied, "and I say nothing
against him; but I don't know that I should have consented, if it
had not been for you and your bothering me."
"Don't you believe him, monsieur. Jules has a good heart, though he
likes pretending that he is a bear.
"Now, monsieur, I have some coffee ready for you."
"I need not say, madam," Terence said, "how truly thankful we both
are for your and your husband's kindness, shown to us strangers;
and I sincerely hope that you will have no cause to regret it. You
may be sure of one thing: that if we are recaptured, we shall never
say how our escape was effected, nor where we were sheltered
afterwards; and if, after the war is over, we can find an
opportunity of showing how grateful we are for your kindness, we
shall not miss the chance."
"We are but paying the service you rendered to Jacques, monsieur.
He tells me that, if it had not been for the aid the British
prisoners gave them, that probably those Spanish bandits would have
captured the church during the night; and we know that they never
show mercy to prisoners."
The coffee was placed on the table and, after drinking it, the
fisherman led them to a low shed in the yard.
"We could have done better for you," he said apologetically, "but
it is likely that they may begin a search for you, early in the
morning. This yard can be seen from many houses round about, so
that, were you to sleep upstairs, you might be noticed entering
here in the morning; and it is better to run no risks. We have
piled the nets on the top of other things. You will find two
blankets for covering yourselves there. In the morning I will come
in and shift things, so as to hide you up snugly."
"We shall do just as well on the nets as if we were in bed,"
Terence laughed. "We are pretty well accustomed to sleep on the
hard ground."
"I think we are going to have some bad weather," the man remarked,
as they settled themselves on the nets. "I hope it will be so, for
then none of the boats will put out; and there will be no comments
on my staying at home, instead of going out as usual.
"And now, good night, and good sleep to you!"
"He is an honest-looking fellow," Terence said, when he had gone
out, "and I have no doubt what his wife says of him is true; but it
is not surprising that he held back at first. It is not everyone
that is prepared to run the risk of heavy punishment for the sake
of his wife's relations.
"This is not by any means bad; these nets make a very comfortable
bed."
The next morning, at daybreak, the fisherman came in with a can
containing hot coffee, two great slices of bread, and tin cups.
"Now, messieurs, when you have drank that I will stow you away. We
shifted most of the things yesterday, so as to make as comfortable
a bed for you as may be."
The nets were pulled off; and a mass of sails, ropes, and other
gear appeared underneath. One of the sails in the corner was pulled
away, and showed a vacant space, some six feet long and four feet
wide, extending down to the ground, which was covered by old nets.
"Now, messieurs, if you will get down there, I shall pile a couple
of sacks over and throw the nets on the top, and there is no fear
of your being disturbed. I will bring your meals in to you, and let
you know what is doing in the town; but I shall not come in oftener
than I can help. I shall leave the doors open, as usual."
They took their places in the hole, and the fisherman piled sails
and nets over the opening. There was no occasion to leave any
apertures for air, for the shed was roughly built, and there were
plenty of openings between the planks of which it was constructed.
They had, before he came in, divested themselves of their uniforms;
and these the fisherman put into a kit bag and carried indoors;
where his wife at once proceeded to cut them up, and thrust the
pieces into the fire.
"It is a pity," she said regretfully, "but it would never do to
leave them about. Think what a waistcoat I could have made for you,
Jules, out of this scarlet cloth. With the gold buttons it would
have been superb, and it would have been the envy of the quarter;
but it would never do."
"I should think not, Marie. Burn the clothes up, and give me the
buttons and gold lace. I will put them in a bag with some stones,
and drop them into the river. The sooner we get rid of them, the
better."
As soon as the things were put into a bag, he went out with with
them. The wind was blowing strongly and, as he had predicted the
night before, the clouds were flying fast, and there were many
signs of dirty weather. He returned a couple of hours later.
"There is quite an excitement in the town, Marie," he said.
"Everyone is talking about it. Two rascally English prisoners have
escaped, and the soldiers say that they must be somewhere in the
town, for that they could never have passed through the lines. Some
gendarmes have been along the quays, inquiring if a boat has been
missed during the night; but they all seem to be safe. Written
notices have been stuck up warning everyone, on pain of the
severest punishment, not to give shelter to two young men, in
whatever guise they may present themselves. The gendarmes say that
the military authorities are convinced that they must have received
assistance from without."
For the next three days, indeed, an active search was kept up.
Every house was visited by the gendarmes but, as there was no
reason for suspecting one person more than another, there was no
absolute search made of the houses; which indeed, in so large a
town as Bayonne, would have been almost impossible to carry out
effectually.
The fisherman reported each day what was going on.
"The soldiers are giving it up," he said, at the end of the third
day. "I saw Jacques today for the first time. He tells me there was
a tremendous row when your escape was discovered. The warder, and
every soldier who had been on duty that night, were arrested and
questioned. The warder was the one first suspected, on the ground
that you must have had assistance from without. He said that if you
had, he knew nothing about it; and that, as you knew all the
soldiers of the prison guard, and as he had heard many of them say
it was very hard, after fighting as you did on their behalf, that
you should be kept prisoner, any of them might have furnished you
with tools for cutting the door and filing the bars. This was so
clear that he was released at once. The soldiers were kept for two
days under arrest. This morning the governor himself came down to
the prison, and the men under arrest were drawn up. He spoke to
them very sharply, to begin with.
"'One or more of you is assuredly concerned in this matter. A
breach of trust of this kind is punishable with death.'
"Then he stopped, and looked fiercely up and down the line, and
went on in a different tone:
"'At the same time, I admit that some allowance is to be made for
the crime, and I can understand that as soldiers you felt sympathy
with soldiers who, although prisoners at the time, did not hesitate
to cast in their lot with you, and to fight side by side with you.
Still, a soldier should never allow private sentiments to interfere
with his duty. I myself should have been glad, when you arrived
here and I heard of what had happened, to have been able to place
these British officers and soldiers in a ship, and to have sent
them back to their own country; but that would have been a breach
of my duty, and I was forced to detain them here as prisoners. Of
course, if I could find out which among you have been concerned in
this affair, it would be my duty to punish them--for there must
have been more than one--severely. However, although I have done my
best to discover this, I am not sorry, men, that I have been unable
to do so; for although these men may have failed in their duties as
soldiers, they have shown themselves true-hearted fellows to run
that risk--not, I am sure, from any thought of reward, but to help
those who had helped them.
"'You can all return to your duty, and I hope that you will, in
future, remember that duty is the first thing with a soldier, and
that he should allow no other feeling to interfere with it.'
"Jacques and his comrades are all satisfied that, although the
general felt it was his duty to reprimand them, he was at heart by
no means sorry that you had got off.
"The gendarmes are still making inquiries, but of course they have
learned nothing. Nobody was about on the wharves at that time of
night, and I don't think that they will trouble themselves much
longer about it. They will come to believe that you must, somehow,
have managed to get through the line of fortifications, and that
you will be caught trying to make your way across the country.
"In another three or four days it will be quite safe for you to go
down the river. For the first two days every boat that went down
was stopped and examined, and some of the vessels were searched by
a gunboat, and the hatches taken off; but I hear that no boats have
been stopped today, so I fancy you will soon be able to go down
without fear."
Although at night Terence and Ryan were able to emerge from their
place of concealment, and walk up and down the little yard for two
or three hours, they were heartily glad when, a week after their
confinement, Jules told them that he thought they might start at
daybreak, the next morning.
"Now, messieurs, if you will tell me what you want, I will buy the
things for you."
They had already made out a list. It consisted of a nine-gallon
breaker for water, a dozen bottles of cheap wine, thirty pounds of
biscuits, and fifteen pounds of salt meat, which Jules's wife was
to cook. They calculated that this would be sufficient to last
them, easily, until they had passed along the Spanish coast to a
point well beyond the towns garrisoned by the French, if not to
Corunna itself.
"But how about the boat?" Terence asked, after all the other
arrangements had been decided upon. "As I told you, we don't wish
to take a boat belonging to anyone who would feel its loss; and
therefore it must be a ship's boat, and not one of the fishermen's.
If we had money to pay for it, it would be another matter; but we
have scarcely enough now to maintain us on our way through Spain,
and there are no means of sending money here when we rejoin our
army."
"I understand that, monsieur; and I have been along the quay this
morning taking a look at the boats. There are at least a dozen we
could choose from; I mean ships' boats. Of course, many of the
craft keep their boats hauled up at the davits or on deck, but most
of them keep one in the water, so that they can row off to another
ship or to the stairs. Some simply leave them in the water, because
they are too lazy to hoist them up. That is the case, I think, with
one boat that belongs to a vessel that came in, four days since,
from the West Indies. It's a good-sized ship's dinghy, such as is
used for running out warps, or putting a sailor ashore to bring off
anything required. The other boats are better suited for a voyage,
but they are for the most part too large and heavy to be rowed by
two oars and, moreover, they have not a mast and sail on board, as
this has. Therefore that is the one that I fixed my eye on.
"The ship is lying alongside, and there is not another craft
outside her. The boat is fastened to her bowsprit, and I can take
off my boots and get on board and drop into her, without
difficulty; and push her along to the foot of some stairs which are
but ten yards away. Of course, we will have the water and food and
that bundle of old nets ready, at the top of the stairs, and we can
be out into the stream five minutes after I have cut her loose. We
must start just before daylight is breaking, so as to be off before
the fishermen put out for, if any of these were about, they would
at once notice that I have not got my own boat. At the same time I
don't want to be far ahead of them, or to pass the gunboats at the
mouth of the river in the dark, for that would look suspicious."
"And now, Jules, about yourself. Of course, I know well that no
money could repay you for the kindness you have shown us, and your
risking so much for strangers; and you know that we have not with
us the means of making any return, whatever, for your services."
"I don't want any return, monsieur," the fisherman said. "I went
into the matter a good deal against my will, because my wife had
set her mind upon it; but since you came here I have got to have
just as much interest in the matter as she has. I would not take a
sou from you, now; but if, some day, when these wars are over, you
will send a letter to Marie with some little present to her, just
to show her that you have not forgotten us, it would be a great
pleasure to us."
"That I will certainly do, Jules. It may be some time before there
will be an opportunity of doing it, but you may be sure that we
shall not forget you and your wife, or cease to be grateful for
your kindnesses; and that, directly peace is made, or there is a
chance in any other way of sending a letter to you, we will do so."
That evening Jacques paid a visit to his sister. He had abstained
from doing so before, because he thought that the soldiers who were
suspected of being concerned in the escape might all be watched;
and that if any of them were seen to enter a house, a visit might
be paid to it by the gendarmes. He did not come until it was quite
dark, and made a long detour in the town before venturing to
approach it. Before he entered the lane he took good care that no
one was in sight.
When, after chatting for an hour, he rose to leave, Terence told
him that when he wrote to his sister he should inclose a letter to
him; as it would be impossible to write to him direct, for there
would be no saying where he might be stationed. He begged him to
convey the heartiest thanks of himself and Ryan to his comrades for
the share they had taken in the matter.
On saying good night, Terence insisted on Marie accepting, as a
parting gift, his watch and chain. These were handsome ones, and of
French manufacture, Terence having bought them from a soldier who
had taken them from the body of a French officer, killed during
Soult's retreat from Portugal. They could, therefore, be shown by
her to her friends without exciting any suspicion that they had
been obtained from an English source. Marie accepted them very
unwillingly, and only after Terence declaring that he should feel
very grieved if she would not take the one present he was capable
of making.
"Besides," he added, "no one can tell what fortune may bring about.
Your husband might lose his boat, or have a long illness; and it is
well to have something that you can part with, without discomfort,
in such a time of need."
Jules, although desiring no pay for his services and risks, was
very much gratified at the present.
"I for my part do not say no, monsieur," he said. "What you say is
right. We are careful people, and I have laid by a little money;
but as you say, one cannot tell what may happen. And if the weather
were bad and there was a risk of never getting back home again, it
would be a consolation to me to know that, in addition to the few
hundred francs we have laid by since we were married, two years
ago, there is something that would bring Marie, I should say, seven
or eight hundred francs more, at least. That would enable her to
set up a shop or laundry, and to earn her own living. I thank you
from my heart, monsieur, for her and for myself."
Terence and Ryan slept as soundly as usual until aroused by Jules.
Then they put on their sea boots again, loaded themselves with the
nets and the bags with the provisions and wine, while Jules took
the water barrel and after saying goodbye to Marie, started. There
was not a soul on the wharf and, putting the stores down at the top
of the steps, they watched Jules who, after taking off his boots,
went across a plank to the ship, made his way noiselessly out on to
the bow, swinging himself down into the boat, loosening the head
rope before he did so. A push with the oar against the ship's bow
sent the boat alongside the quay, and he then worked her along,
with his hands against the wall, until he reached the steps.
The stores were at once transferred to the boat, and they pushed it
out into the stream. The tide had but just turned to run out and,
for half a mile, they allowed her to drift down the river. By this
time the light was broadening out in the sky. Jules stepped the
mast and hoisted the sail, and then seated himself in the stern and
put an oar out in the hole cut for it to steer with. Terence
watched the operation carefully. The wind was nearly due aft, and
the boat ran rapidly through the water.
"We are just right as to time," Jules said, as he looked back where
the river made a bend. "There are two others coming down half a
mile behind us, so that we shall only seem to be rather earlier
birds than the rest."
Near the mouth of the river two gunboats were anchored. They passed
within a short distance of one of these, and a solitary sailor,
keeping anchor watch on deck, remarked:
"You are going to have a fine day for your fishing, comrade."
"Yes, I think so, but maybe there will be more wind presently."
Some time before reaching the gunboat, Ryan had lain down and the
nets were thrown loosely over him, as it would be better that there
should not seem to be more than the two hands that were generally
carried in the small fishing boats. Once out of the river they
steered south, laying a course parallel to the shore and about a
mile out. After an hour's sail Jules directed her head into a
little bay, took out an empty basket that he had brought with him,
and stepped ashore, after a cordial shake of the hand. He had
already advised them to bear very gradually to the southwest, and
had left a small compass on board for their guidance.
"They are things we don't often carry," he said, "in boats of this
size; but it will be well for you to take it. If you were blown out
of sight of land you would find it useful. Keep well out from the
Spanish coast, at any rate until you are well past Bilbao; after
that you can keep close in, if you like, for you will be taken for
a fishing boat from one of the small villages.
"I shall walk straight back now to the town. No questions are asked
at the gates and, if anyone did happen to take notice of me, they
would suppose I had been round peddling fish at the farmhouses."
Coming along, he had given instructions to Terence as to sailing
the boat. When running before the wind the sheet was to be loose,
while it was to be tightened as much as might be necessary to make
the sail stand just full, when the wind was on the beam or forward
of it.
"You will understand," he said, "that when the wind is right ahead
you cannot sail against it. You must then get the sail in as flat
as you can, and sail as near as you can to the wind. Then when you
have gone some distance you must bring her head round, till the
sail goes over on the other side; and sail on that tack, and so
make a zigzag course: but if the wind should come dead ahead, I
think your best course would be to lower the sail and row against
it. However, at present, with the wind from the east, you will be
able to sail free on your proper course."
Then he pushed the boat off.
"You had better put an oar out and get her head round," he said,
"before hoisting the sail again. Goodbye; bon voyage!"
Since leaving the river, Terence had been sailing under his
instructions and, as soon as the boat was under way again he said
to his companion:
"Here we are, free men again, Dicky."
"I call it splendid, Terence. She goes along well. I only hope she
will keep on like this till we get to Corunna or, better still, to
the mouth of the Douro."
"We must not count our chickens before they are hatched, Dicky.
There are storms and French privateers to be reckoned with. We are
not out of the wood yet, by a long way. However, we need not bother
about them, at present. It is quite enough that we have got a stout
boat and a favouring wind."
"And plenty to eat and drink, Terence; don't forget that."
"No, that is a very important item, especially as we dare not land
to buy anything, for some days."
"What rate are we going through the water, do you think?"
"Jules said we were sailing about four knots an hour when we were
going down the river, and about three when we had turned south and
pulled the sail in. I suppose we are about halfway between the two
now, so we can count it as three knots and a half."
"That would make," Ryan said, after making the calculation,
"eighty-four miles in twenty-four hours."
"Bravo, Dicky! I doubted whether your mental powers were equal to
so difficult a calculation. Well, Jules said that it was about four
hundred miles to Corunna, and about a hundred and fifty to
Santander, beyond which he thought we could land safely at any
village."
"Oh, let us stick to the boat as long as we can!" Ryan exclaimed.
"Certainly. I have no more desire to be tramping among those
mountains and taking our chance with the peasants than you have,
and if the wind keeps as it is now we should be at Corunna in
something like five days. But that would be almost too much to hope
for. So that it does but keep in its present direction till we are
past Santander, I shall be very well satisfied."
The mountains of Navarre and Biscay were within sight from the time
they had left the river, and it did not need the compass to show
them which way they should steer. There were many fishing boats
from Nivelle, Urumia, and Saint Sebastian to be seen, dotted over
the sea on their left. They kept farther out than the majority of
these, and did not pass any of them nearer than half a mile.
After steering for a couple of hours, Terence relinquished the oar
to his companion.
"You must get accustomed to it, as well as I," he said, "for we
must take it in turns, at night."
By twelve o'clock they were abreast of a town; which was, they had
no doubt, San Sebastian. They were now some four miles from the
Spanish coast. They were travelling at about the same rate as that
at which they had started, but the wind came off the high land, and
sometimes in such strong puffs that they had to loosen the sheet.
The fisherman had shown them how to shorten sail by tying down the
reef points and shifting the tack and, in the afternoon, the
squalls came so heavily that they thought it best to lower the sail
and reef it. Towards nightfall the wind had risen so much that they
made for the land, and when darkness came on threw out the little
grapnel the boat carried, a hundred yards or so from the shore, at
a point where no village was visible. Here they were sheltered from
the wind and, spreading out the nets to form a bed, they laid
themselves down in the bottom of the boat, pulling the sail partly
over them.
"This is jolly enough," Ryan said. "It is certainly pleasanter to
lie here and look at the stars than to be shut up in that hiding
place of Jules's."
"It is a great nuisance having to stop, though," Terence replied.
"It is a loss of some forty miles."
"I don't mind how long this lasts," Ryan said cheerfully. "I could
go on for a month at this work, providing the provisions would hold
out."
"I don't much like the look of the weather, Dicky. There were
clouds on the top of some of the hills and, though we can manage
the boat well enough in such weather as we have had today, it will
be a different thing altogether if bad weather sets in. I should
not mind if I could talk Spanish as well as I can Portuguese. Then
we could land fearlessly, if the weather was too bad to hold on.
But you see, the Spanish hate the Portuguese as much as they do the
French; and would, as likely as not, hand us over at once at the
nearest French post."
They slept fairly and, at daybreak, got up the grapnel and hoisted
the sail again. Inshore they scarcely felt the wind but, as soon as
they made out a couple of miles from the land, they felt that it
was blowing hard.
"We won't go any farther out. Dick, lay the boat's head to the west
again. I will hold the sheet while you steer, and then I can let
the sail fly, if a stronger gust than usual strikes us. Sit well
over this side."
[Illustration: 'She is walking along now.']
"She is walking along now," Ryan said joyously. "I had no idea that
sailing was as jolly as it is."
They sped along all day and, before noon, had passed Bilbao. As the
afternoon wore on the wind increased in force, and the clouds began
to pass rapidly overhead, from the southeast.
"We had better get her in to the shore," Terence said. "Even with
this scrap of sail, we keep on taking the water in on that lower
side. I expect Santander lies beyond that point that runs out ahead
of us, and we will land somewhere this side of it."
But as soon as they turned the boat's head towards the shore, and
hauled in the sheet as tightly as they could, they found that, try
as they would, they could not get her to lie her course.
"We sha'n't make the point at all," Terence said, half an hour
after they had changed the course. "Besides, we have been nearly
over, two or three times. I dare say fellows who understood a boat
well could manage it but, if we hold on like this, we shall end by
drowning ourselves. I think the best plan will be to lower the sail
and mast, and row straight to shore."
"I quite agree with you," Ryan said. "Sailing is pleasant enough in
a fair wind, but I cannot say I care for it, as it is now."
With some difficulty, for the sea was getting up, they lowered the
sail and mast and, getting out the oars, turned her head straight
for the shore. Both were accustomed to rowing in still water, but
they found that this was very different work. After struggling at
the oars for a couple of hours, they both agreed that they were a
good deal farther away from the land than when they began.
"It is of no use, Dick," Terence said. "If we cannot make against
the wind while we are fresh, we certainly cannot do so when we are
tired; and my arms feel as if they would come out of their
sockets."
"So do mine," Ryan said, with a groan. "I am aching all over, and
both my hands are raw with this rough handle. What are we to do,
then, Terence?"
"There is nothing to do that I can see, but to get her head round
and run before the wind. It is a nuisance, but perhaps the gale
won't last long and, when it is over, we can get up sail and make
for the northwestern point of Spain. We have got provisions enough
to last for a week.
"That is more comfortable," he added, as they got the boat in the
required direction. "Now, you take the steering oar, Dick, and see
that you keep her as straight as you can before the wind; while I
set to and bale. She is nearly half full of water."
It took half an hour's work, with the little bowl they found in the
boat, before she was completely cleared of water. The relief given
to her was very apparent, for she rose much more lightly on the
waves.
"We will sit down at the bottom of the boat, and take it by turns
to hold the steering oar."
They had brought with them a lantern in which a lighted candle was
kept burning, in order to be able to light their pipes. This was
stowed away in a locker in the stern, with their store of biscuit
and, after eating some of these, dividing a bottle of wine, and
lighting their pipes, they felt comparatively comfortable. They
were, of course, drenched to the skin and, as the wind was cold,
they pulled the sail partly over them.
"She does not ship any water now, Terence. If she goes on like
this, it will be all right."
"I expect it will be all right, Dick, though it is sure to be very
much rougher than this when we get farther out. Still, I fancy an
open boat will live through almost anything, providing she is light
in the water. I don't suppose she would have much chance if she had
a dozen men on board, but with only us two I think there is every
hope that she will get through it.
"It would be a different thing if the wind was from the west, and
we had the great waves coming in from the Atlantic, as we had in
that heavy gale when we came out from Ireland. As it is, nothing
but a big wave breaking right over her stern could damage us very
seriously. There is not the least fear of her capsizing, with us
lying in the bottom."
They did not attempt to keep alternate watches that night, only
changing occasionally at the steering oar, the one not occupied
dozing off occasionally. The boat required but little steering for,
as both were lying in the stern, the tendency was to run straight
before the wind. As the waves, however, became higher, she needed
keeping straight when she was in a hollow between two seas. It
seemed sometimes that the waves following behind the boat must
break on to her, and swamp her but, as time after time she rose
over them, their anxiety on this score lessened, and they grew more
and more confident that she would go safely through it.
Occasionally the baler was used, to keep her clear of the water
which came in in the shape of spray. At times they chatted
cheerfully, for both were blessed with good spirits and the faculty
of looking on the best side of things. They smoked their pipes in
turns, getting fire from each other, so as to avoid the necessity
of resorting to the lantern, which might very well blow out, in
spite of the care they had at first exercised by getting under the
sail with it when they wanted a light.
They were heartily glad when morning broke. The scene was a wild
one. They seemed to be in the centre of a circle of mist, which
closed in at a distance of half a mile or so, all round them. At
times the rain fell, sweeping along with stinging force but, wet as
they were, this mattered little to them.
"I would give something for a big glass of hot punch," Ryan said,
as he munched a piece of biscuit.
"Yes, it would not be bad," Terence agreed; "but I would rather
have a big bowl of hot coffee."
"I have changed my opinion of a seafaring life," Ryan said, after a
pause. "It seemed delightful the morning we started, but it has its
drawbacks; and to be at sea in an open boat, during a strong gale
in the Bay of Biscay, is distinctly an unpleasant position."
"I fancy it is our own fault, Dicky. If we had known how to manage
the boat, I have no doubt that we should have been able to get to
shore. When the wind first began to freshen, we ought not to have
waited so long as we did, before we made for shelter."
"Well, we shall know better next time, Terence. I think that, now
that it is light, we had better get some sleep, by turns. Do you
lie down for four hours, and then I will take a turn."
"All right! But be sure you wake me up, and mind you don't go to
sleep; for if you did we might get broadside on to these waves, and
I have no doubt they would roll us over and over. So mind, if
before the four hours are up you feel you cannot keep your eyes
open, wake me at once. Half an hour will do wonders for me, and I
shall be perfectly ready to take the oar again."