The Fourth Watch | Page 2

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