"I—I'd like to save a little, if you please," said Paul, timidly.
"Save a little! why, what's the use? There's plenty on board; I can get a double allowance any time."
"You can, and will you?" cried the boy, eagerly.
"Why, yes, but what for?"
"We may want it, who knows? The captain may forbid you to come here, and then Jube would starve."
"Well, that's sensible. It ain't likely to happen, but then there's no harm in a full locker. I'll bring down a bag of bread this minute if he's in the cabin—then there's plenty of oranges in the cargo; if you come to hunger, cuffy, you can stave in a box, and hide the boards. Now fall to, youngster. There's no fear of a famine."
The boy was very hungry, but it made him faint, rather than eager. Something seemed to excite him; perhaps it was the gathering storm, through which the brig labored heavily. Perhaps he had some vague, childish hope, scarcely understood by himself; certainly his eyes had never shone so brightly before. His face was that of a young hero preparing for battle.
The brig plunged and reeled more and more. Her timbers began to strain and creak; the waves leaped and howled against her sides like charges of cavalry in fierce action. The roar and boom of the storm was terrible.
The two men who sat together in the dim light, floating upon the basin near by, looked at each other. The negro's face was ashen gray; the sailor lost his ruddy color; but the boy's eyes grew bright as stars.
"It's on us—it's on us—and every stitch of canvas out!" cried Rice. "I knew he was acting like a fool, but didn't expect this. Splurge! heave! Crack—crack! Jerusalem! there goes the mainsail! Aye, aye."