Both boys found themselves ensconced in a low, boarded apartment. Several old mattresses afforded a soft couch, and they could command a full view of the room through which they passed through the cracks in the door, which Tom had pulled shut after him.
They had tramped quite a long distance that day, and their whispered conversation soon subsided, and drowsiness overcame them.
Will was the first to awake in the morning. From the motion of the ship he knew that they were on the ocean. Peering through the interstices of the trap door he saw several sailors asleep and others coming from and going to the deck.
When Tom awoke they discussed the situation and decided that by that night or the next morning they would reach Watertown.
“I’m getting desperately hungry,” Tom said more than once, as the long morning glided away.
“We can’t get anything to eat here without revealing ourselves,” replied Will.
Tom’s fortitude, however, gave out completely before the day was ended.
“I can’t stand it, Will,” he ejaculated at last. “I’m fairly dying of hunger and thirst. Look, Will, there’s the boatswain.”
Peering through a crack in the door, Will saw Jack Marcy enter the place.
He was alone, and the forecastle was deserted except for himself.