Ned turned away, with a tear in his eye, and walked forward. Flinging his arms round his friend’s neck, he said, “He won’t let me go, Walter. It’s too bad; we might have such a good time!”
The boat was manned, and beef, bread, water, and raw pork put into her. The raw pork was in addition, as that could, on occasion, be eaten raw; and if the vessel should be blown off the coast, he might be left there a good while, and no fire could be made to cook, without attracting notice.
The captain, after giving him his instructions, put into his hands a spy-glass. “There,” said he, “is a glass with which you can read letters three inches long a mile away.” He then shook hands with him at the side, bidding him take care of himself, and keep a bright lookout, while the tender-hearted black fairly shed tears.
“Look out for de man-o’-war, sonnie. S’pose he ketch you, Peterson chase you all ober de world but he git you.”
“Good by, dear Walter,” cried Ned, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck, as he stood up in the stern sheets to step on the rock.
“Good by, Ned,” said Walter, returning the embrace.
The provision and water were landed, and the boat pulled rapidly away. Walter sat down upon the rock, listening to the sound of the oars in the rowlocks, and watching the phosphorescence of the water as it flashed on their blades. All these tokens of departure, of little moment on ordinary occasions, now possessed not a little interest. He marked the ring of the iron, as the hook of the davit-fall went into the ring-bolt, and heard the man say, “Hoist away,” the creak of the blocks, and the slat of the canvas, as the sails filled, then the low, rushing sound of the vessel’s bow as it parted the water. It was a lonely moment to the brave boy, when the last low sound betokening companionship was lost in the dash of midnight waves, the gleam of her white canvas faded from his view, and he was left on the wild rock alone. He had never been taught to breathe a petition for protection, or to depend upon aught but himself. His conversation with Charlie by the brook constituted the only appeal of a religious nature ever made to his heart.
He knew not the nature or extent of the rock on which he had been so unceremoniously deposited, and, clambering up to where he was above the flow of the tide, placed his provisions beside him, and determined to keep watch till the day broke, that he might have time to examine the place before he could be observed from any passing boat or vessel. Fearing, if he went to sleep, he might sleep too long, and finding a flat place on the rock, he paced back and forth, to keep himself awake.
Little Ned, feeling very lonely in the absence of his watch-mate, attached himself to Peterson, between whom and Walter there was such a good understanding, in order that he might talk about Walter, Pleasant Cove, the Griffins, and all the people and boys he had become acquainted with there.
The rock on which Walter was placed might have been, at low water, half an acre in extent, and irregular in its form, the eastern end rising in a high bluff, with deep water around and close to it; but the western end sloped into long, ragged ridges, honeycombed by the everlasting dash of surf, and terminating in long reefs, upon which the sea broke with a continuous roar. Between these ridges were openings or coves, quite wide at the extremities of the reefs, shoaling and narrowing as they ran up into the main portion of the rock, in such a manner that it was easy to enter them in a boat between the breaking points, and land, in good weather, with perfect safety.