That night the winds died away, and we were becalmed, and so warm as it was! I could not sleep, and in the first watch—that of the captain—I went upon deck. Old Dan is a sailor who has been at sea with us a great many years, and the only one that the captain wishes me to speak with when he is not present.
So after I had chatted with the captain a little, he went forward a moment with a command for the second mate.
“How do you head, Dan?” I asked of him idly.
“Mostly all round the compass, there being no steerage way to speak of, Miss,” he made answer.
I yawned, for I had a strong desire to sleep, yet cared not to go to the close air of below.
All at once, I thought of the life-boat which swings at the “Petrel’s” stern, covered with canvas, and how delightful to be in it were it possible. If there came a breath of wind I should feel it there; and remembering that I had seen a torn fore-royal put into the boat a few days previous, I made up my mind what to do. “Look you, Dan,” I said, “I am going to sleep in the life-boat till you shall come to the wheel again in the morning watch from twelve till four, and then you can call me.”
“Very well, Miss,” he made reply, though he regarded me with a little doubt, “only maybe Cap’n Wray wouldn’t think—”
“He need know nothing of it,” I said with impatience, for I have a will headstrong, which often causes me after-sorrow. And without other words I slipped myself within the boat, pulling the cover in place with care.
“Where is Miss Wray?” I heard the captain to ask as he came aft a moment after.
“She’s turned in, sir,” was the answer of Dan.