“Sleep, uncle!” cried Stan. “Who could possibly sleep at a time like this?”
“I could, and will if I have the chance. I want steady hands for aiming to-morrow.”
“You had better sleep, sir,” said Blunt. “Lynn here and I will divide the watch between us.”
“No,” said Uncle Jeff; “I don’t mean to be left out in the cold. I shall divide the watch, taking one-third. You’re weak, Blunt, so you and Stan go and lie down. In three hours I’ll wake Stan, and he shall have his three hours’ watch and then come and rouse you. Then you ought to be fresher and stronger. There! no arguing; I’m going to be master over this. You send all the fellows off but two to keep watch with me, and do so at once.”
Uncle Jeff’s tones endorsed his words, being masterful in the extreme. Very shortly after the great building was silent as could be, and the only sounds that broke the night were the cries of distant wild birds, the splashings of feeding fish, and the steady tramp of the chief watcher. His big burly figure loomed up as he walked to and fro along the paved wharf, his two companions preferring to pass their time whispering together, straining their eyes for any dark, shadowy vessel that might come stealing down the river, the subject of their discussion being the desperate fight through which they had gone so short a time before, while they wondered what would have happened by that time the next night.
The three hours passed away, and to the minute Uncle Jeff sent his companions to rouse Stan and the two men who were to take their places.
Three more hours passed, and in turn Stan sent one man to rouse up the two next sentries and went himself to awaken Blunt.
“Yes, Lynn; all right. Hah! I’ve had such a sleep. What of the night?”
“All calm and still. It’s getting misty now, though, and a bit chilly.”
“That means a greatcoat for this poor weak invalid. There! turn in and have another sleep till breakfast-time.”