What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the sail and the boat-hook.
With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water, far as the eye could reach.
Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by their wash and whisper.
[CHAPTER VII]
JEREMIAH JACKSON
"BOAT ahoy! Wake up there! Or is it dead you are?"
With these words ringing in his ears, Tad sprang to his feet, nearly upsetting the little boat. The sun had gone down, the soft twilight was stealing over sea and sky, and close to him was a vessel, a good-sized schooner, laden with timber; even her decks were piled with it.
The skipper, a fat, red-headed, freckled man, with kind, blue eyes and a big voice, was looking over the ship's side at the poor solitary waif, in the oarless, sail-less boat, while another man threw a rope to Tad and called to him to catch hold. The boy had just sense enough to obey, and the sailor drew the boat close, and in a minute or two Tad was safe on the deck of the schooner.
"Where did you come from, shrimp?" asked the fellow who had thrown the rope.
"And how do you come to be making a voyage all by yourself?" cried a second sailor.