Looking inquiringly around, his eye rests upon a boat, which lies bottom upward on the beach, appearing through the thick rain like the carapace of a gigantic turtle. It is an old ship’s launch that has bilged, and either been abandoned as useless, or upturned to receive repairs. No matter what its history, it offers the hospitality so scurvily refused him at the “Sailor’s Home.” If it cannot give him supper, or bed, it will be some protection against the rain that has now commenced coming down in big clouting drops.
This deciding him, he creeps under the capsized launch, and lays himself at full length along the shingle.
Chapter Thirty Four.
In Dangerous Proximity.
The spot upon which the ex-man-o’-war’s man has stretched himself is soft as a feather-bed. Still he does not fall asleep. The rain, filtering through the sand, soon finds its way under the boat; and, saturating his couch, makes it uncomfortable. This, with the cold night-air, keeps him awake.
He lies listening to the sough of the sea, and the big drops pattering upon the planks above.
Not long before other sounds salute his ear, distinguishable as human voices—men engaged in conversation.
As he continues to listen, the voices grow louder, those who converse evidently drawing nearer.