“We’re far beyond the track o’ ships,” said the captain bitterly. “Is there never a drop o’ water in the boat?”
“Not a drop,” replied Gaff, “I’ve searched all round, an’ only found a empty bottle.”
“Ay, meant for to smuggle brandy aboard when they got the chance, the brutes!” said the captain, referring to his recent crew. “Well, it don’t matter. We’ve now the prospect of dyin’ o’ thirst before we die of starvation. For my part, I prefer to die o’ starvation, so ye may put yourself an’ your brat on full allowance as long as it lasts.”
Poor Billy’s horror at the prospect before him was much aggravated by the fierce and brutal manner of Graddy, and he would fain have gone and hid his face in his father’s bosom; but he had been placed at the helm while the two were pulling, so he could not forsake his post.
It was a calm evening when they were thus cast adrift on the boundless sea, and as night advanced the calm deepened, so that the ocean became like a sea of ink, in which the glorious host of stars were faithfully mirrored.
Hour after hour the two men pulled at the oars with a slow-measured steady stroke, while Billy sat at the helm, and kept the boat’s head in the direction of a certain star which the captain pointed out to him. At length the star became like a moon to Billy’s gazing eyes; then it doubled itself, and then it went out altogether as the poor boy fell forward.
“Hallo, Billy! mind your helm!” cried his father.
“I felled asleep, daddy,” said the Bu’ster apologetically, as he resumed his place.
“Well, well, boy; lie down and take a sleep. It’s too hard on you. Eat a biscuit first though before you lie down, and I’ll keep the boat’s head right with the oar.”
The captain made no remark, but the moon, which had just arisen, shone on his hard features, and showed that they were more fierce and lowering than at the beginning of the night.