The Fourth Watch

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fourth Watch, by H. A. Cody

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Title: The Fourth Watch

Author: H. A. Cody

Posting Date: April 29, 2013 [EBook #8198]

Release Date: May, 2005

First Posted: July 1, 2003

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOURTH WATCH ***

Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

The Fourth Watch

by

H. A. Cody

Author of The Frontiersman, Under Sealed

Orders, The Long Patrol, Etc.

TO ALL

Messengers, Watchmen and Stewards of the Lord,

who have faithfully toiled through Life's long night,

and now in their Fourth Watch and Last Watch

behold the dawn of a new Life breaking, this book is

affectionately dedicated by one but yet in the

Second Watch.

Contents

The Awakening

The Vision

Glendow Rectory

The Warder of the Night

The Breath of Slander

The Auction

The Farringtons

The Golden Key

Beating the Devil

In Camp

Guarding the Flock

Light and Shadow

For the Sake of a Child

The Long Night

Deepening Shadows

For Sweet Love's Sake

Hitting Back

Wash-Tub Philosophy

The Sting

The Overseer

Decision

In the Deep of the Heart

Where Is Dan?

The Rush of Doom

Beneath the Ashes

A Rope of Sand

In the Toils

Waiting and Serving

Rifted Clouds

Beneath the Surface

Light at Eventide

The Fourth Watch

Chapter I

The Awakening

The boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest, glorious in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the wary partridges were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough, fallen log or ragged stump. To the left the waters of the noble River St. John rippled and sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over there amidst that long stretch of marshland, in many a cove and reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely hidden. What connection had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre potato patch when the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him to fields afar? There was no inspiration here--among these straggling rows. Nothing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and tingling through his body. But there--! He sighed as he leaned upon his hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore; in a sheltered cove among the trees, the Scud, a small boat, was idly flapping her dirty patched sail.

Wonder what dad left it up for? thought the boy.

Maybe he's going after more ducks. Wish to goodness he'd help with these potatoes so I could get off, too.

Then his eyes roamed out over the water until they rested upon a white sail away in the distance, bearing steadily down-stream. He watched it carelessly for some time, but noticing the manner in which it drooped under an occasional squall his interest became aroused.

There's too much canvas, that's sure! he ejaculated. "Some idiot, I s'pose, who doesn't know 'bout these squalls. Guess he'll learn soon if he isn't careful. Now the Scud, she's all right. I'd risk her any time--My--!" and he almost held his breath as the white sail, much nearer now, swooped to the water like the wing of a gigantic bird. The boat righted herself, however, and sped gracefully forward. Again and again she dipped and careened under each successive squall, winning the lad's unstinted admiration. But even as he looked and wondered, a furious gust caught the white sail as it listed heavily, and drove it with one sweep to the water, overturning the boat as it did so. With a cry of fear the boy dropped his hoe, stared for an instant at the overturned craft, and then sped across the potato field sloping to the shore. He did not wait to go by the path, which led straight up to a little cabin in the valley, but, making a short cut to the left, leaped into a tangled thicket beyond. He crashed his way through the branches and underbrush, not heeding the numerous scratches upon face and hands.

He reached the Scud, tore, rather than untied the painter from an old oak root, and sent the boat reeling backwards from its moorings. The sail flapped wildly in the breeze, which was now growing stronger, and the craft began to drift. Catching up the centre-board, lying near, the boy drove it down into its narrow groove with a resounding thud. Seizing the sheet-line with one hand, and squatting well astern he grasped the tiller with the other. Nobly the boat obeyed her little determined commander. The sail filled, she listed to the left and darted forward, bearing bravely up the wind. Straight ahead the boy could see the distressed boat sinking lower and lower in the water, with a man and a woman clinging desperately to the upturned side. The wind was now whistling around him, and at times threatening to rip away the patched sail. The water was rough, and the angry white-caps were dashing their cold spray over his clothes. But not for an instant did he swerve from his course until quite near the wreck. Then letting go the sheet-line he permitted the boat to fall away a little to the left. In this manner he was able to swing gradually in a half-circle, and by the time he was up again to the teeth of the wind the Scud was lying close to the overturned boat.

So preoccupied had been the boy up to this moment that he had no time to observe closely the shipwrecked pair. Now, however, he cast a curious glance in their direction, as he let go the rudder and sheet-line, and threw out the painter to the man. Eagerly the latter seized the rope, and managed to hold the two boats together.

Give us yer hand, shouted the boy, and let her come out first. Be careful now, he continued as the crafts bumped against each other. There, that's good.

With considerable difficulty the two strangers were rescued from their perilous position, and then the Scud dropped away from the wreck.

Where do you want to go? asked the boy, as once again he brought the boat to the wind.

Over there, responded the man, pointing to the opposite shore. We can land on that point and get driven home.

Almost mechanically the boy swung the Scud around, and headed her for the place indicated. From the moment he had caught a glimpse of the woman clinging to the boat he had found it hard to turn away his eyes. Her hat was gone, and the wind was blowing her dark-brown hair about her face, which was white as death. But when she turned her large blue eyes filled with gratitude and fear upon her rescuer, a strange feeling of embarrassment swept suddenly over him. Women he had seen before, but none such as this. How quiet she was, too--not a cry or complaint did she make. Her clothes were wet; the water cold, and the wind raw. But she sat there in the boat watching him with those big eyes as he guided the Scud steadily forward.

He looked at her dress, how neat and clean it was. Then he glanced at his own rough togs. How coarse, worn and dirty were they, while his shoes were heavy grey brogans. A flush mantled his sun-browned face. He shifted uneasily, gripped the tiller more firmly, and drove the Scud a point nearer to the wind. What must she think of him? he wondered. Was she comparing him with the well-dressed man at her side, who was looking thoughtfully out over the blue water? A feeling of jealousy stole into his heart. He had never known such a thing before. He knew what it was to be angry--to stamp and shout in his rage. He had engaged in several pitched battles with the boys in the neighbourhood who had made fun of him. But his life--a life of freedom--had satisfied him. To hunt, to trap, to wander over hill, valley and forest was all that he asked for. He had never thought of anything higher, never dreamed of any life but the one his father led, hunting, and trapping in season and making a slight pretence of farming. Now, however, something was stirring within him. He longed to show this woman that though his clothes and shoes were rough, he was almost a man and could do great things.

What is your name, my boy?

The words startled him, and he glanced quickly up. The woman was looking at him still, but now she was smiling. Was she laughing at him?

My name's Dan, was the reply.

Dan, Dan what?

Oh, just old Jim's boy.

Old Jim, Old Jim! repeated the woman. Do you mean Jim Flitter, the trapper?

Yep, that's him.

And do you live over there?

Yep. In that shanty up the valley, Dad and I live there alone.

Have you no mother, Dan? and the woman's voice was soft and low.

None now.

She was about to question further, but noticing the look upon the boy's face she desisted.

Do you know you've saved our lives? she remarked after a short silence. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for us to-day. I don't think I could have clung to that boat much longer.

I ain't done nuthin', Dan replied. But next time you go out don't carry so much sail, specially when it's squally. I mayn't always be handy like I was to-day. But come, we're at the pint, so I'll land you here. Saying which, Dan let the sail go free, and ran the boat gently up the pebbly shore.

Now, my boy, asked the man, how much do I owe you? Dan had stooped and was about to push the Scud from the beach. He looked up quickly at the question, but made no reply.

How much? demanded the man, somewhat impatiently.

What do you mean? asked the boy.

What do I mean? Simply this. You've done us a great service, saved us from death, and how much money do you want? How much shall I pay you?

Nuthin'.

Dan was standing erect now. His dark eyes fixed full upon the man's face, flashed with anger, while his heart thumped tumultuously beneath his little checkered shirt.

What! won't take any pay!

No!

And why not?

Cause I won't. You've no right to ask me. It ain't fair!

That was all Dan could utter. He could not express his feelings; repugnance filled his heart at the thought of taking money for what he had done. He felt the woman's eyes fixed upon him. What would she think, of him, Dan Flitter, taking money for saving people's lives? He gave one quick glance in her direction, turned, and pushing the boat from the shore, sprang in, leaving the man and the woman upon the beach gazing wonderingly after him.

Chapter II

The Vision

Danny, what's the meaning of this?

Mr. Flitter laid down his paper, took his pipe from his mouth, and looked inquiringly at his son.

Dan was seated at the farther end of the table, cleaning his beloved shot-gun. It had done good work that day, and a fine string of partridges hung in an outer room, ready to go to the store early the next morning. A week had now passed since the rescue on the river, and during the whole of that time he had said nothing about it to his father. There was a reason for this. The latter had been much away from home during the day, only coming in late at night when his son was in bed, so they had little chance for conversation. It was a busy season, and they must make the most of it. So while the one scoured the forest for partridges, the other searched the river for ducks and geese. But Dan did not feel inclined to say anything to his father about what he had done. To him it was not worth mentioning. That he had picked up two shipwrecked people, and set them ashore, in his eyes was a very simple thing. It was made less so by the thought of that woman with the large eyes, beautiful face and sunny smile. How could he describe to his father the new feeling which had come into his breast, the longing for something more than the life he was leading, and the desire to show that woman what he really could do?

His father's sudden question startled him. The mail was carried but once a week to this place, and by the time the paper arrived from the post office it was several days old. Mr. Flitter had come home earlier than usual, having had a fine day's shooting on the river, and was in excellent spirits. Game was in great demand, and he looked hopefully for good sales on the morrow. After their scanty meal he picked up the paper and began to read. Silence reigned in the little dingy shanty for some time, broken only by the short, sharp question.

Don't you know anything about it, Danny? insisted Mr. Flitter, noticing the startled and puzzled look upon his son's face.

What do you mean, dad?

Why, about that wreck on the river. This paper says that you saved two people from drowning right off here over a week ago.

Dan's face flushed and his heart beat fast. What! was his name in the paper? Would the people in the big city see it? What would the boys in the neighbourhood think? Would they make fun of him any more? He could show them now that he was somebody, for his name was in the paper! These thoughts drove surgingly through his brain. He rose from his place and stood by his father's side.

Show me, dad, he whispered; let me see it.

"There, Danny, look at the heading:--

'A Boy's Brave Deed.'

And is that long piece all about me, dad?

Yes, and it states what you did. Why didn't you tell me about it, son?

Where's my name, dad? asked Dan, unheeding his father's question.

There, and Mr. Flitter, pointing with his finger, spelled out the words, Daniel Flitter.

Does it say, dad, who those people were that got swamped?

No, their names are not given. It only says that the young man lives in the city. But why didn't you tell me about it, Dan?

Thought it wasn't worth while, replied the boy. But I don't see how they know about it down there to put it in the paper.

How did it happen, son. Let's have the whole story. Mr. Flitter pulled off his boots, lighted his pipe afresh, and leaned back to listen.

I wonder who that woman is, he remarked, when Dan had finished his brief account. I know most people for miles around, and it's strange I don't know her from your description. However, I shall make inquiries and find out.

During the days that followed, Dan lived in a new world. His feet trod the earth, and he trudged for miles the woodland ways. But his mind was in fairyland.

It was an enchanted world through which he moved, and he was master of all. The trees on every side were crowds of admiring people, and the branches were so many outstretched hands pointing to him. His breast swelled with pride. He walked erect, his head held high, while his eyes flashed with a triumphant light. The birds sang his praises; the squirrels chattered one to another, and every brook babbled Daniel Flitter, Daniel Flitter. His name had appeared in the paper! He was no longer an obscure person, but a hero--a wonder! He kept the clipping carefully wrapped up in his pocket. Often he would sit down in some quiet forest spot, unfold his treasure and look long and proudly upon those two magic words. One day as he sat studying the paper a desire came into his heart to know all of those wonderful words before and after his name. He could not read, never having gone to school. In fact he never wanted to do so. His one aim was to be a mighty hunter and trapper like his father. But now, a longing had entered his soul; a spark from the mysterious fire of life had found a lodging which needed only a little fanning to produce a bright and fervent flame.

Dad, said he, that night, while eating his supper, I wish I knew how to read. All the boys in this settlement can read and write. Ain't I old enough to begin?

You're old enough, lad, but we live a long way from the schoolhouse, and when you were little it was too far for you to walk. You might go this winter, when there's spare time, if you don't mind the distance.

I don't mind that, dad, but all the rest will know so much that they'll make fun of me. I only know a few of my letters, and mother taught me them before she died.

She did, lad, she did, God bless her, and a huskiness came into Mr. Flitter's voice as he spoke. "If she were alive now you would know as much as any boy of your age, for your mother was a smart one, and I guess you take after her, Dan.

I wish I had her now, and the boy gave a deep sigh. She'd help me every night, and I wouldn't be stupid any more.

Mr. Flitter made no reply to these words. He finished his supper in silence, and while Dan washed the few dishes he sat thoughtfully smoking his old clay pipe.

Laddie, he remarked as they were preparing for bed, I've been having deep thoughts to-night, and I've come to the conclusion that I haven't done right by you. I've neglected you too much.

In what way, dad? questioned the boy.

Oh, in many ways. I've fed and clothed you, though I guess you've earned it all. But I've not thought enough about your mind--your education, I mean. Besides, there are deeper and more serious things in life of which I've told you nothing. I do feel mighty guilty when I think about it all.

You've been good to me, though, and Dan looked inquiringly into his father's face.

Yes, in a way. But, then, haven't I been good to our old mare, Queen? I feed and blanket her. But what more have I done for you--and you are my own son? Now look here, he added, after a pause, I'm willing to teach you at nights how to read, and see if we can't make up for my past neglect.

Dad! D'you mean it?

There now, that'll do. No more talking. Let's off to bed, and we'll have the first lesson to-morrow night.

The days that followed were busy ones for Dan. The shooting season closed, but there was other work to do. The rabbits had to be snared and his regular rounds made to the traps set for the wiry mink, lumbering raccoon, and the wily fox. Each night, the animals brought in during the day had to be skinned, and the pelts carefully stretched. Then when this had been accomplished to his satisfaction he would turn his attention to his studies.

His father was cutting cord-wood for a neighbour, and was able to get home at night. Then the two pored over the mysterious letters and words in the little cabin, the elder doing his best to impart his scanty knowledge to the younger. They were happy times for Dan. He had something to live for now, and throughout the day, as he wandered from trap to trap, the words he had studied the night before kept ringing in his ears.

But, alas! such scenes were to be dispelled all too soon. They were too good to last long. One evening Dan returned home to find an unusual commotion about the place. Men and women were there who had never before entered the building. And the doctor, whom he had often met on the road, what was he doing there? What were they whispering about? and why did they look at him in that way, when he entered the house? Where was his father? Who was that lying on the bed so very still? Could it be dad? He had never seen him like that before. Then the thought flashed upon him: something was wrong! His father was hurt! and with a cry he rushed forward, and bent over the prostrate form. But no word of welcome, no sign of recognition did he receive. Nothing but that vacant stare met his ardent gaze.

Slowly, very slowly, he grasped the meaning of it all, as the sympathetic watchers told the brief story. His father had met with a serious accident. A large birch tree in falling had lodged against another, a sturdy maple. While cutting at the latter the birch had suddenly turned over and swooping to the ground with a resounding crash had buried Mr. Flitter beneath the branches ere he had had time to escape. He had been carried home bruised, broken, and unconscious. The doctor had been hurriedly summoned, and had done all in his power for the injured man. But in vain, for in a short time he had breathed his last.

Dan uttered not a word when the tale had been told. He asked no questions, neither did he make any outcry. He stood like one stricken dumb, dry-eyed and motionless, gazing upon that quiet form lying upon the bed. Gently they led him away, and tried to speak to him. He did not heed them. A weight such as he had never known before pressed upon his heart. He wished to be alone, somewhere in the woods, out there where no one could gaze upon him. His father was dead! For him there was no consolation from the words of the Man of Sorrows. The life beyond had no meaning for him. His mother had taught him to say the little prayer, Now I lay me down to sleep, but that seemed so long ago, and he had not repeated it after her death. He had seen the birds and animals lying dead, but had thought nothing about it then. Now his father was just like them, would never look at him again, would never speak to him any more.

He watched in a dazed manner what took place on the two following days. Neighbours came, spoke to him, stayed awhile and then departed. The day of the funeral arrived. He stood with the rest at the graveside. It was cold, and the wind laden with snow whistled about him. He heard the grey-headed, white-bearded clergyman