"I—I—" Bob hung his head. "I'm afraid I dozed over the wheel, Jacob. I was terribly tired."
"Dozed!" roared the old tar. "Bob Hobart, I'm ashamed on ye, thet's what I am. Dozed! An' the Dashaway going ahead full split, ready to knock the hull bottom out on the rocks. Dozed! Well, don't ye ever do it ag'in, thet's all!"
"I never will, Jacob; rest assured of that," pleaded Bob. "I should have called somebody."
"Thet's it." The old tar turned to the crowd about him. "No dozing over the wheel after this," he said, sternly. "The fust one to do it gits—gits"
"Gets fined five dollars and his dinner," finished Dick.
"He ought to have the lash," growled old Jacob. "We can't afford to allow it, nohow."
And it was several days before he could fully forgive Bob for his thoughtless action. My young readers can rest assured that no one on board ever dozed over the steering wheel again, day or night, whether they were close to shore or many miles out to sea.
Since throwing in his fortunes with them, Robert Menden had become quite a seaman, and he was always ready to do any work assigned to him. He liked to steer, and often took one
