“Now, Tim, they are finished, and for one, I begin to feel sleepy,” said Charles.

“We can’t all sleep, you know,” added the prudent chief.

“Why not?”

“We must set a watch.”

“I am too sleepy to watch,” said Charles, with a long gape.  “The clock has just struck one.”

“You needn’t watch, you are the second in command.”

“I see,” replied Charles, standing upon his dignity.

“There are four watches, and each must do duty two hours a night.  Who shall keep the first watch?”

“I will,” said Barney.

“Good!  You must keep the fire going, and have an eye to both sides of the island.”

“Ay, ay.”

“And you must go down to the boats every time the clock strikes, to see if they are all right.  If they should get adrift, you know, our game would be up.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“At three o’clock, you must call the watch that is to relieve you.”

“Who will that be?”

“I,” volunteered the three other officers of the watches, in concert.

“Ben, you shall relieve him.  If anything happens, call me.”

Tim and his followers then retired to their tent, and buried themselves in the leaves.  Charles ordered those of his band who were not on duty to “turn in;” saying that he wanted to warm his feet.  The Rovers were so fatigued by their unusual labors that they soon fell asleep, and Charles then repaired to the little cabin of the Sylph.  Arranging the cloak for his bed, he wrapped himself up in his great-coat and lay down.

Fatigued as he was, he could not go to sleep.  The novelty of his situation, and the guilt, now that the excitement was over, which oppressed his conscience, banished that rest his exhausted frame required.  He heard the village clock strike two and three; and then he rose, unable to endure the reproaches of his own heart.

“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed to himself; and a flood of tears came to his relief.  “To desert my warm bed, my happy home, the friendship of my club, for such a set of fellows as this!  O, how I wish I had not come!”

Leaving the cabin, he seated himself in the stern sheets of the boat.  The bright stars had disappeared, and the sky was veiled in deep black clouds.  The wind blew very fresh from the north-east, and he was certain that a severe storm was approaching.  He wept bitterly when he thought of the gloomy prospect.

He had repented his folly, and would have given the world to get away from the island.  Ah, a lucky thought!  He could escape!  The Rovers were all asleep; the fresh breeze would soon drive the Sylph to the land, and he could return home, and perhaps not be missed.  It was an easy thing; and without further reflection, he unfastened the cable, and dropped it overboard.

The Sylph immediately commenced drifting away from the island.  Taking the helm, he put her before the wind, and was gratified to observe that she made very good headway.