Two more boats came from the ship to the shore without accident.  In the last to arrive were the captain and the doctor.  The company gathered round the fires, keeping their boxes and bags close to them.  The stewards and sailors brewed hot punches for all.  The lady with the hysterics was soothed to quiet by the doctor and a tiny mug of brandy and boiling water.  The officers held a consultation and decided to get the passengers safely to Nap Harbor, and aboard a schooner for St. John’s and then to return to Frenchman’s Cove themselves and salve what they could of the cargo of the ship, which was evidently of unusual value. (Black Dennis Nolan had expected this.) They would get help in Nap Harbor for the work of salvage, and would leave the four boats on the beach, under a guard of five seamen and the third officer.  They had brought food from the ship, and so they ate a substantial meal while they warmed themselves and discussed their plans.  But Captain McTavish neither ate nor drank, so bitterly did he feel the loss of his ship.  He feared that even the moderate sea now running would break her up within forty-eight hours.

Black Dennis Nolan vanished in the darkness many times in the furtherance of his task of gathering wood for the fires.  At last, after he had covertly inspected all the bags, bundles and dispatch boxes, he disappeared in the surrounding gloom and did not reappear at all.  Dick Lynch, a man of about his own size, shape and coloring,—­one of the six who had taken cover on the hillside—­the firelight in his stead, carrying a fragment of broken spar.  The change was not noticed by the men from the wreck.

Dry, warmly clothed, and inwardly fortified with food and drink, the ship’s company set off for Nap Harbor, carrying as much as they could of their portable possessions, and led by four of the honest fishermen of Chance Along.  They left behind them the third mate, a sturdy youth armed with two pistols and a fowling-piece, and five sailors armed with cutlasses and pistols—­and enough dry and liquid provisions to last the guard for several days.  They climbed the steep and twisty path that connected the beach with the edge of the barren, and soon their lanterns were lost in the fog.  The third mate and his men brewed another generous supply of rum punch, heaped more wood on the fire and lit their pipes.  By the time each had emptied his tin mug for the third time all felt inexpressibly sleepy.  Mr. Darling, the commander of the guard, counted his men with a waving forefinger, and an expression of owlish gravity on his round face.  Then, “Daniel Berry, you’ll stand the first trick,” said he.  “Keep a sharp look-out and report anything unusual.  Silas Nixon will relieve you at eight bells of the middle watch.”

So Daniel Berry got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled away from the fire; but five minutes after his companions began to snore he returned to his blankets by the fire and fell fast asleep.  He would never have been guilty of such a crime at sea; but ashore it was quite a different matter.  What was the use of a look-out ashore?  The island of Newfoundland was not likely to strike a reef or an iceberg.  So he sank deep into the slumber of the just and the intoxicated.