III
They cast off.
The slow and stately frigate began to draw away.
As she slid past, the boys fending her off, and the Parson already composing himself at the bottom of the boat, Nelson leaned over the side.
"Thank you," he said, and swept off his cocked hat.
Then he turned.
The boys could see him no more. But that shrill voice, so familiar now, twanged above them.
_"Now, my lads! I'll ask you to give three cheers for the crew of the Kite. Hip! hip!—"
"Hooray!"_
A roaring cheer leapt from the silence. In a moment the shrouds were black with waving men. The great hurrahing vessel drew away, curtseying as she went.
Even the Parson lifted a languid head and peered.
"He's dipping his ensign to you, Kit. Take the salute."
Kit looked through swimming eyes.
The old sense of experience renewed was strong on him—the battle won, the return home in the evening, the cheers of the saved, and his heart drowned in love and glory.
Could it be true?
Yes. The Victor of the Nile had dipped his flag to a ten days' midshipman.
"Ah," said the Parson, "there's Nelson!—God bless him!"
At the stern of the great ship, an empty sleeve pinned to his breast, stood the greatest seaman of all time, one hand to his cocked hat.