It was Nelson's old foretop-man. The moon, slanting through the window, shone on his white head and those tranquil, big-dog eyes of his.
Kit relaxed his hold.
"That you, Piper?" he sighed. "I was dreaming of Fat George. What's the time?"
"It's a little better'n two o'clock, sir; you've had a tidy sleep. The tide's pretty near down, and the moon's a-nigh off the water. By than you get alongside there'll likely be a bit o' mist on the water crep up from the eastud with the sun."
The boy slipped off his clothes, shivering.
"Where's Mr. Joy?"
"He came in from the Wish just on midnight. 'No Knapp yet?' says he. 'Then I shall make a reconnaissance in force myself.' 'Beggin your pardon, sir,' says he, don't see the force—one man agin a score.' 'Ah,' says he, 'you forget my lady.' And he whips up his Polly, and off he pops over the grass like a lad a-courtin." The old man chuckled as he told.
"What's Knapp up to?" trembled the boy.
"Why, sir, gone over to Lewes for the soldiers, and should ha been back hours sen."
"Wonder why he's not?"