“Report at the ship for orders, sir.”
“The orders were to find the Vera.” John had no intention of returning to the King Arthur and confessing himself defeated.
“Don’t think we’ll find ’er, pullin’ round the ’arbour, sir—not to-night, anyway.”
John had made up his mind. He would seek information elsewhere. The helm was put over a little. At no great distance from him, lay the London. At first he thought of going alongside her and asking her officer of the watch for the position of the Vera, but he dismissed this idea when he realized that this was no polite hour for midshipmen to pay calls. Moreover, a story of his being lost might easily become a jest in the Wardrooms of the Fleet.
“Goin’ alongside the London, sir?”
“No. When she hails, answer ‘passing.’ I’m going to stop under her bridge.”
Came the hail: “Boat ahoy!”
“Passing!”
Judging the amount of way necessary to carry his boat to the forebridge, John very quietly gave the order: “Oars!” The rowing ceased, and the water licked at the sides. Presently the cutter was still.
“Hail the bridge,” John said, “and ask the signalman of the watch for the Vera. Hail quietly, so that they can’t hear you aft.”