“I think,” said Howard Etherton, with a malicious grin, and giving his chum Dykes a poke in the ribs, “I think we shall be one less in our mess by this time to-morrow. I suppose he will leave his kit to you, Pole?”
“I hope he will live to break your head yet,” said Charles Pole, with a look of contempt as he walked on.
“Thank you, Master Pole; we shall not forget that,” bawled out Howard Etherton.
A remarkably fast gig was selected to take the Lieutenant and his young companion, and eight picked men, Saunders, the top-man, being one of them. It was ten o’clock at night when the gig left the side of the ship. It was blowing very fresh, and, considering the time of year, extremely dark. Our hero was steering.
“Now, William,” said the Lieutenant, “keep her away for the high land, yonder; and when we come abreast of the ships, steer boldly right into the midst of them.”
After entering the harbour, our hero could see the light on the dockyard pier plain enough; and he knew from drafts and maps every inch of the outward and inner harbour, whilst the Committee-General were aware of the intended attempt to communicate with them.
The boat flew through the water, under the strokes of eight vigorous oarsmen, and passed close under the stern of a huge hundred-and-twenty-gun ship, which they knew was the Commerce de Marseilles. There were eighteen or more ships moored in two lines, with a considerable space between, through which the light boat was impelled rapidly, and without even a challenge from any of the ships. It was evidently taken for one of their own boats. William Thornton steered steadily for the jetty, which was known to be in the hands of the royalist party. In a few minutes they were alongside the pier, which was crowded with persons of all grades and denominations, the soldiers on duty finding it almost impossible to keep them back. A naval officer came to the side of the boat, and addressed Lieutenant Cooke, saying—
“You have done a daring feat, monsieur; and, fortunately, you have succeeded. I am desired to let you know that until to-morrow morning you cannot land. It would be dangerous.”
“Very good,” said Lieutenant Cooke. “We can pass the rest of the night in our boat-cloaks.”
“Wine and refreshments,” continued the officer, “shall be sent to you for yourself and men; and I pray you, monsieur, not to feel aggrieved at this delay; it is unavoidable.”