Chapter Thirty Eight.
Off his Guard.
The carpenter’s four weeks extended to five, then to six, and seven had glided away before the cutter was pretty well ready for sea. Urgent orders had been given that her repairs were to be hastened, and the crew was kept in readiness to proceed to sea at once, but still the dockyard artificers clung to their job in the most affectionate manner. There was always a bit more caulking to do, a little more paint to put on, new ropes to reeve; and when at last she seemed quite ready, an overlooker declared that she would not be fit to go to sea until there had been a thorough examination of the keel.
It was during these last few days that Hilary found a chance of going ashore, and gladly availed himself of his liberty, having a good run round Portsmouth, a look at the fortifications; and finally, the weather being crisp, sunshiny, and the ground hard with frost, he determined to have a sharp walk inland for a change.
“I declare,” he cried, as he had a good run in the brisk wintry air, “it does one good after being prisoned in that bit of a cutter.”
He had been so much on board of late that he experienced a hearty pleasure in being out and away from the town in the free country air. The frost was keen, and it seemed to make his blood tingle in his veins. He set off running again and again, just pausing to take breath, and it was only when he was some miles away from the port and the evening was closing in that he began to think it was time to turn back.
As he did so he saw that three sailors who had been for some time past going the same way were still a short distance off, and as he passed them it seemed to him that they had been indulging themselves, as sailors will when ashore for a holiday.
“What cheer, messmate!” said one of them in his bluff, frank way. “Is this the way to London?”