“Boat from the shore, sir,” he said, saluting.
Hilary took the packet, which was addressed to him, and as he opened it the colour flushed into his face and then he became very pale.
The despatch was very short. It ordered him to take the cutter outside instantly and wait for the important despatches he was to take across to Dunkerque. Above all, he was to sail the moment Lieutenant Anderson came on board with the papers and stop for nothing, for the papers were most urgent.
But with the letter was something else which made his heart throb with joy—what was really his commission as lieutenant, and the despatch was addressed to him as Lieutenant Leigh.
As soon as he could recover himself he rose from the table cool and firm.
“Is the boat waiting, corporal?”
“No, sir. It went back directly.”
Hilary could not help it; he put on his hat with just the slightest cock in the world, went on deck, and gave his orders in the shortest and sharpest way.
The men stared at him, but they executed his orders, and in a very short time the cutter was out of the basin, a sail or two was hoisted, and, as if rejoicing in her liberty, the Kestrel ran lightly out to a buoy, to which, after what almost seemed like resistance, she was made fast, the sails being lowered, and the cutter rose and fell upon the waves, fretting and impatient to be off.
The mainsail was cast loose, jib and staysail ready, and the gaff topsail would not take many minutes to run up in its place. Then, as if fearing that the blocks might run stiff and that there would be some delay at starting, Hilary gave his orders and the mainsail was run up, a turn or two of the wheel laid the cutter’s head to the wind, and there she lay with the canvas flapping and straining and seeming to quiver in her excitement to be off once more.