“Which, speaking for the whole crew, as I think I may,” said Billy Waters, glancing round to receive encouragement in a murmur of acquiescence, “I says, sir, with my and our respex, success to the Kestrel and her new commander, and—”
“Hooroar!” cried Tom Tully.
“Boat from the shore, sir,” cried the man at the side.
Hilary stepped quickly to the bulwark, to see that a boat well manned by a party of sailors was rapidly approaching, and, what took the young commander’s attention, a naval officer seated in the stern sheets.
“So that’s my companion, is it?” said Hilary to himself, and he watched the officer very keenly as the boat came rapidly alongside, the officer sprang on board, waved his hand, and the boat pushed off at once.
“Your despatches, Lieutenant Leigh,” he said, quietly, as he saluted the young officer, who saluted in return. “You have your orders, sir. You stop for nothing.”
“For nothing,” said Hilary, taking the packet from the newcomer’s hands. “I presume sir, you are—”
“Lieutenant Anderson, at your service,” said the other rather stiffly.
Then Hilary’s voice rang out sharp and clear in the keen morning air. Up flew the staysail, and away and up ran the jib, bellying out as the rope that held the head of the cutter to the great ring of the buoy was slipped; the Kestrel gave a leap, the great mainsail boom swung over to port, the cutter careened over, the water lapped her sides, and began as it were to run astern in foam, and away went the swift little craft, as if rejoicing in her freedom, and making straight for the eastern end of the Isle of Wight.
The newcomer walked up and down, watching the proceedings for a time, glancing occasionally at the receding shore, and Hilary rapidly gave order after order, feeling a strange joy and excitement as for the next quarter of an hour he was busy, and kept pretty close to the sailor at the wheel.