“Stop!” cried the officer. “Why have you done that, sir, without my permission?”
This was too much for Hilary, and he spoke out: “Because, sir, I am in command here, and there is no occasion for the men to row any longer.”
“I insist, sir, upon their keeping on with the towing.”
“And I insist, sir,” replied Hilary, “on the men returning on board.”
“I shall report your conduct,” cried his officer.
“Do so, sir,” replied Hilary, “if you think it your duty. In with you, my lads. Let go the halyards there, and down with that squaresail. Quick with those boats. There will be a squall upon us directly.”
He had proved himself on the alert, guided as he had been by the signs of the weather, and the great squaresail had hardly been lowered, the boats made snug, and a reef or two taken in the mainsail, before the wind came with a sharp gust, and the next minute the Kestrel was sending the water surging behind her in a long track of foam.
“Ah! that’s better,” cried the officer, whose ill-humour seemed to vanish on the instant. “How painful it is, Mr Leigh, to be lying like a log, and all the time with important despatches to deliver!”
“It is, sir,” said Hilary quietly.
“I declare there were times when I felt disposed to jump overboard and to swim on with the despatches.”