Hilary lowered the speaking-trumpet, as the cutter rushed on through the darkness.
“Well, sir,” said his companion, “you heard my orders?”
“I did, sir,” replied Hilary. “Here, bosun.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“How much more canvas will the cutter bear?”
“Bear, sir?” said the experienced old salt; “begging your pardon, sir, I was going to ask you if you didn’t think it time to take a little off if you don’t want the mast to go.”
“Silence, sir!” said the officer. “Mr Leigh, these despatches must be delivered at all hazards. I order you again, sir, to risk more canvas.”
Hilary stood for a moment undecided, and his thoughts flashed rapidly through his brain.
This man was unreasonable. He did not understand the Kestrel’s powers, for she was already dashing at headlong speed through the sea, and he wanted him to run an unwarrantable risk. At all hazards he would refuse. He knew his duty, he felt that he was a better seaman than his mentor, and he turned to him quietly:
“My orders were, sir, to refer to you for advice in times of emergency; but I was not told to run risks that my commonsense forbids. The cutter will bear no more canvas, sir, for the wind is increasing. In half an hour we shall have to take in another reef.”