“Thank you, no,” said Hilary quietly; “I, too, am anxious, and I shall not be able to sleep till we are in port and the despatches are delivered.”
“But there is no need for both of us to watch, my dear sir,” said the other blandly.
“Then pray go below, sir,” said Hilary. “You may depend on me.”
The officer did not reply, but took a turn or two up and down, and as the time glided on he tried again and again to persuade Hilary to go below, which, in his capacity of chief officer, holding his first command on a dark night and upon an important mission, he absolutely refused to do.
Towards morning on two occasions the officer brought him glasses of spirits and water, which Hilary refused to take; and at last, fearing to make him suspicious, the officer desisted and stood leaning with his back against the side, wrapped in a cloak, for it was very cold.
The light in front of the wheel shone faintly upon him as Hilary walked slowly fore and aft, visiting the lookout man at the bows and the man at the wheel; and at last, in the gloomy darkness of the winter’s morning, Hilary saw the Dunkerque lights.
“We’re in sight of port, Mr Anderson,” he said as he walked aft.
“Indeed!” said the other starting, and the wind gave his cloak a puff, showing for a moment what Hilary saw was the butt of a pistol.
“What does he want with pistols?” said Hilary to himself; and after a short conversation he again went forward, feeling curiously suspicious, though there seemed to be no pegs upon which his suspicions could hang.
But he was not long kept in suspense and doubt. When they were about a couple of miles from the entrance to the port a boat manned by eight rowers came towards them, and Hilary noticed it directly.