Dyck raised his head, and a smile came to his lips.
“Yes, you sing of a Channel, my lads, but it’s a long way there, as you’ll find. I hope to God they give us some fighting!... Well, what is it?” he asked of a marine who appeared in his doorway.
“The master of the ship begs to see you, sir,” was the reply.
A moment afterwards Greenock entered. He asked Dyck several questions concerning the possible fighting, the disposition of ammunition and all that, and said at last:
“I think we shall be of use, sir. The ship’s all right now.”
“As right as anything human can be. I’ve got faith in my star, master.”
A light came into the other man’s dour face. “I wish you’d get into uniform, sir.”
“Uniform? No, Greenock! No, I use the borrowed power, but not the borrowed clothes. I’m a common sailor, and I wear the common sailor’s clothes. You’ve earned your uniform, and it suits you. Stick to it; and when I’ve earned a captain’s uniform I’ll wear it. I owe you the success of this voyage so far, and my heart is full of it, up to the brim. Hark, what’s that?”
“By God, it’s guns, sir! There’s fighting on!”
“Fighting!”