“Right!” French rose to his feet with a sigh and walked to the door. “Come on,” he said to the two sailors who were looking round anxiously.
Habakkuk sniffed noisily and happily, his pale, bilious little face positively shining with excitement as he got up hastily and trotted to the door, Blueneck following.
The rest of the company followed out into the yard to see the adventurers safely off the premises.
It was a sharply cold, clear frosty night, with a mist hanging low over the marshes. There was no wind and the place was very silent. The sky was clear and thickly sprinkled with stars and the moon, nearly full, shed a white ghostly glow over the countryside.
Old John Pattern, a large box lantern in his hand, hovered hither and thither like some old and bluff will-o’-the-wisp.
French walked round the wagon to make sure that everything was in order. Then he climbed up on to the shaft and perched himself on the driving-seat, which consisted of a board nailed flat on the front of the wagon.
“Come on, if you are coming at all,” he called to Blueneck, who scrambled into the one remaining seat beside him.
“Hi, where shall I go?” said Habakkuk, sniffing and hopping about in his anxiety.
French shrugged his shoulders.
“Best get up on to the straw atop,” he said.