As it approaches the pier-head, Harry recognises the one in the stern-sheets, whose bright ruddy face is turned towards him.
“Thank the Lord for such good luck!” he mutters. “It’s Mr Cadwallader!”
By this the dingy has drawn near enough for the midshipman to see and identify him; which he does, exclaiming in joyful surprise:
“By Jove! it’s Blew himself! Hallo there, Harry! You’re just the man I’m coming ashore to see. Hold, starboard oar! Port oar, a stroke or two! Way enough!”
In a few seconds, the dingy is bow on to the gig; when Harry, seizing hold of it, brings the two boats side by side, and steadies them.
“Glad to see ye again, Master Willie. I’d just sighted the frigate’s signal for sailin’, an’ despaired o’ havin’ the chance to say a last word to yourself, or Mr Crozier.”
“Well, old boy; it’s about that I’ve come ashore. Jump out; and walk with me a bit along the wharf.”
The sailor drops his oar, and springs out upon the pier, the young officer preceding him.
When sufficiently distant from the boats to be beyond earshot of the oarsmen, Cadwallader resumes speech:
“Harry; here’s a letter from Mr Crozier. He wants you to deliver it at the address you’ll find written upon it. To save you the necessity of inquiring, I can point out the place it’s to go to. Look along shore. You see a house—yonder on the top of the hill?”