The Commander did not return to his ship, but came back to "No. 3" and turned in early, dog-tired—too tired even to smoke or make any funny remarks.
I was not allowed on deck, and slept like a log.
Presently—it seemed only ten minutes afterwards—I was roughly shaken and, half dazed, ordered on deck to get the dinghy into the water. It was very cold, quite dark, and a damp drizzle made everything slippery—as cheerless an outlook as one could imagine.
We got the dinghy out, put a compass into her, and Jones, with the oars wrapped round with cotton-waste to prevent them from making any noise in the rowlocks, took his place in the boat.
Then up came the Commander in his overcoat, and he and I got into her, somebody threw me an oil-skin, and we shoved off into the dark.
I had not the least idea what we were going to do, and, only half awake, felt miserable to a degree.
"Just the morning for it," chuckled the Commander; "a damp mist and a calm sea."
"What are we going to do, sir?" I asked, beginning to wake up, and shivering.
"Right in under the forts, boy. Want you to tell me when we come to the rocks which had those lights on, wait there till it's light enough to see the guns, and slip away again. The tide is flowing strongly now, and will carry us down to the entrance."
"Oh!" was all that I could answer, and felt anything but happy.