I volunteered for an extra watch for this purpose, and longed for some excuse to take me aft.
Sure enough it came.

The same voice rang out again through the darkness:-- "Hand there! come and set the stern light." "Ay, ay, sir," cried I, hurrying to the place.
For the first hour or so after slipping our moorings off Havre the _Kestrel_ had remained in perfect darkness.

But now that we were beyond sight of the lights ashore there was no occasion for so dangerous a precaution.

I unlashed the lantern and took it down to the galley for a light, and then returned with it to the helm.
As I did so I could not help turning it full on the face of the man at the tiller.
Sure enough it was Tim, grown into a man, with down on his chin, and the weather wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Every inch a sailor and a gentleman he looked as he stood there in his blue flannel suit and peaked cap; the same easy-going, gusty, reckless Tim I had fought with many a time on Fanad cliffs, loving him more for every blow I gave him.
When I thought I had lost him, it seemed as if I had lost a part of myself.