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'Mr Bush! I'd like you on deck, if you please, as soon as you have completed your observations.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Hotspur stole quietly along; there was no purpose in hurriedly setting additional sail and pretending to be innocent--the French fleet must have heard from a dozen sources about her continued presence in the approaches.

'You're not going to trust 'em, sir?' This was from Bush, back on the quarter-deck and in a state of some anxiety; the anxiety was not displayed by any change in Bush's imperturbable manner, but by the very fact that he volunteered advice in this positive form.

Hornblower did not want to run away. He had the weather gauge, and in a moment he could set all sail and come to the wind and stand out to sea, but he did not want to. He could be quite sure that if he were to do so the frigate would follow his example and chase him, ignominiously, out into the Atlantic with his tail between his legs. A bold move would stimulate his crew, would impress the French and--this was the point--would subdue his own doubts about himself. This was a test. His instinct was to be cautious; but he told himself that his caution was probably an excuse for cowardice. His judgement told him that there was no need for caution; his fears told him that the French frigate was planning to lure him within range of her guns and then overwhelm him. He must act according to his judgement and he must abhor the counsel of his fears, but he wished his heart would not beat so feverishly, he wished his palms would not sweat nor his legs experience these pins-and-needles feelings. He wished Bush were not crowding him at the hammock netting, so that he might take a few paces up and down the quarter-deck; and then he told himself that he could not possibly at this moment pace up and down and reveal to the world that he was in a state of indecision.