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'Sl-o-o-ope ar-rums,' yelled the sergeant of marines.

'All hands! Dismiss!' yelled Bush, and then, reverting to his softer tone, 'Quietly, there! Silence!'

The hands were excited and prone to chatter with the order to dismiss--never in any of their lives, either, had they passed a French ship of war so close without guns firing. But Bush was determined to make the Frenchman believe that Hotspur was manned entirely by stoics. Wise with his rattan enforced the order, and the crew dispersed in an orderly mob, the good order only disturbed by a single quickly suppressed yelp as the rattan struck home on some rash posterior.

'She's the Loire, surely enough, sir,' said Bush. They could see the name entwined in gilded letters amid the scrollwork of the frigate's stern; Hornblower remembered that Bush still was in ignorance of his source of information. It was amusing to be thought omniscient, even without justification.

'And you were right, sir, not to run away from them,' went on Bush. Why was it so intolerable in this case to note the gleam of admiration in Bush's eyes? Bush did not know of the quickening heartbeats and the sweaty palms.