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'Thank you, Mr Bush. Order "silence," if you please.'

The whistles pealed round the deck, and the ship fell deathly still.

'I shall now inspect, if you will be so kind as to accompany me, Mr Bush.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Hornblower began by glowering down at the starboard side quarter-deck carronade. Everything was in order there, and he walked down into the waist to inspect the starboard side nine-pounders. At each he stopped to look over the equipment. Cartridge, crowbar, hand-spike. Sponge, quoin. He passed on from gun to gun.

'What's your station if the larboard guns are being worked?'

He had picked for questioning the youngest seaman visible, who moved uneasily from one foot to another finding himself addressed by the captain.

'Stand to attention, there!' bellowed Bush.

'What's your station?' repeated Hornblower, quietly.

'O--over there, sir. I handle the rammer, sir.'

'I'm glad you know. If you can remember your station when the captain and the first lieutenant are speaking to you I can trust you to remember it when round-shot are coming in through the side.'