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'I'm sure I won't have to speak to you young gentlemen again,' he said. He was sure he would, but a promise was better than a threat. He walked on, completing the inspection of the guns on the starboard side. He went up to the forecastle to look at the two carronades there, and then back down the main-deck guns of the port side. He stopped at the marine stationed at the fore-hatchway.

'What are your orders?'

The marine stood stiffly at attention, feet at an angle of forty-five degrees, musket close in at his side, forefinger of the left hand along the seam of his trousers, neck rigid in its stock, so that, as Hornblower was not directly in front of him, he stared over Hornblower's shoulder.

'To guard my post--' he began, and continued in a monotonous sing-song, repeating by rote the sentry's formula which he had probably uttered a thousand times before. The change in his tone was marked when he reached the final sentence added for this particular station--'To allow no one to go below unless he is carrying an empty cartridge bucket.'