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'Land ho! Land ho!' yelled the look-out of the fore-topmast head. 'Land one point on the lee bow!'

That would be France, Ushant, the scene of their future exploits, perhaps where they would meet with disaster or death. Naturally there was a wave of excitement through the ship. Heads were raised and faces turned.

'Sponge your guns!' bellowed Bush through his speaking-trumpet. Bush could be relied on to maintain discipline and good order through any distraction. 'Load!'

It was hard for the men to go through the play-acting of gun drill in these circumstances; discipline on the one side, resentment, disillusionment on the other.

'Point your guns! Mr Cheeseman! The hand-spike man on No. 7 gun isn't attending to his duty. I want his name.'

Prowse was training a telescope forward; as the officer responsible for navigation that was his duty, but it was also his privilege.

'Run your guns in!'

Hornblower itched to follow Prowse's example, but he restrained himself; Prowse would keep him informed of anything vital. He allowed the drill to go on through one more mock broadside before he spoke.