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Hornblower took the speaking-trumpet from its beckets. He was pulsing with excitement now, and he had to be firm with himself to keep calm. This might be the first step in the making of the history of the future; besides, he had not spoken French for a considerable time and he had to concentrate on what he was going to say.

'Good day, captain!' he yelled, and the fishermen, reassured, waved back to him in friendly fashion. 'Will you sell me some fish?'

Hurriedly they conferred, and then one of them replied.

'How much?'

'Oh, twenty pounds.'

Again they conferred.

'Very well.'

'Captain,' went on Hornblower, searching in his mind not only for the necessary French words but also for an approach to bring about the situation he desired. 'Finish your work. Then come aboard. We can drink a glass of rum to the friendship of nations.'

The beginning of that sentence was clumsy, he knew, but he could not translate 'Get in your catch;' but the prospect of British navy rum he knew would be alluring--and he was a little proud of l'amitié des nations. What was the French for 'dinghy?' Chaloupe, he fancied. He expanded on his invitation, and someone in the fishing-boat waved in assent before bending to the business of getting in the catch. With the last of it on board two of the four men scrambled into the dinghy that lay alongside the Deux Frères; it was nearly as big as the fishing-boat itself, as was to be expected when she had to lay out the seine. Two oars stoutly handled brought the dinghy rapidly towards Hotspur.