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'I'll entertain the captain in my cabin,' said Hornblower. 'Mr Bush, see that the other man is taken forward and well looked after. See he has a drink.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

A line over the side brought up two big buckets of fish, and these were followed by two blue-jerseyed men who scrambled up easily enough despite their sea-boots.

'A great pleasure, captain,' said Hornblower in the waist to greet him. 'Please come with me.'

The captain looked curiously about him as he was led up to the quarter-deck and aft to the cabin. He sat down cautiously in the only chair while Hornblower perched on the cot. The blue jersey and trousers were spangled with fish scales--the cabin would smell of fish for a week. Hewitt brought rum and water, and Hornblower poured two generous glasses; the captain sipped appreciatively.

'Has your fishing been successful?' asked Hornblower, politely.

He listened while the captain told him, in his almost unintelligible Breton French, about the smallness of the profits to be earned in the pilchard fishery. The conversation drifted on. It was an easy transition from the pleasures of peace to the possibilities of war--two seamen could hardly meet without that prospect being discussed.