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'He has a pestle and mortar to pound his jalap with. You pound those beans in that mortar. You break 'em up small. Small, mark you, but you don't make dust of 'em. Like large grain gunpowder, not mealed gunpowder. Understand?'

'Yes, sir. I suppose so, sir.'

'Next you--oh go and get that done and then report to me again.'

Grimes was clearly not a man to do things quickly. Hornblower had shaved and dressed and was pacing the quarter-deck, raging for his breakfast, before Grimes appeared again with a panful of dubious powder. Hornblower gave him brief instructions on how to make coffee with it, and Grimes listened doubtfully.

'Go and get it done. Oh, and Grimes!'

'Sir?'

'I'll have two eggs. Fried. Can you fry eggs?'

'Er--yes, sir.'

'Fry 'em so the yolk's nearly hard but not quite. And get out a crock of butter and a crock of jam.'

Hornblower was throwing discretion to the winds; he was determined on a good breakfast. And those winds to which he had thrown discretion suddenly asserted themselves. With hardly a warning puff there was a sudden gust which almost took Hotspur aback, and with it, while Hotspur paid off and recovered herself, there came driving rain, an April shower, icy cold. Hornblower shook off Grimes the first time he appeared to report that breakfast was ready, and only went off with him on his second appearance, after Hotspur was steady on her course again. With the weather clearing and daylight growing there was little time he could spare.