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Orrock went on with his report. He had an experienced sailor beside him at the masthead, but Hornblower, listening, had no intention of trusting entirely to their observation, and Bush was fuming with impatience.

'Mr Bush,' said Hornblower. 'I'll be wearing ship in fifteen minutes. Would you be so kind as to take a glass to the mizzen-topmast-head? You'll have a good chance of seeing all that Orrock's seeing. Please take notes.'

'Aye aye, sir,' said Bush.

He was at the mizzen shrouds in a moment. Soon he was running up the ratlines at a speed that would have been a credit to any young seaman.

'That makes twelve of the line, sir,' yelled Orrock. 'No topmasts hoisted. No yards crossed.'

The seaman beside him interrupted his report.

'Breakers on the lee bow!'

'That's the Parquette,' said Hornblower.

The Black Stones on the one side, the Parquette on the other, and, farther up, the Little Girls in the middle, marked off the passage into Brest. On a clear day like this, with a gentle wind, they were no menace, but lives by the hundred had been lost on them during storms. Prowse was pacing restlessly back and forward to the binnacle taking bearings. Hornblower was carefully gauging the direction of the wind. If the French squadron had no ship of the line ready for sea there was no need to take risks. A shift in the wind might soon find Hotspur embayed on a lee shore. He swept his glass round the wild coast that had grown up round his horizon.