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'Very well, Mr Prowse. We'll wear ship now, while we can still weather the Parquette.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Prowse's relief was obvious. His business was to keep the ship out of danger, and he clearly preferred a wide margin of safety. Hornblower looked round at the officer of the watch.

'Mr Poole! Wear the ship, if you please.'

The pipes shrilled and the orders were passed. Hands went to the braces as the helm was put up while Hornblower scanned the shore warily.

'Steady as you go!'

Hotspur settled sweetly on her new course. Hornblower was growing intimate with her ways, like a bridegroom learning about his bride. No, that was an unlucky simile, to be discarded instantly. He hoped that he and Hotspur were better suited to each other than he and Maria. And he must think about something else.

'Mr Bush! Mr Orrock! You will please come down when you are sure you will see nothing more useful.'

The ship was alive with a new atmosphere; Hornblower was sensitively aware of it as the hands went about their duties. Everyone on board was conscious that they were bearding Boney in his den, that they were boldly looking into the principal naval base of France, proclaiming the fact that England was ready to meet any challenge at sea. High adventure was looming up in the near future. Hornblower had the gratifying feeling that during these past days he had tempered a weapon ready for his hand, ship and ship's company ready for any exploit, like a swordsman knowing well the weight and balance of his sword before entering upon a duel.