Baddlestone was watching him curiously; Hornblower must have allowed some of his emotions to show in his expression.

“No good ever came of worrying,” said Baddlestone, and now it was Hornblower’s turn to return the sharp gaze.

Until this conversation the pair of them had not exchanged twenty words during this two days of waiting for a wind. Baddlestone apparently cherished hard feelings towards naval officers; maybe Hornblower’s refusal to make any advances towards intimacy had softened them.

“Worry?” said Hornblower bravely. “Why should I worry? We’ll deal with Boney when the time comes.”

Already Baddlestone seemed to regret his voluntary loquacity. As every captain should while on deck, he had been darting repeated glances at the leech of the mainsail and now he rounded on the helmsman.

“Watch what you’re doing, blast you!” he roared, unexpectedly. “Keep her full and by! D’ye want us to end up in Spain? An empty waterhoy and a hamfisted no-seaman at the wheel letting her box the compass.”

Hornblower drifted away during this tirade. His feelings were agitated by apprehensions additional to those Baddlestone had hinted at. Here was the crisis of the naval war approaching; there were battles to be fought, and he had no ship. All he had was a promise of one, a promise of being ‘made post’ when he could call upon the Admiralty to redeem that promise. He had endured two years of hardship and danger, monotony and strain, in the blockade of Brest, and now, at the very moment when the war was reaching a climax, he was unemployed.