Baddlestone came up and actually volunteered information as Hornblower stood there balancing precariously; he was still sufficiently unaccustomed to the Princess’s antics to make it difficult to use his second hand to pull his skin tight while wielding the razor with the other.

“So Hotspur’s lost on the Black Rock,” said Baddlestone.

“I knew she was aground,” said Hornblower. “But I didn’t know where.”

“Do you call being at the bottom of the sea aground? She touched on a falling tide. Holed herself and filled and then rolled off on the flood.”

It was remarkable how the fleet auxiliaries picked up the news.

“Any loss of life?” asked Hornblower.

“None that I’ve heard of,” said Baddlestone.

He would certainly have heard if any officers had been drowned. So they were all safe, including Bush. Hornblower could devote special attention to the tricky area round the left corner of his mouth.

“Giving evidence, I hear?” asked Baddlestone.

“Yes.” Hornblower had no desire at all to add to Baddlestone’s store of gossip.

“If the wind backs westerly I’ll sail without you. I’ll put your chest ashore at Plymouth.”

“You are exceedingly kind,” said Hornblower, and then checked himself. There was nothing to be gained by a quarrel with a man of an inferior social order, and there were other considerations. Hornblower wiped off his face and his razor, pausing to meet Baddlestone’s eyes.

“Not many men would have given that answer,” said Baddlestone.

“Not many men need their breakfast as much as I do at present,” answered Hornblower.

At eight o’clock the boat was alongside, and Hornblower went down into it, wearing the single epaulette on his left shoulder that indicated he had not yet been confirmed in his promotion to captain, and at his side he wore the brasshilted Langer which was all he could boast as a sword.