“Time enough for that tomfoolery when the water’s all aboard. The wind’ll shift within the hour,” roared the barrelshaped captain quite unabashed. Captain Meadows scowled and hesitated, but for all his vast stature he could do nothing to silence the captain of the hoy. He roared through the rest of his orders at a pace nearer a gallop than a canter, and folded them up with evident relief now that he was legally captain of HMS Hotspur.

“On hats,” bellowed Bush.

“Sir, I relieve you,” said Meadows to Hornblower.

“I much regret the bad manners displayed in the hoy, sir,” said Hornblower to Meadows.

“Now let’s have some sturdy hands,” said the barrel-shaped captain to no one in particular, and Meadows shrugged his vast shoulders with resignation.

“Mr. Bush, my first lieutenant — I mean your first lieutenant, sir,” said Hornblower, hastily effecting the introduction.

“Carry on, Mr. Bush,” said Meadows, and Bush plunged instantly into the business of transferring the fresh water from the hoy.

“Who’s that fellow, sir?” asked Hornblower with a jerk of his thumb at the captain of the hoy.

“He’s been my cross for the last two days,” answered Meadows. Dirty words unnecessary to reproduce interlarded every sentence he uttered. “He’s not only captain but he’s thirtyseven sixtyfourths owner. Under Navy Office contract — can’t press him, can’t press his men, as they all have protections. Says what he likes, does what he likes, and I’d give my prize money for the next five years to have him at the gratings for ten minutes.”

“M’m,” said Hornblower. “I’m taking passage with him.”

“Hope you fare better than I did.”

“By your leave, sirs.” A hand from the hoy came pushing along the gangplank dragging a canvas hose. At his heels came someone carrying papers; there was bustle everywhere.