“Three guineas, then,” he said as loftily as he could, with all the manner of a man to whom the difference between one guinea and three was of no concern. It was not until after he had said the words that he worked out in his mind the deduction that the wind was likely to back round easterly and make a long return passage probable.

During this conversation one pump had been working most irregularly, and now the other one came to a stop; the cessation of the monotonous noise was quite striking. Here was Bush hailing from the Hotspur.

“That’s only nineteen ton,” he said. “We can take two more.”

“And two more you won’t get,” yelled Baddlestone in reply. “We’re sucked dry.”

It was a strange feeling that this was of no concern to Hornblower; he was free of responsibility, even though his mind automatically worked out that Hotspur now had fresh water for forty days. It was Meadows who would have to plan to conserve that supply. And with the wind likely to come easterly Hotspur would have to close the mouth of the Goulet as closely as possible — that was Meadow’s concern and nothing to do with him, not ever again.

The hands who had been working at the pumps went scuttling back over the gangplank; the two hands from the Princess who had been standing by the hoses came back on board dragging their charges. Last came the Princess’s mate with his papers.

“Stand by the lines, there!” yelled Baddlestone. “Jib halliards, Mister!”

Baddlestone himself went to the wheel, and he made a neat job of getting the hoy away from the Hotspur’s side. He continued to steer the ship while the halfdozen hands under the supervision of the mate set about the task of lifting and stowing the fendoffs that hung along her side.