“Diamond, 32,” said Baddlestone; he had recovered his telescope by some means or other.

Hornblower stared enviously and longingly at her as she passed within long cannon shot. He saw a rush of men up the foremast rigging. The fore topgallant sail was taken in and reset in the brief space while the Diamond was passing; a smart ship that — Hornblower had not detected anything wrong with the set of the sail. The mate of the hoy had just managed to hoist a dirty red ensign in time to dip it in salute, and the blue ensign over there dipped in reply. Now came the starboard column of ships of the line, a three decker in the lead, towering over the waves, her three rows of chequered gunports revealing themselves as she approached, a blue viceadmiral’s flag blowing from her fore topgallant mast.

“Prince of Wales, 98. ViceAdmiral Sir Robert Calder, baronet,” said Baddlestone. “There’s two other flags with this lot.”

The ensigns dipped in salute and the next of the line came on, plunging before the wind with the spray flying. The flags dipped time and again as the seven ships hurtled by.

“A fair wind for Finisterre,” said Baddlestone.

“That looks like their course,” said Hornblower.

It seemed obvious that Baddlestone knew as much about fleet movements as he did, and perhaps even more. Less than a week earlier Baddlestone had been in Plymouth with English newspapers to read and all the chatter of the alehouses to listen to. Hornblower himself had heard a good deal of circumstantial gossip from the Shetland, the victualler which had come alongside Hotspur a couple of days earlier than the Princess. The fact that Baddlestone suggested that Calder’s destination was merely Finisterre, and not the Straits or the West Indies was nearly convincing proof of the extent of Baddlestone’s knowledge. Hornblower asked a testing question.