“Silence!” ordered Bush at that very moment. There was a certain strangeness about his voice as he continued, because he did not want his words to be overheard in the Frenchman, and so he was endeavouring to bellow sotto voce. “Show the Frogs how a British crew behaves. Heads up, there, and keep still.”
Blue coats and white breeches; these were French soldiers forming up on the frigate’s quarter‑deck; Hornblower’s glass detected the flash of steel as bayonets were fixed, and the gleam of brass from the musical instruments. The ships were closing steadily on their converging courses, with the frigate under her greater canvas drawing ahead of the sloop. Nearer and nearer. Hotspur was the visiting ship. Hornblower put away his telescope.
“Now,” he said.
“Drum!” ordered Bush.
The drummer beat a long roll.
“Present‑arr‑ums!” ordered the sergeant of marines, and in a much lower voice, “One. Two. Three!”
The muskets of the marines and the half‑pike of the sergeant came to the present in the beautiful movements of the prescribed drill. The pipes of the bos’n’s mates twittered, long and agonizingly. Hornblower took off his hat and held it before his chest; the off‑hand salute with hand to the brim was not for this occasion. He could see the French captain on his quarterdeck now, a bulky man, holding his hat over his head in the French fashion. On his breast gleamed a star, which must be this new‑fangled Legion of Honour which Boney had instituted. Hornblower came back to reality; he had been the first to render the honours, and he must be the first to terminate them.
He growled a word to Bush.
“Drum!” ordered Bush, and the long roll ended. With that the twittering of the pipes died away, a little more raggedly than Hornblower liked. On the French quarter‑deck someone — the drum major, perhaps — raised a long staff hung with brass bells into the air and brought it down again with a thump. Instantly the drums rolled, half a dozen of them, a martial, thrilling sound, and then over the water came the sound of music, that incomprehensible blend of noises which Hornblower could never appreciate; the drum major’s staff rose and fell rhythmically. At last the music stopped, with a final roll of the drums. Hornblower put on his hat, and the French captain did the same.
“Sl-o-o-ope arrums,” yelled the sergeant of marina.
“All hands! Dismiss!” yelled Bush, and then, reverting to his softer tone, “Quietly, there! Silence!”
The hands were excited and prone to chatter with the order to dismiss — never in any of their lives, either, had they passed a French ship of war so close without guns firing. But Bush was determined to make the Frenchman believe that Hotspur was manned entirely by stoics. Wise with his rattan enforced the order, and the crew dispersed in an orderly mob, the good order only disturbed by a single quickly suppressed yelp as the rattan struck home on some rash posterior.
“She’s the Loire, surely enough, sir,” said Bush. They could see the name entwined in gilded letters amid the scrollwork of the frigate’s stern; Hornblower remembered that Bush still was in ignorance of his source of information. It was amusing to be thought omniscient, even without justification.
“And you were right, sir, not to run away from them,” went on Bush. Why was it so intolerable in this case to note the gleam of admiration in Bush’s eyes? Bush did not know of the quickening heartbeats and the sweaty palms.
“It’s given our fellows a close look at a Frenchman,” said Hornblower, uneasily.
“It certainly did that, sir,” agreed Bush. “I never expected in all my life to hear that tune from a French frigate!”
“What tune?” asked Hornblower unguardedly, and was instantly furious with himself for this revelation of his weakness.
“God Save The King, sir,” answered Bush, simply. Luckily it never occurred to him that anyone could possibly fail to recognize the national anthem. “If we’d had any music on board we’d have had to play their Marseillaise.”
“So we would,” said Hornblower; it was desperately necessary to change the subject. “Look! He’s getting in his topgallants. Quick! Time him! We’ll see what sort of seamen they are.”