The boat settled on her course, running free because the wind had backed southerly several points, and Hornblower looked back at Hotspur lying hove‑to. He ran a professional eye over her lines, noting, as an observer from the outside again, the relative heights of her masts, the distances at which they were stepped, the rake of the bowsprit. He knew a great deal now about the behaviour of the ship under sail, but there was always more to learn. Not at this moment, though, for a stronger puff of wind laid the boat over and Hornblower felt suddenly uncertain both of his surroundings and himself. The little waves of which Hotspur took no notice were monstrous when encountered in a small boat, which, besides lying over, was now rising and swooping in a most unpleasant fashion. After the reassuring solidity of Hotspur’s deck — after painfully accustoming himself to her motion — these new surroundings and these new antics were most unsettling, especially as Hornblower was excited and tense at the prospect before him. He swallowed hard, battling against the sea‑sickness which had leaped out of ambush for him; to divert his mind he concentrated his attention upon the Tonnant, growing slowly nearer — much too slowly.
At her main topgallant masthead she sported the coveted broad pendant in place of the narrow one worn by other ships in commission. It was the sign of a captain with executive powers over other ships besides his own. Pellew was not only high up in the captains’ list but clearly destined for important command as soon as he reached flag rank; there must be rear admirals in the Channel Fleet bitterly jealous of Pellew’s tenure of the Inshore Command. A boat came along her starboard side, painted white picked out with red, and of a design unlike that of the workaday boats supplied by the Navy Office. Hornblower could see the matching red and white uniforms of the boat’s crew; this must be some very dandy captain at least, paying a call — or more likely a flag officer. Hornblower saw a ribboned and epauletted figure go up the side, and across the water came the sound of the squealing of the pipes and the boomp‑bump noise that to his ears indicated a band playing. Next moment the White Ensign broke out at the fore‑topmasthead. A vice admiral of the White! That could be no other than Cornwallis himself.
Hornblower realized that this meeting to which he had been summoned by the curt signal ‘All captains’, was something more than a sociable gathering. He looked down in distress at his shabby clothing, reminded as he did so to open his boat cloak and reveal the epaulette on his left shoulder — a shabby brassy thing, dating back to the time of his earlier, disallowed appointment as commander, two years ago. Hornblower distinctly saw the officer of the watch, in attendance at the gangway, turn from his telescope and give an order which sent four of the eight white‑gloved sideboys there scurrying out of sight, so that a mere commander should not share the honours given a vice admiral. The admiral’s barge had sheered off and the Hotspur’s boat took its place, with Hornblower not too seasick and nervous to worry about the way it was handled, in case it did not reflect credit on his ship. The worry, however, was instantly overlaid by the necessity for concentration on the process of going up the side. This was a lofty two‑decker, and although the considerable ‘tumble‑home’ was of help it was a tricky business for the gangling Hornblower to mount with dignity encumbered as he was. Somehow he reached the deck, and somehow, despite his shyness and embarrassment, he remembered to touch his hat in salute to the guard that presented arms to him.
“Captain Hornblower?” inquired the officer of the watch. He knew him by the single epaulette on his left shoulder, the only commander in the Inshore Squadron, perhaps the only one in the Channel Fleet. “This young gentleman will act as your guide.”
The deck of the Tonnant seemed incredibly spacious after the cramped deck of the Hotspur, for the Tonnant was no mere seventy‑four. She was an eighty‑four, with dimensions and scantlings worthy of a three‑decker. She was a reminder of the era when the French built big ships in the hope of overpowering the British seventy‑fours by brute force instead of by skill and discipline. How the venture had turned out was proved by the fact that Tonnant now flew the flag of England.