“I’m sailing with the land breeze tomorrow morning,” he said.
“Whither bound, sir?”
“England,” said Hornblower.
Bush could not restrain a whistle at the news. There were men in the squadron who had not seen England for ten years.
“I’ll be back again,” said Hornblower. “A convoy to the Downs. Despatches for the Commissioners. Pick up the replies and a convoy out again. The usual round.”
For a sloop of war it was indeed the usual round. The Retribution with her eighteen guns and disciplined crew could fight almost any privateer afloat; with her speed and handiness she could cover a convoy more effectively than the ship of the line or even the frigates that accompanied the larger convoys to give solid protection.
“You’ll get your commission confirmed, sir,” said Bush, with a glance at Hornblower’s epaulette.
“I hope so,” said Hornblower.
Confirmation of a commission bestowed by a commander-inchief on a foreign station was a mere formality.
“That is,” said Hornblower, “if they don’t make peace.”