There was no sign of anything brewing while dinner was being eaten in the great cabin of the Indefatigable. Pellew was a courtly host at the head of the table. Conversation flowed freely and along indifferent channels among the senior officers present — the two lieutenants, Eccles and Chadd, and the sailing master, Soames. Hornblower and the other junior officer — Mallory, a midshipman of over two years' seniority — kept silent, as midshipmen should, thereby being able to devote their undivided attention to the food, so vastly superior to what was served in the midshipmen's berth.
'A glass of wine with you, Mr Hornblower,' said Pellew, raising his glass.
Hornblower tried to bow gracefully in his seat while raising his glass. He sipped cautiously, for he had early found that he had a weak head, and he disliked feeling drunk.
The table was cleared and there was a brief moment of expectancy as the company awaited Pellew's next move.
'Now, Mr Soames,' said Pellew, 'let us have that chart.'
It was a map of the mouth of the Gironde with the soundings; somebody had pencilled in the positions of the shore batteries.
'The Papillon,' said Sir Edward (he did not condescend to pronounce it French-fashion), 'lies just here. Mr Soames took the bearings.'
He indicated a pencilled cross on the chart, far up the channel.
'You gentlemen,' went on Pellew, 'are going in with the boats to fetch her out.'
So that was it. A cutting-out expedition.