Chasing the Papillion

Call all hands, speak to quarters. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

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... ... ... ... the mice of the great French estuary that you're on like a wolf I'd serve the sheepfold. Let's have that chart, the one showing the mouth of the giron. I penciled in the positions of French shore batteries, pull your chairs down to the same gentleman. I'll chase the puppy on, dyes just here, in what I planned to do about

her. In with our small boats, set her out. Sit sir, a cutting out expedition, eh? And Mr. Ross the cutter. And Mr. Chair and Mr. Maiton will come on the first and second gigs.

And Mr. Hornblower will come on the Jolly Boats. As usual. Each boat except Mr. Hornblower has a junior officer of Second Command, of course. Yes sir. As I was about to say, for the Jolly Boat, that won't be necessary, with its crew of only Sepulant.

Yes sir. There will be discussion about a hundred men in all. The Papillon is a ship of war. No much men. No matchmen. Ten guns aside, a crew of two hundred men know that. But we'll be attacking her by night, taking her by surprise.

Supplies? There's more than half the battle, gentlemen. Pardon the interruption, Mr. Reckles. Just now, we're out of sight of land. The French will think we have gone for good. We'll stand in again as far as possible after nightfall.

Then deliver the attack at four-thirty, an hour before dawn. You see? That means they're watched below, will have had time to go to sleep. But, uh, proceed, Mr. Regal's proceed. My launch will attack on the starboard quarter. The cutter on the larboard quarter. Mr. Mason's gig on the larboard bow and Mr. Chairs on the starboard bow. Understood? Mr. Chairs must cut the corbets