A Ship of the Line. C. S. Forester

In a sudden revulsion of feeling Hornblower wondered if lofty sentiment would armour the boy against cannon shot — he remembered another ship’s boy who had been smashed into a red jam before his eyes by a shot from the Natividad.

Chapter VIII

In the afternoon Hornblower was walking his quarterdeck; the problem before him was so difficult that he had quitted his stern gallery — he could not walk fast enough there, owing to his having to bend his head, to set his thoughts going. The people on the quarterdeck saw his mood, and kept warily over to the lee side, leaving the whole weather side, nearly thirty yards of quarterdeck and gangway, to him. Up and down, he walked, up and down, trying to nerve himself to make the decision he hankered after. The Sutherland was slipping slowly through the water with a westerly breeze abeam; the convoy was clustered together only a few cables’ lengths to leeward.

Gerard shut his telescope with a snap.

“Boat pulling toward us from Lord Mornington, sir,” he said. He wanted to warn his captain of the approach of visitors, so that if he thought fit he could make himself unapproachable in his cabin; but he knew, as well as Hornblower did, that it might be unwise for a captain to act in too cavalier a fashion towards the notabilities on board the East India convoy.

Hornblower looked across at the boat creeping beetle-like towards him. Ten days of a strong north-easterly wind had not merely hurried the convoy to the latitude of North Africa where he was to leave them to their own devices, but had prevented all intercourse and visiting between ships, until yesterday. Yesterday there had been a good deal of coming and going between the ships of the convoy; it was only natural that today he should receive formal calls, which he could not well refuse. In another two hours they would be parting company — it could not be a prolonged ordeal.

The boat ran alongside, and Hornblower walked forward to receive his own guests — Captain Osborn of the Lord Mornington, in his formal frock coat, and someone else, tall and bony, resplendent in civilian full dress with ribbon and star.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” said Osborn. “I wish to present you to Lord Eastlake, Governor-designate of Bombay.”

Hornblower bowed; so did Lord Eastlake.

“I have come,” said Lord Eastlake, clearing his throat, “to beg of you, Captain Hornblower, to receive on behalf of your ship’s company this purse of four hundred guineas. It has been subscribed by the passengers of the East India convoy in recognition of the skill and courage displayed by the Sutherland in the action with the two French privateers off Ushant.”

“In the name of my ship’s company I thank your Lordship,” said Hornblower.

It was a very handsome gesture, and as he took the purse he felt like Judas, knowing what designs he was cherishing against the East India convoy.

“And I,” said Osborn, “am the bearer of a most cordial invitation to you and to your first lieutenant to join us at dinner in the Lord Mornington.”

At that Hornblower shook his head with apparent regret.

“We part company in two hours,” he said. “I was about to hang out a signal to that effect. I am deeply hurt by the necessity of having to refuse.”

“We shall all be sorry on board the Lord Mornington’ said Lord Eastlake. “Ten days of bad weather have deprived us of the pleasure of the company of any of the officers of the navy. Cannot you be persuaded to alter your decision?”

“This has been the quickest passage I have made to these latitudes,” said Osborn. “I begin to regret it now that it appears to have prevented our seeing anything of you.”

“I am on the King’s service, my Lord, and under the most explicit orders from the Admiral.”

That was an excuse against which the Governor-designate of Bombay could not argue.

“I understand,” said Lord Eastlake. “At least can I have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your officers?”

Once more that was a handsome gesture; Hornblower called them up and presented them one by one; horny-handed Bush, and Gerard handsome and elegant, Captain Morris of the marines and his two gawky subalterns, the other lieutenants and the master, down to the junior midshipman, all of them delighted and embarrassed at this encounter with a lord. At last Lord Eastlake turned to go.

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