A Ship of the Line. C. S. Forester

It was Osborn himself who came in through the entry port, scarlet with rage and offended dignity.

“Captain Hornblower!” he said, as he set foot on the deck. “This is an outrage! I must protest against it, sir. At this very moment your lieutenant is parading my crew with a view to impressment.”

“He is acting by my orders, sir,’ said Hornblower.

“I could hardly believe it when he told me so. Are you aware, sir, that what you propose to do is contrary to the law? It is a flagrant violation of Admiralty regulations. A perfect outrage, sir. The ships of the Honourable East India Company are exempt from impressment, and I, as Commodore, must protest to the last breath of my body against any contravention of the law.”

“I shall be glad to receive your protest when you make it, sir.”

“But — but —” spluttered Osborn. “I have delivered it. I have made my protest, sir.”

“Oh, I understand,” said Hornblower. “I thought these were only remarks preliminary to a protest.”

“Nothing of the sort,” raved Osborn, his portly form almost dancing on the deck. “I have protested, sir, and I shall continue to protest. I shall call the attention of the highest in the land to this outrage. I shall come from the ends of the earth, gladly, sir, to bear witness at your court martial. I shall not rest — I shall leave no stone unturned — I shall exert all my influence to have this crime punished as it deserves. I’ll have you cast in damages, sir, as well as broke.”

“But, Captain Osborn —” began Hornblower, changing his tune just in time to delay the dramatic departure which Osborn was about to make. From the tail of his eye Hornblower had seen the Sutherland’s boats pulling towards two more victims, having presumably stripped the first two of all possible recruits. As Hornblower began to hint at a possible change of mind on his part, Osborn rapidly lost his ill temper.

“If you restore the men, sir, I will gladly retract all I have said,” said Osborn. “Nothing more will be heard of the incident, I assure you.”

“But will you not allow me to ask for volunteers from among your crews, Captain?” pleaded Hornblower. “There may be a few men who would like to join the King’s service.”

“Well — yes, I will even agree to that. As you say, sir, you may find a few restless spirits.”

That was the height of magnanimity on Osborn’s part, although he was safe in assuming that there would be few men in his fleet foolish enough to exchange the comparative comfort of the East India Company’s service for the rigours of life in the Royal Navy.

“Your seamanship in that affair with the privateers, sir, was so admirable that I find it hard to refuse you anything,” said Osborn, pacifically. The Sutherland’s boats were alongside the last of the convoy now.

“That is very good of you, sir,” said Hornblower, bowing. “Allow me, then, to escort you into your gig. I will recall my boats. Since they will have taken volunteers first, we can rely upon it that they will have all the willing ones on board, and I shall return the unwilling ones. Thank you, Captain Osborn. Thank you.”

He saw Captain Osborn over the side and walked back to the quarterdeck. Rayner was eyeing him with amazement on account of his sudden volte-face, which gave him pleasure, for Rayner would be still more amazed soon. The cutter and launch, both of them as full of men as they could be, were running down now to rejoin, passing Osborn’s gig as it was making its slow course to windward. Through his glass Hornblower could see Osborn wave his arm as he sat in his gig; presumably he was shouting something to the boats as they went by. Bush and Gerard very properly paid him no attention. In two minutes they were alongside, and the men came pouring on deck, a hundred and twenty men laden with their small possessions, escorted by thirty of the Sutherland’s hands. They were made welcome by the rest of the crew all with broad grins. It was a peculiarity of the British pressed sailor that he was always glad to see other men pressed — in the same way, thought Hornblower, as the fox who lost his brush wanted all the other foxes to lose theirs.

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