“I remember reading that she was awarded a Civil List pension by the government when the news of — of your death arrived.”
“No other news? There was a child coming.”
“None that I know of. I have been four months in this ship.”
Hornblower’s head sunk on his breast. The news of Leighton’s death added to the confusion of his mind. He did not know whether to be pleased or sorry about it. Barbara would be as unattainable to him as ever, and perhaps there would be all the jealous misery to endure of her re-marriage.
“Now,” said Hardy. “Breakfast?”
“There’s Bush and my coxswain in the cutter,” said Hornblower. “I must see that all is well with them first.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A midshipman came into the cabin as they ate breakfast.
“The fleet’s in sight from the masthead, sir,” he reported to Hardy.
“Very good.” As the midshipman went out again Hardy turned back to Hornblower. “I must report your arrival to His Lordship.”
“Is he still in command?” asked Hornblower, startled. It was a surprise to him that the government had left Admiral Lord Gambier in command of the Channel Fleet for three years, despite the disastrous waste of opportunity at the Basque Roads.
“He hauls down his flag next month,” said Hardy, gloomily. Most officers turned gloomy when discussing ‘Dismal Jimmy’. “They whitewashed him at the court martial, and had to leave him his full three years.”
A shade of embarrassment appeared in Hardy’s expression; he had let slip the mention of a court martial to a man who soon would endure the same ordeal.
“I suppose they had to,” said Hornblower, his train of thought following that of his fellow captain as he wondered if there would be any whitewash employed at his trial.
Hardy broke the embarrassed silence which followed.
“Would you care to come on deck with me?” he asked.
Over the horizon to leeward was appearing a long line of ships, closehauled. They were in rigid, regular line, and as Hornblower watched they went about in succession in perfect order, as if they were chained together. The Channel Fleet was at drill — eighteen years of drill at sea had given them their unquestioned superiority over any other fleet in the world.
“Victory’s in the van,” said Hardy, handing his glass to Hornblower. “Signal midshipman! I ‘Triumph to flag. Have on board —’.”
Hornblower looked through the glass while Hardy dictated his message. The three-decker with her admiral’s flag at the main was leading the long line of ships, the broad stripes on her side glistening in the sunlight. She had been Jervis’s flagship at St Vincent, Hood’s in the Mediterranean, Nelson’s at Trafalgar. Now she was Dismal Jimmy’s — a tragedy if ever there was one. Signal-hoists were soaring up to her yard-arms; Hardy was busy dictating replies.
“The Admiral is signalling for you to go on board, sir,” he said at last, turning back to Hornblower. “I trust you will do me the honour of making use of my barge?”
The Triumph’s barge was painted primrose yellow picked out with black, and so were the oarblades; her crew wore primrose-coloured jumpers with black neckcloths. As Hornblower took his seat, his hand still tingling with Hardy’s handclasp, he reminded himself gloomily that he had never been able to afford to dress his barge’s crew in a fancy rig-out; he always felt sore on the point. Hardy must be a wealthy man with his Trafalgar prize money and his pension as Colonel of Marines. He contrasted their situations — Hardy, a baronet, moneyed, famous, and he himself poor, undistinguished, and awaiting trial.
They piped the side for him in the Victory, as Admiralty regulations laid down — the marine guard at the present, the side-boys in white gloves to hand him up, the pipes of the boatswain’s mates all a-twittering; and there was a captain on the quarterdeck ready to shake hands with him — odd, that was to Hornblower, seeing that soon he would be on trial for his life.
“I’m Calendar, Captain of the Fleet,” he said. “His Lordship is below, waiting for you.”
He led the way below, extraordinarily affable.