“Is that a compliment for me to treasure always?” she asked.
“It will always be true, my dear,” he said.
“You are the kindest of husbands,” she said, and the break in her voice showed that she meant it.
“With the sweetest of wives,” he answered. “And now may I go on with my work?”
“Of course, darling. Of course. I fear I am selfish. But — but — darling, I love you so. I love you so!”
“There, there,” said Hornblower patting her shoulder. Perhaps he felt as strongly over this business as Maria did, but he had much else to feel strongly about. And if he mismanaged these ceremonial arrangements the child to come might go on short commons with him on half-pay for life. And Nelson’s body was at this very moment lying in state at Greenwich, and the day after tomorrow was the date fixed for the procession, with the tide beginning to flood at eleven, and there was still much to be done. He was glad to get back to the writing of his orders. He was glad to go back on board Atropos and plunge into business there.
“Mr. Jones, I’d be glad if you’d call the midshipmen and master’s mates. I need half a dozen who can write a fair round hand.”
The cabin of the Atropos took on the appearance of a schoolroom, with the midshipmen sitting on mess stools at improvised tables, with inkwells and pens, copying out Hornblower’s drafts of the orders, and Hornblower going from one to another, like a squirrel in a cage, answering questions.
“Please, sir, I can’t read this word.”
“Please, sir, do I start a new paragraph here?”
It was one way of finding out something of the junior officers, of distinguishing them as individuals out of what had been so far a formless mass of officers; there were the ones who appealed for help at every turn, and the ones who could make deductions from the context; there were the stupid ones who wrote orders that made nonsense.
“Damn it, man,” said Hornblower. “Would anyone out of Bedlam say a thing like that — far less write it?”
“That’s what it looked like, sir,” said the midshipman stubbornly.
“God help us all,” said Hornblower in despair.
But that was the man who wrote a very clear hand; Hornblower put him on to the task of writing the beginnings of each letter.
H.M.S. Atropos at Deptford
Jan 6th 1806
Sir
By virtue of the powers entrusted to me by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty —
Other men could carry on from there, with a saving of time. The ninety different written orders with their duplicates were written at last, and distributed by midnight; crews and petty officers had been found from various sources for every boat that was to take part in the procession, rations allotted to them, their place in the line clearly stated — “You will take the seventeenth position, immediately after the barge of the Commander‑in‑Chief at the Nore and immediately preceding that of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers.”
The final arrangements were made with Mr. Pallender at two in the morning of the day of the procession, and Hornblower, yawning, could think of nothing else to be done. Yes, there was a final change to be made.
“Mr. Horrocks, you will come with me with the Body in the first barge. Mr. Smiley, you’ll command the second with the Chief Mourner.”
Horrocks was the stupidest of the midshipmen and Smiley the brightest — it had been natural to reserve the latter for himself, but now he realized how stupid Horrocks was, and how necessary it was to keep him under his own eye.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower fancied Smiley looked pleased at thus escaping from the direct supervision of his captain, and he pricked that bubble.
“You’ll have nine admirals and four captains as passengers, Smiley,” he said. “Including Admiral of the Fleet Sir Peter Parker and Lord St Vincent.”
Smiley did not look nearly as pleased at that.
“Mr. Jones, have the longboat with the hands at Greenwich Pier at six o’clock, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And call away the gig for me now.”