“Thank you, my lord,” said Hornblower.
He halted again, head bowed, sword reversed, and allowed the other mourners to flow on past him. This was extemporized ceremonial, but it worked. Hornblower tried to stand like a statue, although no statue he had ever seen was clothed in breeches streaming with wet. He had to repress a start when he remembered again about Maria. He wished he knew. And then he had more difficulty in repressing another start. His watch! That was still dangling on the coffin, now being put into the waiting hearse. Oh well, he could do nothing about that at the moment. And nothing about Maria. He went on standing in his icy breeches.
Chapter V
The sentry at the Admiralty was worried but adamant. “Pardon, sir, but them’s my orders. No one to pass, not even a Admiral, sir.”
“Where’s the petty officer of the guard?” demanded Hornblower.
The petty officer was a little more inclined to listen to reason.
“It’s our orders, sir,” he said, however. “I daren’t, sir. You understand, sir.”
No naval petty officer gladly said “no” to a Post Captain, even one of less than three years’ seniority.
Hornblower recognized a cocked‑hatted lieutenant passing in the background.
“Bracegirdle!” he hailed.
Bracegirdle had been a midshipman along with him in the old Indefatigable, and had shared more than one wild adventure with him. Now he was wearing a lieutenant’s uniform with the aigullettes of a staff appointment.
“How are you, sir?” he asked, coming forward.
They shook hands and looked each other over, as men will, meeting after years of war. Hornblower told about his watch, and asked permission to be allowed in to get it. Bracegirdle whistled sympathetically.
“That’s bad,” he said. “If it was anyone but old Jervie I’d risk it. But that’s his own personal order. I’ve no desire to beg my bread in the gutter for the rest of my days.”
Jervie was Admiral Lord St Vincent, recently become First Lord of the Admiralty again, and once Sir John Jervis whose disciplinary principles were talked of with bated breath throughout the Navy.
“You’re his flag‑lieutenant?” asked Hornblower.
“That’s what I am,” said Bracegirdle. “There are easier appointments. I’d exchange for the command of a powder hulk in Hell. But I only have to wait for that. By the time I’ve gone through my period of servitude with Jervie that’ll be the only command they’ll offer me.”
“Then I can say good‑bye to my watch,” said Hornblower.
“Without even a farewell kiss,” said Bracegirdle. “But in after years when you visit the crypt of St. Paul’s you will be able to look at the hero’s tomb with the satisfaction of knowing that your watch is in there along with him.”
“Your humour is frequently misplaced, Mr. Bracegirdle,” replied Hornblower, quite exasperated, “and you seem to have forgotten that the difference in rank between us should invite a more respectful attitude on the part of a junior officer.”
Hornblower was tired and irritated; even as he said the words he was annoyed with himself for saying them. He was fond of Bracegirdle, and there was still the bond of perils shared with him, and the memory of lighthearted banter in the days when they were both midshipmen. It was not good manners, so to speak, to make use of his superior rank (which only good fortune had brought him) to wound Bracegirdle’s feelings as undoubtedly he had, and merely to soothe his own. Bracegirdle brought himself stiffly to attention.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “I allowed my tongue to run away with me. I hope you will overlook the offense, sir.”
The two officers eyed each other for a moment before Bracegirdle unbent again.
“I haven’t said yet how sorry I am about your watch, sir,” he said. “I’m genuinely sorry on your account. Really sorry, sir.”
Hornblower was about to make a pacific reply, when another figure appeared behind Bracegirdle, huge and ungainly, still in gold‑laced full dress, and peering from under vast white eyebrows at the two officers. It was St Vincent; Hornblower touched his hat and the gesture informed Bracegirdle that his superior was behind him.
“What’s the young man so sorry about, Hornblower?” asked St Vincent.