Hornblower felt a slight feeling of apprehension, a sensation of gooseflesh at the back of his neck. He did not believe that his ship was prepared in all respects to leave at a moment’s notice.
Hornblower lifted up his voice in a call to the sentry outside his door.
“Pass the word for Mr. Jones.”
He heard the cry repeated in ‘tween decks like an echo, as he sat on with the orders in his hands. It was only a few moments before Mr. Jones came in hastily, and it was only when he arrived that Hornblower realized that he had not prepared himself to give the necessary orders and make the necessary inquiries. As a result Hornblower found himself compelled to look Jones over without speaking. His mind was sorting out his thoughts without reacting at all to the reports his eyes were making to it, but Hornblower’s steady stare discomposed the unfortunate Jones, who put his hand up nervously to his face. Hornblower saw a dab of dry lather in front of Jones’s right ear, and as the lieutenant’s gesture recalled him to himself he noticed something more; one lantern cheek was smooth and well shaved, while the other bristled with a fair growth of black beard.
“Pardon, sir,” said Jones, “but your call caught me half shaved, and I judged it best to come at once.”
“Very well, Mr. Jones,” said Hornblower; he was not sorry that Jones had something to explain away while he himself was not ready with the definite orders that a good officer should be able to issue.
Under that embarrassing stare Jones had to speak again.
“Did you want me, sir?”
“Yes,” said Hornblower. “We are under orders for the Mediterranean.”
“Indeed, sir?” Mr. Jones’s remarks did not make any great contribution to the progress of the conversation.
“I want your report on how soon we can be ready for sea.”
“Oh, sir —”
Jones put his hand up to his face again; perhaps it was as long as it was because of his habit of pulling at his chin.
“Are stores and water complete?”
“Well, sir, you see —”
“You mean they are not?”
“N — no, sir. Not altogether.”
Hornblower was about to ask for an explanation, but changed his approach at the last second.
“I won’t ask why at present. How short are we?”
“Well, sir —” The wretched Jones entered into a hurried statement. They were twenty tons of water short. Bread, spirits, meat —
“You mean that with the Victualling Yard only across the river you have not kept the ship complete with stores?”
“Well, sir —” Jones tried to explain that he had not thought it necessary to draw supplies from day to day. “There was plenty of other work for the hands, sir, fitting out.”
“Watch bills? Station bills?”
These were the lists that allocated the hands to their duties and quarters in the ship.
“We’re twenty topmen short, sir,” said Jones pitifully.
“All the more reason to make the most of what we have.”
“Yes, sir, of course, sir.” Jones sought desperately in his mind for excuses for himself. “Some of our beef, sir — it — it isn’t fit to eat.”
“Worse than usual?”
“Yes, sir. Must be some of an old batch. Real bad, some of it.”
“In which tier?”
“I’ll ask the purser, sir.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“No, sir — yes, sir.”
Hornblower fell into deep thought again, but as once more he did not take his eyes from Jones’s face that did not help the delinquent first lieutenant to recover his equanimity. Actually Hornblower was condemning himself. During the few days he had held command of the Atropos he had been hard at work on the details of Nelson’s funeral, and then he had been preoccupied with his own family affairs, but all that was no excuse. The captain of a ship should be aware at every moment of the state of his command. He was savagely angry with himself. He hardly knew his officers’ names; he could not even estimate what sort of fight Atropos could put up — and yet he would not have to go very far down the river to find his ship likely to be in action.