“Now I’ll have those condemned hogsheads got up on deck, Mr. Carslake. I must keep my promise to return them.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Carslake.
Carslake was a bull‑headed, youngish man with expressionless pale-blue eyes. Those eyes were even more expressionless than usual. He had been a witness of the interview between Hornblower and the superintendent, and he did not allow his feelings to show. He could not guess whether as a purser he thoroughly approved of saving the stores to be fobbed off on another ship or whether as a sailor certain to endure privations at sea he despised Hornblower’s weakness in agreeing to the superintendent’s demands.
“I’ll mark ’em before I return ’em,” said Hornblower.
He had thought of paint when he had been so accommodating towards the superintendent, but was not quite happy in his mind about it, for turpentine would remove paint fast enough. A better idea occurred to him, marvellously, at that very moment.
“Have the cook relight the fire in the galley,” he ordered. “I’ll have — I’ll have a couple of iron musket ramrods heated in the fire. Get them from the armourer, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir. If you please sir, it’s long past the hands’ dinner‑time.”
“When I’ve time for my own dinner the hands can have theirs,” said Hornblower.
He was glad that the deck was crowded so that those words of his could be overheard, for he had had the question of the men’s dinnertime in his mind for some time although he was quite resolved not to waste a moment over it.
The first of the condemned hogsheads came creaking and swaying up from the hold and was lowered to the deck. Hornblower looked round him; there was Horrocks with the young prince, quite bewildered with all the continuous bustles trailing after him.
“You’ll do, Mr. Horrocks. Come here,” said Hornblower. He took the chalk from beside the slate at the binnacle; and wrote with it, in large letters diagonally round the hogshead, the word “CONDEMNED”. “There are two irons heating in the galley fire. You and Mr. Prince can spend your time branding these hogsheads. Trace out those letters on every one. Understand?”
“Er — yes, sir.”
“Good and deep, so there is no chance of planing it off. Look sharp about it.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The next lighter for the Dockyard was alongside now, at the port side recently vacated by the powder hulk. It was full of boatswain’s stores, cordage, canvas, paint; and a weary party of men were at work swaying the bundles up. There seemed no end to this business of getting Atropos fully equipped for sea. Hornblower himself felt as leg‑weary as a foundered horse, and he stiffened himself up to conceal his fatigue. But as he looked across the river he could see the Victualling Yard’s lighter already emerging from the Creek. Smiley had his men at work on the sweeps, straining to row the ponderous thing across the ebbing tide.
Prom the quarterdeck he could see the lighter was crammed with the hogsheads and kegs and biscuit bags. Soon Atropos would be full-gorged. And the acrid smell of the red‑hot irons burning into the brine-soaked staves of the condemned hogsheads came to his nostrils. No ship would ever accept those stores. It was a queer duty for a Serene Highness to be employed upon. How had those orders read? “You will employ your diligence in instructing His Serene Highness in his new profession.” Well, perhaps it was not a bad introduction to the methods of fighting men and civilian employees.
Later — ever so much later, it seemed — Mr. Jones came up and touched his hat.
“The last of the stores are on board, sir,” he said. “Mr. Smiley’s just returning the Victualling Yard’s lighter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones. Call away my gig, please.”
Hornblower stepped down into the boat conscious of many weary eyes on him. The winter afternoon was dissolving in a cold and gloomy drizzle as a small rain was beginning to fall. Hornblower had himself rowed round his ship at a convenient distance to observe her trim. He looked at her from ahead, from broadside on, from astern. In his mind’s eye he was visualizing her underwater lines. He looked up at the spread of her lower yards; the wind would be pressing against the canvas there, and he worked out the balance of the forces involved, wind against lateral resistance, rudder versus headsails. He had to consider seaworthiness and handiness as well as speed. He climbed back on deck to where Jones was awaiting him.