“You will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner, Captain?” asked Collingwood.
“I should be honoured, my lord.”
It was gratifying to bring that phrase out pat like that, with hardly more than the least feeling of embarrassment.
“That is excellent. You will be able to tell me all the gossip of home. I fear there will be no other opportunity for some time, as Atropos will not be staying with the Fleet.”
“Indeed, my lord?”
This was a moment of high excitement, when the future was about to be revealed to him. But of course the excitement must not be allowed to appear; only the guarded interest of a self‑contained captain ready for anything.
“I fear so — not that you young captains with your saucy little ships want to stay tied to a fleet’s apron strings.”
Collingwood was smiling again, but there was something in the words that started a new train of thought in Hornblower’s mind. Of course, Collingwood had watched the advent of the newest recruit to his fleet with a keen eye. Hornblower suddenly realized that if Atropos had been clumsy in taking up station, or dilatory in answering signals, his reception here might not have been so pleasant. He might be standing at attention at this moment submitting with a tight‑shut mouth to a dressing‑down exemplary in its drastic quality. The thought caused a little prickling of gooseflesh at the back of his neck. It reduced his reply to a not very coherent mumble.
“You have this man McCullum and his natives on board?” asked Collingwood.
“Yes, my lord.”
Only a little self‑restraint was necessary to refrain from asking what the mission would be; Collingwood would tell him.
“You are not acquainted with the Levant?”
“No, my lord.”
So it was to be the Levant, among the Turks and the Greeks and the Syrians.
“You soon will be, captain. After taking my dispatches to Malta you will convey Mr. McCullum to Marmorice Bay and assist him in his operations there.”
Marmorice Bay? That was on the coast of Asia Minor. The fleet and transports which had attacked Egypt some years ago had rendezvoused there. It was a far cry from Deptford.
“Aye aye, my lord,” said Hornblower.
“I understand you have no sailing master in Atropos.”
“No, my lord. Two master’s mates.”
“In Malta you will have a sailing master assigned to you. George Turner; he is familiar with Turkish waters and he was with the fleet in Marmorice. He took the bearings when Speedwell sank.”
Speedwell? Hornblower raked back in his memory. She was the transport which had capsized and sunk at her anchors in a sudden gale of wind in Marmorice Bay.
“Yes, my lord.”
“She had on board the military chest of the expeditionary force. I don’t expect you knew that.”
“No, indeed, my lord.”
“A very considerable sum in gold and silver coin for the pay and subsistence of the troops a quarter of a million sterling. She sank in water far deeper than any diver in the service could reach. But as no one knew what our gallant allies the Turks might contrive by way of salvage with infinite leisure it was decided to keep the loss a secret. And for once a secret remained a secret.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Certainly it was not common knowledge that a quarter of a million in coin lay at the bottom of Marmorice Bay.
“So the Government had to send to India for divers who could reach those depths.”
“I see, my lord.”
“Now it will be your duty to go to Marmorice Bay and with the assistance of McCullum and Turner to recover that treasure.”
“Aye aye, my lord.”
No imagination could ever compass the possible range of duties of a naval officer. But it was satisfactory that the words he had just uttered were the only ones a naval officer could say in such circumstances.
“You will have to be careful in your dealings with our friend the Turk. He will be curious about your presence in Marmorice, and when he ascertains the object of your visit he may raise objections. You will have to conduct yourself according to the circumstances of the moment.”