“Aye aye, my lord.”
“You will not find all this in your orders, captain. But you must understand that the Cabinet has no wish for complications with the Turks. Yet at the same time a quarter of a million sterling in cash would be a Godsend to the Government today — or any day. The money is badly needed, but no offense should be offered to the Turks.”
It was necessary to steer clear of Scylla and yet not fall into Charybdis, said Hornblower to himself.
“I think I understand, my lord.”
“Fortunately it is an unfrequented coast. The Turks maintain very small forces, either military or naval, in the locality. That does not mean that you should attempt to carry off matters with a high hand.”
Not in Atropos with eleven popguns a side, thought Hornblower, and then he mentally withdrew the sneer. He understood what Collingwood meant.
“No, my lord.”
“Very well then, captain, thank you.”
The secretary at Collingwood’s elbow had a pile of opened despatches in hand, and was clearly waiting for a break in the conversation to give him an opportunity to intervene, and the flag lieutenant was hovering in the background. Both of them moved in at once.
“Dinner will be in half an hour, my lord,” said the flag lieutenant.
“These are the urgent letters, my lord,” said the secretary.
Hornblower rose to his feet in some embarrassment.
“Perhaps, captain, you would enjoy a turn on the quarterdeck, eh?” asked Collingwood. “Flags here would keep you company, I’m sure.”
When a vice‑admiral made suggestions to a captain and a flag lieutenant he did not have to wait long before they were acted upon. But out on the quarterdeck, pacing up and down making polite conversation, Hornblower could have wished that Collingwood had not been so thoughtful as to provide him with company. He had a great deal to think about.
Chapter X
Malta; Ricasoli Point on the one hand and Fort St. Elmo returning the salute on the other, and the Grand Harbour opening up between them; Valetta with its palaces on the promontory; gaily painted small craft everywhere; a fresh north‑easterly wind blowing. That wind — the Gregale, the sailing directions called it — did not allow Hornblower any leisure at present for sightseeing. In confined waters a sailing ship before the wind always seemed pig‑headedly determined to maintain her speed however much her canvas was reduced, even under bare poles. It called for accurate timing to round‑to at the right moment, to take her way off her, to clue up, and drop anchor at the right moment.
Nor would there be any leisure for Hornblower, it appeared, during the few hours that he would be here. He could combine his official calls with his personal delivery of the despatches entrusted to him, which would save a good deal of time, but that saving was immediately eaten up — as the fat kine of Pharaoh’s dream were eaten up by the lean kine — by the demands on his attention, and, just as the lean kine were no fatter after their meal, so he was just as busy even when his planning had saved that much time. It would be quarter‑day, or as near to it as made no matter, by the time letters from Malta would reach England, so that now he could draw against his pay. Not to any great extent, of course — there were Maria and the children to be considered — but enough to provide himself with a few luxuries in this island where bread was dear and luxuries cheap. Oranges and olives and fresh vegetables — the bumboats were already awaiting permission to come alongside.
McCullum, with his salvage operations in mind, was anxious for an indent to be made for supplies he considered necessary. He wanted a mile of half‑inch line and a quarter mile of slow match — a fantastic demand, to Hornblower’s mind, but McCullum knew more about his business than he did, presumably — and five hundred feet of leather “fuse‑hose”, which was something Hornblower had hardly heard of. Hornblower signed the indent wondering vaguely whether the Navy Office would surcharge him with it, and turned away to face the inevitable fact that every officer in the ship wished to go ashore and was presenting irrefutable reasons to Jones in favour of his so doing. If Atropos had been on fire they could not be more passionately anxious to be out of her.