“Thank your doctor,” said Hornblower, and he took his decision. Then it was only a matter of minutes to make the arrangements with the surgeon and to take his leave. The gig took him back through the darkness, over the black water, to where Atropos’ riding light showed faintly.
“Pass the word for the doctor to come to my cabin at once,” was Hornblower’s reply to the salute of the officer of the watch.
Eisenbeiss came slowly in. There was something of apprehension and something of bravado in his manner. He was prepared to defend himself against the storm he was curtain was about to descend on him. What he did not expect was the reception he actually experienced. He approached the table behind which Hornblower was seated and stood sullen, meeting Hornblower’s eyes with the guilty defiance of a man who has just taken another human’s life.
“Mr. McCullum,” began Hornblower, and the doctor’s thick lips showed a trace of a sneer, “is being sent on board here tonight. He is still alive.”
“On board here?” repeated the doctor, surprised into a change of attitude.
“You address me as ‘sir’. Yes, I am having him sent over from the hospital. My orders to you are to make every preparation for his reception.”
The doctor’s response was unintelligible German, but there could be no doubt it was an ejaculation of astonishment.
“Your answer to me is ‘aye aye, sir’,” snapped Hornblower, his pent-up emotion and strain almost making him tremble as he sat at the table. He could not prevent his fist from clenching, but he just managed to refrain from allowing it to pound the table. The intensity of his feelings must have had their effect telepathically.
“Aye aye, sir,” said the doctor grudgingly.
“Mr. McCullum’s life is extremely valuable, doctor. Much more valuable than yours.”
The doctor could only mumble in reply to that.
“It is your duty to keep him alive.”
Hornblower’s fist unclenched now, and he could make his points slowly, one by one, accentuating each with the slow tap of the tip of a lean forefinger on the table.
“You are to do all you can for him. If there is anything special that you require for the purpose you are to inform me and I shall endeavour to obtain it for you. His life is to be saved, or if not, it is to be prolonged as far as possible. I would recommend you to establish a hospital for him abaft No. 6 carronade on the starboard side, where the motion of the ship will be least felt, and where it will be possible to rig a shelter for him from the weather. You will apply to Mr. Jones for that. The ship’s pigs can be taken forward where they will not discommode him.”
Hornblower’s pause and glance called forth an “aye aye, sir” from the doctor’s lips like a cork from out of a bottle, so that Hornblower could proceed.
“We sail at dawn tomorrow,” he went on. “Mr. McCullum is to live until we reach our destination, and until long after, long enough for him to execute the duty which has brought him from India. That is quite clear to you?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the doctor, although his puzzled expression proved that there was something about the orders which he could not explain to himself.
“You had better keep him alive,” continued Hornblower. “You had certainly better. If he dies I can try you for murder under the ordinary laws of England. Don’t look at me like that. I am speaking the truth. The common law knows nothing about duels. I can hang you, doctor.”
The doctor was a shade paler, and his big hands tried to express what his paralyzed tongue would not.
“But simply hanging you would be too good for you, doctor,” said Hornblower. “I can do more than that, and I shall. You have a fat, fleshy back. The cat would sink deeply into it. You’ve seen men flogged — you saw two flogged last week. You heard them scream. You will scream at the gratings too, doctor. That I promise you.”
“No!” said the doctor — “you can’t —”