Hornblower and the Atropos. C. S. Forester

“God bless my soul,” said Hornblower.

It was a shilling; Hornblower could only stare at it, and turn it over in his fingers. Every eye in the boat was directed at it; the men were quick enough to guess even if they could not see it clearly. Someone started to cheer, and the others took it up. Hornblower looked down the boat at the grinning faces. Even Clout was waving his hat and yelling.

“Silence!” shouted Hornblower. “Mr. Clout, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

But the noise did not stop instantly as before; the men were too excited. But it died away at length, and the men waited. Hornblower had to think now about the next moves completely at a loss — this development had taken him by surprise and he had no idea for the moment what to do next. It would have to be anti‑climax, he decided at last. For the recovery of the treasure fresh equipment would be necessary; that was certain. The divers had made nearly as many dives that day as they could. Moreover, McCullum must be informed of the results of the explosion and his decision heard regarding further steps. Hornblower even realized that there was no certainty that subsequent operations would be easy. One shilling did not make a quarter of a million sterling. There might be much further work necessary.

“Oars!” he snapped at the waiting men. The oar‑looms clattered into the rowlocks and the men bent forward ready to pull. “Give way!”

The oar‑blades bit into the water and the launch slowly gathered way.

“Head for the ship!” he growled at the coxswain.

He sat glowing in the stern‑sheets. Anyone seeing his face might well have thought that the launch was returning after a complete failure, but it was merely that he was annoyed with himself at not being quick‑witted enough to have had the appropriate orders ready at once when that astonishing shilling was put into his hand. The whole boat’s crew had seen him at a loss. His precious dignity was hurt. When he got on board he was inclined to sulk in his cabin, but common sense made him go forward soon to discuss the situation with McCullum.

“There’s a cascade of silver,” said McCullum, who had been listening to the reports of the divers. “The bags have rotted, and when the treasure room was blown open the silver poured out. I think that’s clear enough.”

“And the gold?” asked Hornblower.

“Looney can’t tell me as yet,” said McCullum. “If I had been in the launch I daresay I should have acquired more information.”

Hornblower bit back an angry retort. Nothing would please McCullum better than a quarrel, and he had no wish to indulge him.

“At least the explosion served its purpose,” he said pacifically.

“Like enough.”

“Then why,” asked Hornblower — the question had been awaiting the asking for a long time — “if the wreck was blown open why didn’t wreckage come to the surface?”

“You don’t know?” asked McCullum in reply, dearly gratified at possessing superior knowledge.

“No.”

“That’s one of the elementary facts of science. Timber submerged at great depths soon becomes waterlogged.”

“Indeed?”

“Wood only floats — as I presume you known — virtue of the air contained in the cavities in its substance. Under pressure that air is squeezed out, and, deprived of this upthrust, the residual material has no tendency to rise.”

“I see,” said Hornblower. “Thank you, Mr. McCullum.”

“I am accustomed by now,” said McCullum, “to supplementing the education of King’s officers.”

“Then I trust,” said Hornblower, still keeping his temper, “you will continue with mine. What is the next step to take?”

McCullum pursed his lips.

“If that damned Dutch doctor,” he said, “would only have the sense to allow me out of this bed I could attend to it all myself.”

“He’ll have the stitches out of you soon,” said Hornblower. “Meanwhile time is of importance.”

It was infuriating that a captain in his own ship should have to endure this sort of insolence. Hornblower thought of the official complaints he could make. He could quarrel with McCullum, abandon the whole attempt, and in his report to Collingwood he would declaim that “owing to the complete lack of co‑operation on the part of Mr. William McCullum, of the Honourable East India Company’s Service” the expedition had ended in failure. No doubt McCullum would then be rapped on the knuckles officially. But it was better to achieve success, even without receiving any sympathy for the trials he was enduring, than to return with the best of excuses empty‑handed. It was just as meritorious to pocket his pride and to coax McCullum into giving clear instructions as it was to head a boarding party on to an enemy’s deck. Just as meritorious — although less likely to achieve a paragraph in the Gazette. He forced himself to ask the right questions and to listen to McCullum’s grudging explanations of what should next be done.

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