“How much did you have?”
“Two days at half‑rations, sir. We’d been on half‑rations for a week, and two‑thirds rations for four weeks before that.”
“Oh,” said Collins, and in that instant the atmosphere changed.
“You left very little margin for error, Hornblower,” said Cornwallis, and now he was smiling, and now Hornblower in his innocence realized what had been going on. He had been suspected of coming in unnecessarily early, of being one of those captains who wearied of combating tempests. Those were the captains Cornwallis was anxious to weed out from the Channel Fleet, and Hornblower had been under consideration for weeding out.
“You should have come in at least four days earlier,” said Cornwallis.
“Well, sir —” Hornblower could have covered himself by quoting the orders of Chambers of the Naiad, but he saw no reason to, and he changed what he was going to say. “It worked out all right in the end.”
“You’ll be sending in your journals, of course, sir?” asked the flag lieutenant.
“Of course,” said Hornblower.
The ship’s log would be documentary proof of his assertions, but the question was a tactless, almost an insulting one, impugning of his veracity, and Cornwallis instantly displayed a hot‑tempered impatience at this awkwardness on the part of his flag lieutenant.
“Captain Hornblower can do that all in his own good time,” he said. “Now, wine with you, sir?”
It was extraordinary how pleasant the meeting had become; the change in the atmosphere was as noticeable as the change in the lighting at this moment when the stewards brought in candles. The four of them were laughing and joking when Newton, captain of the ship, came in to make his report and for Hornblower to be presented to him.
“Wind’s steady at west nor’west, sir,” said Newton.
“Thank you, captain.” Cornwallis rolled his blue eyes on Hornblower. “Are you ready for sea?”
“Yes, sir.” There could be no other reply.
“The wind’s bound to come easterly soon,” meditated Cornwallis. “The Downs, Spithead, Plymouth Sound — all of them jammed with ships outward bound and waiting for a fair wind. But one point’s all you need with Hotspur.”
“I could fetch Ushant with two tacks now, sir,” said Hornblower. There was Maria huddled in some lodging in Brixham at this moment, but he had to say it.
“M’m,” said Cornwallis, still in debate with himself. “I’m not comfortable without you watching the Goulet, Hornblower. But I can let you have one more day at anchor.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That is if the wind doesn’t back any further.” Cornwallis reached a decision. “Here are your orders. You sail at nightfall tomorrow. But if the wind backs one more point you hoist anchor instantly. That is, with the wind at nor’west by west.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower knew how he liked his own officers to respond to his orders, and he matched his deportment with that mental model. Cornwallis went on, his eye still considering him.
“We took some reasonable claret out of a prize a month ago. I wonder if you would honour me by accepting a dozen, Hornblower?”
“With the greatest of pleasure, sir.”
“I’ll have it put in your boat.”
Cornwallis turned to give the order to his steward, who apparently had something to say in return in a low voice; Hornblower heard Cornwallis reply, “Yes, yes, of course,” before he turned back.
“Perhaps your steward would pass the word for my boat at the same time, sir?” said Hornblower, who was in no doubt that his visit had lasted long enough by Cornwallis’s standards.
It was quite dark when Hornblower went down the side into the boat, to find at his feet the case that held the wine, and by now the wind was almost moderate. The dark surface of Tor Bay was spangled with the lights of ships, and there were the lights of Torquay and of Paignton and Brixham visible as well. Maria was somewhere there, probably uncomfortable, for these little places were probably full of naval officers’ wives.
“Call me the moment the wind comes nor’west by west,” said Hornblower to Bush as soon as he reached the deck.
“Nor’west by west. Aye aye, sir. The hands managed to get liquor on board, sir.”