There was no need to drop any word of commendation to Bush regarding such a simple operation as getting under way. Hornblower could savour the pleasure of being afloat, as the hands raced to set the topgallant sails and then the courses. Then suddenly he remembered.
“Let me have that glass, please, Mr Prowse.”
He put the massive telescope to his eye and trained it out over the port quarter. It was still not yet full daylight, and there was the usual hint of haze, and Hotspur had left her anchorage half a mile or more astern. Yet he could just see it; a solitary, lonely speck of grey, on the water’s edge, over there on the Hard. Perhaps — just possibly — there was a flicker of white; Maria might be waving her handkerchief, but he could not be sure. In fact he thought not. There was just the solitary grey speck. Hornblower looked again, and then he made himself lower the telescope; it was heavy, and his hands were trembling a trifle so that the image was blurred. It was the first time in all his life that he had put to sea leaving behind him someone who was interested in his fate.
“Thank you, Mr Prowse,” he said, harshly, handing back the telescope.
He knew he had to think about something different, that he must quickly find something else to occupy his thoughts; fortunately as captain of a ship just setting sail there was no lack of subjects.
“Now, Mr Prowse,” he said, glancing at the wake and at the trim of the sails. “The wind’s holding steady at the moment. I want a course for Ushant.”
“Ushant, sir?” Prowse had a long lugubrious face like a mule’s, and he stood there digesting this piece of information without any change of expression.
“You heard what I said,” snapped Hornblower, in sudden irritation.
“Yes, sir,” answered Prowse, hastily. “Ushant, sir. Aye aye, sir.”
There was of course, some excuse for his first reaction. Nobody in the ship save Hornblower knew the content of the orders which were taking Hotspur to sea; nobody knew to what point in the whole world she was destined to sail. The mention of Ushant narrowed down the field to some extent at least. The North Sea and the Baltic were ruled out. So were Ireland and the Irish Sea and the St Lawrence across the Atlantic. But it still might be the West Indies or the Cape of Good Hope or the Mediterranean; Ushant was a point of departure for all those.
“Mr Bush!” said Hornblower.
“Sir!”
“You may dismiss the watch below, and send the hands to breakfast when you think proper.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Who’s the officer of the watch?”
“Cargill, sir.”
“He has charge of the deck, then.”
Hornblower looked about him. Everything was in order, and Hotspur was standing out for the Channel. But there was something odd, something different, something unusual. Then it dawned upon him. For the first time in his life he was going to sea in time of peace. He had served ten years as a naval officer without this experience. Always before, whenever his ship emerged from harbour, she was in instant danger additional to the hazards of the sea. In every previous voyage any moment might bring an enemy up over the horizon; at an hour’s notice ship and ship’s company might be fighting for their lives. And the most dangerous time of all was when first putting to sea with a raw crew, with drill and organization incomplete — it was a likely moment to meet an enemy, as well as the most inconvenient one.
Now here they were putting to sea without any of these worries. It was an extraordinary sensation, something new — something new, like leaving Maria behind. He tried to shake that thought from him; as a buoy slithered past the starboard quarter he tried to leave the thought with it. It was a relief to see Prowse approaching again, with a piece of paper in his hand as he glanced up to the commission pendant and then out to the horizon in an attempt to forecast the weather.