“Doesn’t all this mean anything to you, Hornblower?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied Hornblower, puzzled. “Only what I’ve said. It’s a great pity that you have to retire, sir.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t know such disinterestedness was possible. Don’t you remember what is the last privilege granted a retiring Commander‑in‑Chief?”
“No, sir.” That was true when Hornblower spoke; realization came a second later. “Oh, of course —”
“Now it’s beginning to dawn on you. I’m allowed three promotions. Midshipman to Lieutenant. Lieutenant to Commander. Commander to Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” Hornblower could hardly speak those words; he had to swallow hard.
“It’s a good system,” went on Cornwallis. “At the end of his career a Commander‑in‑Chief can make those promotions without fear or favour. He has nothing more to expect in this world, and so he can lay up store for the next, by making his selection solely for the good of the service.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I have to go on? I’m going to promote you to Captain.”
“Thank you, sir. I can’t —” Very true. He could not speak.
“As I said, I have the good of the service in mind. You’re the best choice I can make, Hornblower.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mark you, this is the last service I can do for you. A fortnight from now I’ll be nobody. You’ve told me you have no friends in high places?”
“Yes, sir. No, sir.”
“And commands still go by favour. I hope you find it, Hornblower. And I hope you have better luck in the matter of prize money. I did my best for you.”
“I’d rather be a captain and poor than anyone else and rich, sir.”
“Except perhaps an Admiral,” said Cornwallis; he was positively grinning.
“Yes, sir.”
Cornwallis rose from his chair. Now he was a Commander‑in-Chief again, and Hornblower knew himself dismissed. Cornwallis raised his voice in the high‑pitched carrying hail of the Navy.
“Pass the word for Captain Collins!”
“I must thank you, sir, most sincerely.”
“Don’t thank me any more. You’ve thanked me enough already. If ever you become an admiral with favours to give you’ll understand why.”
Collins had entered and was waiting at the door.
“Good‑bye, Hornblower.”
“Good-bye, sir.”
Only a shake of the hand; no further word, and Hornblower followed Collins to the quarter‑deck.
“I’ve a water‑hoy standing by for you,” said Collins. “In a couple of tacks she’ll fetch Hotspur.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’ll be in the Gazette in three weeks’ time. Plenty of time to make your arrangements.”
“Yes, sir.”
Salutes, the squealing of pipes, and Hornblower went down the side and was rowed across to the troy. It was an effort to be polite to the captain. The tiny crew had hauled up the big lugsails before Hornblower realized that this was an interesting process which he would have done well to watch closely. With the lugsails trimmed flat and sharp the little hoy laid herself close to the wind and foamed forward towards France.
Those last words of Collins’ were still running through Hornblower’s mind. He would have to leave the Hotspur; he would have to say good‑bye to Bush and all the others, and the prospect brought a sadness that quite took the edge off the elation that he felt. Of course he would have to leave her; Hotspur was too small to constitute a command for a Post Captain. He would have to wait for another command; as the junior captain on the list he would probably receive the smallest and least important sixth rate in the navy. But for all that he was a Captain. Maria would be delighted.