“I’ll see you again at breakfast, sir,” he said, and with that he withdrew from the vestry, leaving behind him an awkward gap.
“I was counting on Mr Bush’s arm for support down the aisle,” said Mrs Mason, sharply.
It certainly was not like Bush to leave everyone in the lurch like this; it was in marked contrast with his behaviour during the last few whirlwind days.
“We can bear each other company, Mrs Mason,” said the parson’s wife. “Mr Clive can follow us.”
“You are very kind, Mrs Clive,” said Mrs Mason, although there was nothing in her tone to indicate that she meant what she said. “Then the happy pair can start now. Maria, take the captain’s arm.”
Mrs Mason marshalled the tiny procession in businesslike fashion. Hornblower felt Maria’s hand slipped under his arm, felt the light pressure she could not help giving to it, and — he could not be cruel enough to ignore it — he pressed her hand in return, between his ribs and his elbow, to be rewarded by another smile. A small shove from behind by Mrs Mason started him back in the church, to be greeted by a roar from the organ. Half a crown for the organist and a shilling for the blower was what that music had cost Mrs Mason; there might be better uses for the money. The thought occupied Hornblower’s mind for several seconds, and was naturally succeeded by the inevitable wonderment as to how anyone could possibly find enjoyment in these distasteful noises. He and Maria were well down the aisle before he came back to reality.
“The sailors are all gone,” said Maria with a break in her voice. “There’s almost no one in the church.”
Truth to tell, there were only two or three people in the pews, and these obviously the most casual idlers. All the few guests bad trooped into the vestry for the signing, and the fifty seamen whom Bush had brought from Hotspur — all those who could be trusted not to desert — had vanished already. Hornblower felt a vague disappointment that Bush had failed again to rise to the situation.
“Why should we care?” he asked, groping wildly for words of comfort for Maria. “Why should any shadow fall on our wedding day?”
It was strangely painful to see and to feel Maria’s instant response, and her faltering step changed to a brave stride as they marched down the empty church. There was bright sunshine awaiting them at the west door, he could see; and he thought of something else a tender bridegroom might say.
“Happy is the bride the sun shines on.”
They came out of the dim light into the bright sun, and the transition was moral as well as physical, for Bush had not disappointed them; he had not been found wanting after all. Hornblower heard a sharp word and a ragged clash of steel, and there were the fifty seamen in a double rank stretching away from the door, making an arch of their drawn cutlasses for the couple to walk beneath.
“Oh, how nice!” said Maria, in childish delight; furthermore the array of seamen at the church door had attracted a crowd of spectators, all craning forward to see the captain and his bride. Hornblower darted a professional glance first down one line of seamen and then down the other. They were all dressed in the new blue and white checked shirts with which he had stocked the slop chest of the Hotspur; their white duck trousers were mostly well worn but well washed, and long enough and baggy enough to conceal the probable deficiencies of their shoes. It was a good turnout.
Beyond the avenue of cutlasses stood a horseless post‑chaise, with Bush standing behind it. Wondering a little, Hornblower led Maria towards it; Bush gallantly handed Maria up into the front seat and Hornblower climbed up beside her, finding time now to take his cocked hat from under his arm and clap it on his head. He had heard the cutlasses rasp back into their sheaths; now the guard of honour came pattering forward in a disciplined rush. There were pipe‑clayed drag ropes where the traces should have been, and the fifty men seized their coils, twenty-five to a coil, and ran them out. Bush craned up towards Hornblower.