“Mr Bush’s compliments, sir, and it’s not far off daylight.”
That made it possible to conclude the letter.
‘And now, my dearest —’ Hornblower glanced at Maria’s letter to select an endearment — ‘Angel, my duty calls me once more on deck, so that I must end this letter with —’ another reference — ‘fondest love to my dear Wife, the loved Mother of the Child to be.
Your affectionate Husband,
Horatio.’
Daylight was coming up fast when he arrived on deck.
“Brace the maintops’l round, if you please, Mr Young. We’ll stand to the s’uth’ard a little. Good morning, Mr Bush.”
“Good morning, sir.”
Bush was already trying to see to the southward through his telescope. Increasing light and diminishing distance brought rapid results.
“There they are, sir! God, sir — one, two, three — and there are two others over on the Council Rocks. And that looks like a wreck right in the fairway — that’s one we sunk, I’ll wager, sir.”
In the glittering dawn the half‑tide revealed wrecks littering the shoals and the shore, black against the crystal light, the coasters which had paid the penalty of trying to run the blockade.
“They’re all holed and waterlogged, sir,” said Bush. “Not a hope of salvage.”
Hornblower was already composing in his mind the final paragraph of his report.
“I have reason to believe that not less than ten sail of coasters were sunk or forced to run aground during this encounter. This happy result . . .”
“That’s a fortune lost, sir,” grumbled Bush. “That’s a tidy sum in prize money over on those rocks.”
No doubt, but in those decisive moments last night there could have been no question of capture. Hotspur’s duty had been to destroy everything possible, and not to fill her captain’s empty purse by sending boats to take possession, at the cost of allowing half the quarry to escape. Hornblower’s reply was cut off short, as the smooth water on the starboard beam suddenly erupted in three successive jets of water. A cannon‑ball had come skipping towards them over the surface, to make its final plunge a cable’s length away. The sound of gunfire reached their ears at the same moment, and their instantly elevated telescopes revealed a cloud of smoke engulfing the Toulinguet battery.
“Fire away, Monseer le Frog,” said Bush. “The damage is done.”
“We may as well make sure we’re out of range,” said Hornblower. “Put the ship about, if you please.”
He was trying as best he could to reproduce Bush’s complete indifference under fire. He told himself that he was only being sensible, and not cowardly, in making certain that there was no chance of Hotspur’s being hit by a salvo of twenty‑four-pounders, but he was inclined to sneer at himself, all the same.
Yet there was one source of self‑congratulation. He had held his tongue when the subject of prize money had come up in the conversation. He had been about to burst out condemning the whole system as pernicious, but he had managed to refrain. Bush thought him a queer character in any case, and if he had divulged his opinion of prize money — of the system by which it was earned and paid — Bush would have thought him more than merely eccentric. Bush would think him actually insane, and liberal‑minded, revolutionary, subversive and dangerous as well.
Chapter 9
Hornblower stood ready to go down the side into the waiting boat. He made the formal, legal speech.
“Mr Bush, you will take command.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower remembered to look about him as he prepared to make the descent. He glowered round at the sideboys in the white gloves that Bush had had made for this ceremonial purpose out of white twine by some seaman adept with a hook — ‘crochet’ was the French name for this process. He ran his eyes up and down the bos’n’s mates as they piped his departing salute. Then he went over the side. The piping stopped at the same moment as his foot reached for the thwart — that was a measure of the height of Hotspur’s free‑board, for by the rules of ceremonial the honours ceased the moment the departing officer’s head was at the level of the deck. Hornblower scrambled into the stern sheets, embarrassed by hat and gloves and sword and boat cloak, and he barked an order to Hewitt. The boat‑hook released its hold and there was a moment of apparent disorder as the boat left the ship’s side and four brawny arms at the halliards sent the balance‑lug up the mast. There was a decided strangeness at sitting here on a level with the water, with the green waves close at hand; it was over eight weeks since Hornblower had last set foot outside the ship.