Hornblower and the Hotspur. C. S. Forester

“Seal this, if you please, Mr Bush. And send it by shore boat to Mrs Hornblower on the pier. Yes, she’s on the pier. By a shore boat, Mr Bush; no one from the ship’s to set foot on land.”

Down the side and into the boat. Hornblower could imagine the explanatory murmur through the crowd on the pier, as Maria would learn from better informed bystanders what was going on.

“That’s the captain going down into the boat.” She would feel a surge of excitement and happiness. The boat shoved off, the conditions of wind and current dictating that her bow was pointing right at the pier; that would be Maria’s moment of highest hope. Then the boat swung round while the hands hauled at the halliards and the balance-lug rose up the mast. Next moment she was flying towards the flagship, flying away from Maria without a word or a sign, and Hornblower felt a great welling of pity and remorse within his breast.

Hewitt responded to the flagship’s hail, turned the boat neatly into the wind, dropped the sail promptly, and with the last vestige of the boat’s way ran her close enough to the starboard main-chains for the bowman to hook on. Hornblower judged his moment and went up the ship’s side. As his head reached the level of the main-deck the pipes began to shrill in welcome. And through that noise Hornblower heard the three sharp double strokes of the ship’s bell. Six bells in the afternoon watch; three o’clock, the time stated in his invitation.

The great stern cabin in the Hibernia was furnished in a more subdued fashion than Pellew had affected in the Tonnant, more Spartan and less lavish, but comfortable enough. Somewhat to Hornblower’s surprise there were no other visitors; present in the cabin were only Cornwallis, and Collins, the sardonic Captain of the Fleet, and the flag lieutenant, whose name Hornblower vaguely heard as one of these new-fangled double barrelled names with a hyphen.

Hornblower was conscious of Cornwallis’s blue eyes fixed upon him, examining him closely in a considering, appraising way that might have unsettled him in other conditions. But he was still a little preoccupied with his thoughts about Maria, on the one hand, while on the other seven months at sea, seven weeks of continuous storms, provided all necessary excuse for his shabby coat and his seaman’s trousers. He could meet Cornwallis’s glance without shyness. Indeed, the effect of Cornwallis’s kindly but unsmiling expression was much modified because his wig was slightly awry; Cornwallis still affected a horsehair bobwig of the sort that was now being relegated by fashion to noblemen’s coachmen, and today it had a rakish cant that dissipated all appearance of dignity.

Yet, wig or no wig, there was something in the air, some restraint, some tension, even though Cornwallis was a perfect host who did the honours of his table with an easy grace. The quality of the atmosphere was such that Hornblower hardly noticed the food that covered the table, and he felt acutely that the polite conversation was guarded and cautious. They discussed the recent weather; Hibernia had been in Tor Bay for several days, having run for shelter just in time to escape the last hurricane.

“How were your stores when you came in, Captain?” asked Collins.

Now here was another sort of atmosphere, something artificial. There was an odd quality about Collins’ tone, accentuated by the formal ‘Captain’, particularly when addressed to a lowly Commander. Then Hornblower identified it. This was a stilted and prepared speech, exactly of the same nature as his recent speech to Bush regarding the admission of women to the ship. He could identity the tone, but he still could not account for it. But he had a commonplace answer, so commonplace that he made it in a commonplace way.

“I still had plenty, sir. Beef and pork for a month at least.”

There was a pause a shade longer than natural, as if the information was being digested, before Cornwallis asked the next question in a single word.

“Water?”

“That was different, sir. I’d never been able to fill my casks completely from the hoys. We were pretty low when we got in. That was why we ran for it.”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *