Hornblower had suspected it, as he said. He did not know if he was happy with his knowledge, although he said he was. It would only be a day or two before he took Hotspur to sea again, back to the blockade of Brest, back to the monotonous perils of the Goulet.
CHAPTER 25
Hotspur lay in the Iroise, and the victualler was heaving-to close alongside, to begin again the toilsome labour of transferring stores. After sixty days of blockade duty there would be much to do, even though the pleasant sunshine of early summer would ease matters a little. The fend-offs were over the side and the first boat was on its way from the victualler bringing the officer charged with initiating the arrangements.
“Here’s the post, sir,” said the officer, handing Hornblower the small package of letters destined for the ship’s company. “But here’s a letter from the Commander-in-Chief, sir. They sent it across to me from the Hibernia as I passed through the Outer Squadron.”
“Thank you,” said Hornblower.
He passed the packet to Bush to sort out. There would be letters from Maria in it, but a letter from the Commander-in-Chief took precedence. There was the formal address:
Horatio Hornblower, Esq.
Master and Commander
HM Sloop Hotspur
The letter was sealed with an informal wafer, instantly broken.
My dear Captain Hornblower,
I hope you can find it convenient to visit me in Hibernia, as I have news for you that would best be communicated personally. To save withdrawing Hotspur from her station, and to save you a long journey by boat, you might find it convenient to come in the victualler that brings this letter. You are therefore authorized to leave your First lieutenant in command, and I will find means for returning you to your ship when our business is completed. I look forward with pleasure to seeing you.
Your ob’d’t servant,
Wm. Cornwallis
Two seconds of bewilderment, and then a moment of horrid doubt which made Hornblower snatch the other letters back from Bush and hurriedly search through them for those from Maria.
‘Best communicated personally’ – Hornblower had a sudden secret fear that something might have happened to Maria and that Cornwallis had assumed the responsibility for breaking the news to him. But here was a letter from Maria only eight days old, and all was well with her and with little Horatio and the child to be. Cornwallis could hardly have later news than that.
Hornblower was reduced to re-reading letter and weighing every word like a lover receiving his first love letter. The whole letter appeared cordial in tone, until Hornblower forced himself to admit that if it was summons to a reprimand it might be worded in exactly the same way. Except for the opening word ‘My’; that was a departure from official practice – yet it might be a mere slip. And the letter concerned itself with ‘news’ too. Hornblower took a turn up the deck and forced himself to laugh at himself. He really was behaving like a love-lorn youth. If after all these years of service he had not learned to wait patiently through a dull hour for an inevitable crisis the Navy had not taught him even his first lesson.
The stores came slowly on board; there were the receipts to sign, and of course there were the final hurried questions hurled at him by people afraid of accepting responsibility.
“Make up your own mind about that,” snapped Hornblower, and, “Mr Bush’ll tell you what to do, and I hope he’ll put a flea in your ear.”
Then at last he was on a strange deck, watching with vast curiosity the handling of a different ship as the victualler filled away and headed out of the Iroise. The victualler’s captain offered him the comfort of his cabin and suggested sampling the new consignment of rum, but Hornblower could not make himself accept either offer. He could only just manage to make himself stand still, aft by the taffrail, as they gradually left the coast behind, and picked their way through the Inshore Squadron and set a course for the distant topsails of the main body of the Channel Fleet.