“Of course I must pay for today’s supply,” said Hornblower, his hand in his pocket. He took out two ten-franc pieces and dropped them into the horny palm, and the captain could not restrain an expression of astonishment from appearing in his weather-beaten face. Astonishment, followed instantly by avarice, and then by suspicion, calculation, and finally by decision as the hand clenched and hurried the money into a trouser-pocket. Those emotions had played over the captain’s face like the colours of a dying dolphin. Twenty francs in gold, for a couple of buckets of pilchards; most likely the captain supported himself, his wife and children for a week on twenty francs. Ten francs would be a week’s wage for his hands. This was important money; either the British captain did not know the value of gold or -. At least there was the indubitable fact that the French captain was twenty francs richer, and there was at least the possibility of more gold where this came from.
“I hope we shall meet again, captain,” said Hornblower. “As of course you understand, out here at sea we are always glad to have news of what is happening on land.”
The two Bretons went over the side with their two empty buckets, leaving Bush ruefully contemplating the mess left on the deck.
“That can be swabbed up, Mr Bush,” said Hornblower. “It will be a good ending to a good day.”
CHAPTER 5
The cabin was quite dark when Hornblower awoke; there was not even the glimmering of light through the two stern windows. He lay curled on his side only half conscious, and then a single sharp note from the ship’s bell recalled him to the world, and he turned over on his back and stretched himself, half fretfully and half luxuriously trying to put his thoughts into order. That must be one bell in the morning watch, because one bell in the middle watch had sounded as he was getting back into bed after being roused when the ship was put about at midnight. He had had six hours of sleep, even after making allowance for that break; there were great advantages about being in command of a ship; the watch which had retired to bed at that time had been up on deck again for half an hour already.
The cot on which he lay was swaying easily and slowly. Hotspur must be under very easy sail indeed, and, as far as he could judge, with a moderate wind on the starboard beam. That was as it should be. He would soon have to get up – he turned on to his other side and went to sleep again.
“Two bells, sir,” said Grimes, entering the cabin with a lighted lamp. “Two bells, sir. Bit of haze, and Mr Prowse says he’d like to go about on the other tack.” Grimes was a weedy young seaman who affirmed that he had acted as captain’s steward in a West India packet.
“Get me my coat,” said Hornblower.
It was cold in the misty dawn, with only a greatcoat on over his nightshirt. Hornblower found Maria’s gloves in a pocket and pulled them on gratefully.
“Twelve fathoms, sir,” reported Prowse as the ship steadied on her new course with the lead going in the forechains.
“Very well.”
There was time to dress, there was time to have breakfast. There was time for – Hornblower felt a wave of temptation breaking round him. He wanted a cup of coffee. He wanted two or three cups of coffee, strong and scalding hot. Yet he had on board no more than two pounds of coffee. At seventeen shillings a pound that was all he had been able to afford to buy. The miraculous forty-five pounds had melted away which he had won at whist the night before the appearance of the King’s message regarding the fleet. There had been his seagoing clothing and his sword to get out of pawn, his cabin furniture to buy, and he had had to leave seventeen pounds with Maria for her support until she could draw his allotment of pay. So there had been little enough left over for ‘captain’s stores’. He had not bought a sheep or a pig; not a single chicken. Mrs Mason had bought six dozen eggs for him – they were packed in shavings in a tub lashed to the deck in the chart room – and six pounds of heavily salted butter. There was a loaf of sugar and some pots of jam, and then the money had run out. He had no bacon, no potted meat. He had dined yesterday on pilchards – the fact that they had been bought with secret service money was some kind of sauce for them, but pilchards were unattractive fish. And of course there was the absurd prejudice of seamen regarding fish, creatures from their own element. They hated having their eternal round of salt beef and pork interrupted by a meal of fish – allowance must be made, of course, for the fact that the cooking of fish left behind a lingering scent, hard to eradicate from utensils sketchily washed in seawater. At this very moment, in the growing dawn, one of the lambs netted down in the boat chocked in the waist emitted a lingering baa-aaa as it woke. The wardroom officers had invested in four of the creatures while the Hotspur was commissioning, and any day now they would be dining on roast lamb – Hornblower determined to get himself invited to dinner in the wardroom that day. The thought reminded him that he was hungry; but that was quite minor compared with his yearning for coffee.