Hornblower and the Hotspur. C. S. Forester

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re not to do anything to precipitate war. You’re not to provide Boney with an excuse.”

“No, sir.”

“When war’s declared you can of course take the appropriate action. Until then you have merely to observe. Keep your eye on Brest. Look in as far as you can without provoking fire. Count the ships of war – the number and rate of ships with their yards crossed, ships still in ordinary, ships in the roads, ships preparing for sea.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Boney sent the best of his ships and crews to the West Indies last year. He’ll have more trouble manning his fleet even than we have. I’ll want your report as soon as I arrive on the station. What’s the Hotspur’s draught?”

“She’ll draw thirteen feet aft when she’s complete with stores, sir.”

“You’ll be able to use the Goulet pretty freely, then. I don’t have to tell you not to run her aground.”

“No, sir.”

“But remember this. You’ll find it hard to perform your duty unless you risk your ship. There’s folly and there’s foolhardiness on one side, and there’s daring and calculation on the other. Make the right choice and I’ll see you through any trouble that may ensue.”

Cornwallis’s wide blue eyes looked straight into Hornblower’s brown ones. Hornblower was deeply interested in what Cornwallis had just said, and equally interested in what he had left unsaid. Cornwallis had made a promise of sympathetic support, but he had refrained from uttering the threat which was the obvious corollary. This was no rhetorical device, no facile trick of leadership – it was a simple expression of Cornwallis’s natural state of mind. He was a man who preferred to lead rather than to drive; most interesting.

Hornblower realized with a start that for several seconds be had been staring his commander-in-chief out of countenance while following up this train of thought; it was not the most tactful behaviour, perhaps.

“I understand, sir,” he said, and Cornwallis rose from his chair.

“We’ll meet again at sea. Remember to do nothing to provoke war before war is declared,” he said, with a smile – and the smile revealed the man of action. Hornblower could read him as someone to whom the prospect of action was stimulating and desirable and who would never seek reasons or excuses for postponing decisions.

Cornwallis suddenly withheld his proffered hand.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I was forgetting. This is your wedding day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were only married this morning?”

“An hour ago, sir.”

“And I’ve taken you away from your wedding breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” It would be cheap rhetoric to add anything trite like ‘For King and Country,’ or even ‘Duty comes first.’

“Your good lady will hardly be pleased.”

Nor would his mother-in-law, more especially, thought Hornblower, but again it would not be tactful to say so.

“I’ll try to make amends, sir,” he contented himself with saying.

“It’s I who should make amends,” replied Cornwallis. “Perhaps I could join the festivities and drink the bride’s health?”

“That would be most kind of you, sir,” said Hornblower.

If anything could reconcile Mrs Mason to his breach of manners, it would be the presence of Admiral the Hon. Sir William Cornwallis, K.B., at the breakfast table.

“I’ll come, then, if you’re certain I shan’t be unwelcome. Hachett, find my sword. Where’s my hat?”

So that when Hornblower appeared again through the door of the coffee-room Mrs Mason’s instant and bitter reproaches died away on her lips, the moment she saw that Hornblower was ushering in an important guest. She saw the glittering epaulettes, and the red ribbon and the star which Cornwallis had most tactfully put on in honour of the occasion. Hornblower made the introductions.

“Long life and much happiness,” said Cornwallis, bowing over Maria’s hand, “to the wife of one of the most promising officers in the King’s service.”

Maria could only bob, overwhelmed with embarrassment in this glittering presence.

“Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Sir William,” said Mrs Mason.

And the parson and his wife, and the few neighbours of Mrs Mason’s who were the only other guests, were enormously gratified at being in the same room as – let alone being personally addressed by – the son of an Earl, a Knight of the Bath, and a Commander-in-chief combined in one person.

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