Hornblower in the West Indies. C. S. Forester

Hornblower rose from the table.

“You’re going now?”

“Every hour is of importance, Your Excellency.”

Hooper was looking at him more inquisitively than ever.

“The Navy displays its notorious reserve,” he said. “Oh, very well then. Order His Lordship’s carriage. You have my leave to try, My Lord. Report to me by courier.”

There they were, in the warm morning air, sitting, the three of them, Hornblower, Spendlove, and Gerard, in the carriage.

“The dockyard,” ordered Hornblower briefly. He turned to Spendlove. “From the dockyard you will go on board Clorinda and convey my order to Captain Fell to make ready for sea. I shall be hoisting my flag within an hour. Then it is my order to you that you get yourself some rest.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

At the dockyard the Captain-Superintendent did his best not to appear surprised at an unheralded visit from his Admiral who by the last news had been kidnapped.

“I want a boat mortar, Holmes,” said Hornblower, brushing aside the expressions of pleased surprise.

“A boat mortar, My Lord? Y-yes, My Lord. There’s one in store, I know.”

“It’s to go on board Clorinda at once. Now, there are shells for it?”

“Yes, My Lord. Uncharged, of course.”

“I’ll have Clorinda’s gunner charge ’em while we’re under way. Twenty pounds apiece, I believe. Send two hundred, with the fuses.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

“And I want a punt. Two punts. I’ve seen your hands using ’em for caulking and breaming. Twenty foot, are they?”

“Twenty-two foot, My Lord,” answered Holmes; he was glad that he could answer this question while his Admiral had not insisted on an answer regarding so obscure a matter as the weight of boat-mortar shells.

“I’ll have two, as I said. Send them round to be hove on deck.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Captain Sir Thomas Fell had his best uniform on to greet his Admiral.

“I received your order, My Lord,” he said, as the twittering of the pipes died away in a last wail.

“Very well, Sir Thomas. I want to be under way the moment the stores I have ordered are on board. You can warp your ship out. We are going to Montego Bay to deal with pirates.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Fell did his best not to look askance at the two filthy punts that he was expected to heave on to his spotless deck – they were only the floating stages used in the dockyard for work on ships’ sides – and the two tons of greasy mortar shells for which he had to find space were no better. He was not too pleased when he was ordered to tell off the greater part of his ship’s company – two hundred and forty men – and all his marine detachment for a landing party. The hands were naturally delighted with the prospect of a change of routine and the possibility of action. The fact that the gunner was weighing out gunpowder and putting two pounds apiece in the shells, a glimpse of the armourer going round with the Admiral on an inspection of the boarding-pikes, the sight of the boat mortar, squat and ugly, crouching on its bed at the break, of the forecastle, all excited them. It was a pleasure to thrash along to the westward, under every stitch of canvas, leaving Portland Point abeam, rounding Negril Point at sunset, catching some fortunate puffs of the sea breeze which enabled them to cheat the trade wind, ghosting along in the tropical darkness with the lead at work in the chains, and anchoring with the dawn among the shoals of Montego Bay, the green mountains of Jamaica all fiery with the rising sun.

Hornblower was on deck to see it; he had been awake since midnight, having slept since sunset – two almost sleepless nights had disordered his habits – and he was already pacing the quarterdeck as the excited men were formed up in the waist. He kept a sharp eye on the preparations. That boat mortar weighed no more than four hundred pounds, a mere trifle for the yard-arm tackle to lower down into the punt alongside. The musketmen were put through an inspection of their equipment; it was puzzling to the crew that there were pikemen, axemen, and even malletmen and crowbarmen as well. As the sun climbed higher and blazed down hotter the men began to file down into the boats.

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