It was flying fish.
“Certainly no need to apologise when it is served like this,” commented His Excellency. “Your chef de cuisine must be a man of genius.”
The sauce that came with it had the merest hint of mustard.
“‘Ock or Champagne, My Lord?” murmured a voice in Hornblower’s ear. Hornblower had already heard the Governor answer the same question with ‘I’ll try the hock first’. The champagne was dry and insidiously delicate, an ideal companion for the food. The great eaters of antiquity, Nero or Vitellius or Lucullus, had never known what it was like to partake of champagne and flying fish.
“You’ll be living differently from this soon, Hornblower,” said His Excellency.
“No doubt about that, sir.”
Ramsbottom, between them, looked a polite inquiry.
“Your Lordship’s going to sea?”
“Next week,” replied Hornblower. “I take my squadron to sea for exercises before the coming of the hurricane season.”
“Of course that would be necessary to maintain efficiency,” agreed Ramsbottom. “The exercises will last for long?”
“A couple of weeks or more,” said Hornblower. “I have to keep my men accustomed to hard tack and salt pork and water from the cask.”
“And yourself too,” chuckled the Governor.
“Myself too,” agreed Hornblower ruefully.
“And you take your whole squadron, My Lord?” asked Ramsbottom.
“All I can. I work ’em hard and try to make no exceptions.”
“A good rule, I should think,” said Ramsbottom.
The soup that followed the flying fish was a fiery mulligatawny, well adapted to West Indian palates.
“Good!” was the Governor’s brief comment after his first spoonful. The champagne went round again and conversation became livelier and livelier, and Ramsbottom deftly kept it going.
“What news from the mainland, sir?” he asked the Governor. “This fellow Bolivar – is he making any progress?”
“He fights on,” answered the Governor. “But Spain hurries out reinforcements whenever her own troubles permit. The government at Caracas is looking for the arrival of more at this moment, I believe. Then they may be able to conquer the plains and drive him out again. You know he was a refugee here in this very island a few years ago?”
“Indeed, sir?”
All the guests at the table were interested in the desperate civil war that was being fought on the mainland. Massacre and murder, blind heroism and devoted self-sacrifice, loyalty to the King and thirst for independence – all these were to be found in Venezuela; war and pestilence were laying waste the fertile plains and depopulating the crowded cities.
“How will the Spaniards stand now that Maracaibo has revolted, Hornblower?” asked the Governor.
“It’s not a serious loss, sir. As long as they have the use of La Guaira their sea communications remain open – the roads are so bad that Caracas has always made use of La Guaira to preserve contact with the outside world; it’s only an open roadstead but it provides good anchorage.”
“Has Maracaibo revolted, Your Excellency?” asked Ramsbottom mildly.
“The news came this morning. A feather in Bolivar’s cap after his recent defeats. His army must have been growing disheartened.”
“His army, sir?” This was the Chief Justice speaking. “Half his men are British infantry.”
Hornblower knew that to be true. British veterans formed the backbone of Bolivar’s army. The llaneros – the men of the Venezuelan plains – supplied him with a brilliant cavalry, but not with the material for permanent conquest.
“Even British infantry could grow disheartened in a hopeless cause,” said the Governor, solemnly. “The Spaniards control most of the coast – ask the Admiral here.”
“That’s so,” agreed Hornblower. “They’ve made it hard for Bolivar’s privateers.”
“I hope you’re not going to venture into that turmoil, Mr Ramsbottom,” said the Governor.
“They’ll make short work of you if you do,” added the Chief Justice. “The Dons will tolerate no interference. They’ll snatch you up and you’ll languish in a Spanish prison for years before we can extricate you from King Ferdinand’s clutches. Unless jail fever carries you off first. Or they hang you as a pirate.”
“I have certainly no intention of venturing near the mainland,” said Ramsbottom. “At least not while this war continues. It is a pity, because Venezuela was my mother’s country, and it would give me pleasure to visit it.”