“That has already been done, My Lord,” answered Hough. “And I have sent out messengers to inform the patrols that you are safe.”
Hornblower sank into the cushioned ease of the carriage. The incident with Lucy had at least had the effect of temporarily driving all thought of fatigue from his mind. Now he could lean back and relax; it was five minutes before he remembered the bread and chicken in his hands and set himself wearily to eat them. The long drive was not particularly restful, for there were continual interruptions. Patrols who had not heard that he was safe stopped the carriage. Ten miles down the road they encountered the Highland battalion encamped at the roadside and the colonel insisted on coming and paying his respects to the Naval Commander-in-Chief and congratulating him. Farther on a galloping horse reined up beside the carriage; it was Gerard. The light of the carriage lamp revealed that he had ridden his horse into a lather. Hornblower had to listen to him say “Thank God, you are safe, My Lord” – everyone used those same words – and explain to him what had happened. Gerard abandoned his horse at the first opportunity and got into the carriage beside Hornblower. He was full of self-reproach at having allowed this to happen to his Chief – Hornblower rather resented the implication that he was incapable of looking after himself even though the event seemed to prove it – and at not having rescued him.
“We tried to use the bloodhounds they track runaway slaves with, My Lord, but they were of no use.”
“Naturally, since I was on muleback,” said Hornblower. “In any case, the scent must have been several hours old. Now forget the past and let me think about the future.”
“We’ll have those pirates dangling on ropes before two days are up, My Lord.”
“Indeed? And what about Spendlove?”
“Oh – er. Yes, of course, My Lord.”
Spendlove was very much of an afterthought with everyone, even with Gerard who was his friend. But to Gerard must be given the credit at least for appreciating Hornblower’s difficulty the moment it was pointed out to him.
“We can’t let anything happen to him, of course, My Lord.”
“And how do we prevent it? Do we grant those pardons – do we persuade His Excellency to grant them?”
“Well, My Lord -”
“There’s nothing I would not do to set Spendlove free,” said Hornblower. “Do you understand that? Nothing!”
Hornblower caught himself setting his jaw in grim determination; his ineradicable tendency to self-analysis revealed him to himself. He was cynically surprised at his own flow of emotion. Ferocity and tenderness intermingled; let those pirates touch one hair of Spendlove’s head and – but how was he to prevent it? How to free Spendlove from men who knew that their lives, their actual lives and not merely their fortunes, depended on keeping him prisoner? How could he ever live with himself if anything were to happen to Spendlove? If the worst came to the worst he would have to go back to the pirates and yield himself up to them, as that Roman – Regulus – returned to death at the hands of the Carthaginians; and the worst seemed likely to come to the worst.
“Government House, My Lord,” said Gerard, breaking in upon this train of nightmare thoughts.
Sentries at the gates, sentries at the door. A brightly-lit entrance-hall, where aides-de-camp looked at him curiously, curse them. So did Gerard. He was ushered through into an inner room, where after only a moment another door opened to admit His Excellency, and the escorting aide-de-camp discreetly retired. His Excellency was an angry man, angry as a man can only be who had been badly scared.
“Now, what is all this, My Lord?”
There was none of the usual deference displayed towards the man who had attained a peerage, the man of legendary fame. Hooper was a full General, far above a mere Rear-Admiral; moreover, as Governor he was absolute ruler throughout this island. His red face and bulging blue eyes – as well as the rage he was displaying – seemed to confirm the rumour that he was a grandson of the royal blood. Hornblower explained briefly and quietly what had happened; his fatigue – if not his common sense – prevented an angry reply.