“Anyway, they’ve settled it,” said Smith.
Hornblower was touching his hat to Buckland, and Buckland was turning to go below again. Several curious pairs of eyes looked across at Hornblower now that he was left solitary, and as he became conscious of their regard he strolled over to them.
“Affairs of state?” asked Lomax, asking the question which everyone wanted asked.
Hornblower met his gaze with a level glance.
“No,” he said, and smiled.
“It certainly looked like matters of importance,” said Smith.
“That depends on the definition,” answered Hornblower.
He was still smiling, and his smile gave no clue at all regarding his thoughts. It would be rude to press him further; it was possible that he and Buckland had been discussing some private business. Nobody looking at him could guess.
“Come off those hammocks, there!” bellowed Hornblower; the skylarking midshipmen were not breaking one of the rules of the ship, but it was a convenient moment to divert the conversation.
Three bells rang out; the first dogwatch was three‑quarters completed.
“Mr Roberts, sir!” suddenly called the sentry at the smokers’ slow match by the hatchway. “Passing the word for Mr Roberts!”
Roberts turned from the group.
“Who’s passing the word for me?” he asked, although with the captain ill there could only be one man in the ship who could pass the word for the second lieutenant.
“Mr Buckland, sir. Mr Buckland passing the word for Mr Roberts.”
“Very well,” said Roberts, hurrying down the companion.
The others exchanged glances. This might be the moment of decision. Yet on the other hand it might be only a routine matter. Hornblower took advantage of the distraction to turn away from the group and continue his walk on the weather side of the ship; he walked with his chin nearly down on his breast, his drooping head balanced by the hands behind his back. Bush thought he looked weary.
Now there came a fresh cry from below, repeated by the sentry at the hatchway.
“Mr Clive! Passing the word for Mr Clive. Mr Buckland passing the word for Mr Clive!”
“Oh‑ho!” said Lomax in significant tones, as the surgeon hurried down.
“Something happens,” said Carberry, the master.
Time went on without either the second lieutenant or the surgeon reappearing. Smith, under his arm the telescope that was the badge of his temporary office, touched his hat to Hornblower and prepared to relieve him as officer of the watch as the second dogwatch was called. In the east the sky was turning dark, and the sun was setting over the starboard quarter in a magnificent display of red and gold; from the ship towards the sun the surface of the sea was gilded and glittering, but close overside it was the richest purple. A flying fish broke the surface and went skimming along, leaving a transient, momentary furrow behind it like a grove in enamel.
“Look at that!” exclaimed Hornblower to Bush.
“A flying fish,” said Bush, indifferently
“Yes! There’s another!”
Hornblower leaned over to get a better view.
“You’ll see plenty of them before this voyage is over,” said Bush.
“But I’ve never seen one before.”
The play of expression on Hornblower’s face was curious. One moment he was full of eager interest; the next he assumed an appearance of stolid indifference, as a man might pull on a glove. His service at sea so far, varied though it might be, had been confined to European waters; years of dangerous activity on the French and Spanish coasts in a frigate, two years in the Renown in the Channel fleet, and he had been eagerly looking forward to the novelties he would encounter in tropical waters. But he was talking to a man to whom these things were no novelty, and who evinced no excitement at the sight of the first flying fish of the voyage. Hornblower was not going to be outdone in stolidity and self‑control; if the wonders of the deep failed to move Bush they were not going to evoke any childish excitement in Hornblower, at least any apparent excitement if Hornblower could suppress it. He was a veteran, and he was not going to appear like a raw hand.