Lieutenant Hornblower. C. S. Forester

Hornblower appeared up the other ramp; he looked like a scarecrow with his disordered clothes. He held sword in one hand and pistol in the other, just as did Bush. Beside him Wellard swung a cutlass singularly large for him, and at his heels were a score or more of seamen still under discipline their muskets, with bayonets fixed, held before them ready for action.

“Morning, sir,” said Hornblower. His battered cocked hat was still on his head for him to touch it, and he made a move to do so, checking himself at the realization that his sword was in his hand.

“Good morning ‘ said Bush automatically.

“Congratulations, sir ‘ said Hornblower. His face was white, and the smile on his lips was like the grin of a corpse. His beard sprouted over his lips and chin.

“Thank you,” said Bush

Hornblower pushed his pistol into his belt and then sheathed his sword.

“I’ve taken possession of all that side, sir,” he went on, with a gesture behind him. “Shall I carry on?”

“Yes, carry on, Mr Hornblower.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

This time Hornblower could touch his hat. He gave a rapid order posting a petty officer and men over the guns.

“You see, sir,” said Hornblower, pointing, “a few got away.”

Bush looked down the precipitous hillside that fell to the bay and could see a few figures down there.

“Not enough to trouble us,” he said; his mind was just beginning to work smoothly now.

“No, sir. I’ve forty prisoners under guard at the main gate. I can see Whiting’s collecting the rest. I’ll go on now, sir, if I may.

“Very well, Mr Hornblower.”

Somebody at least had kept a clear head during the fury of the assault. Bush went on down the farther ramp. A petty officer and a couple of seamen stood there on guard; they came to attention as Bush appeared.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This yere’s the magazine, zur,” said the petty officer — Ambrose, captain of the foretop, who had never lost the broad Devon acquired in his childhood, despite his years in the navy. “We’m guarding of it.”

“Mr Hornblower’s orders?”

“Iss, zur.”

A forlorn party of prisoners were squatting by the main gate. Hornblower had reported the presence of them. But there were guards he had said nothing about: a sentry at the well; guards at the gate; Woolton, the steadiest petty officer of them all, at a long wooden building beside the gate, and six men with him.

“What’s your duty?” demanded Bush.

“Guarding the provision store, sir. There’s liquor here.”

“Very well.”

If the madmen who had made the assault — that marine, for instance, whose bayonet‑thrust Bush had parried — had got at the liquor there would be no controlling them at all.

Abbott, the midshipman in subordinate command of Bush’s own division, came hurrying up.

“What the hell d’ye think you’ve been doing?” demanded Bush, testily. “I’ve been without you since the attack began.”

“Sorry, sir,” apologised Abbott. Of course he had been carried away by the fury of the attack, but that was no excuse; certainly no excuse when one remembered young Wellard still at Hornblower’s side and attending to his duties.

“Get ready to make the signal to the ship,” ordered Bush “You ought to have been ready to do that five minutes ago. Clear three guns. Who was it who was carrying the flag? Find him and bend it on over the Spanish colours. Jump to it, damn you.”

Victory might be sweet, but it had no effect on Bush’s temper, now that the reaction had set in. Bush had had no sleep and no breakfast, and even though perhaps only ten minutes had elapsed since the fort had been captured, his conscience nagged at him regarding those ten minutes; there were many things he ought to have done in that time.

It was a relief to turn away from the contemplation of his own shortcomings and to settle with Whiting regarding the safeguarding of the prisoners. They had all been fetched out of the barrack buildings by now; a hundred half naked men, and at least a score of women, their hair streaming down their backs and their scanty clothing clutched about them. At a more peaceful moment Bush would have had an eye for those women, but as it was he merely felt irritated at the thought of an additional complication to deal with, and his eyes only took note of them as such.

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