Bush tried to turn his head so as to snarl out an appropriate reply, but his neck was one of the sorest parts of him and he could only growl unintelligibly, and he was not turned on to his back again until his growls had died down.
“And now we’ll whisk our little cupid away,” said Sankey. “Come in, you stretcher men.”
Carried out on to the maindeck Bush found the sunlight blinding, and Sankey stooped to draw the sheet over his eyes.
“Belay that!” said Bush, as he realised his intention, and there was enough of the old bellow in his voice to cause Sankey to pause. “I want to see!”
The explanation of the trampling and bustle on the deck was plain now. Across the waist was drawn up a guard of one of the West Indian regiments, bayonets fixed and every man at attention. The Spanish prisoners were being brought up through the hatchways for despatch to the shore in the lighters alongside. Bush recognised Ortega, limping along with a man on either side to support him; one trouser leg had been cut off and his thigh was bandaged, and the bandage and the other trouser leg were black with dried blood.
“A cut‑throat crew, to be sure,” said Sankey. “And now, if you have feasted your eyes on them long enough, we can sway you down into the boat.”
Hornblower came hurrying down from the quarterdeck and went down on his knee beside the stretcher.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, thank’ee,” said Bush.
“I’ll have your gear packed and sent ashore after you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Careful with those slings,” snapped Hornblower, as the tackles were being attached to the stretcher.
“Sir! Sir!” Midshipman James was dancing about at Hornblower elbow, anxious for his attention. “Boat’s heading for us with a captain aboard.”
That was news demanding instant consideration.
“Goodbye, sir,” said Hornblower. “Best of luck, sir. See you soon.”
He turned away and Bush felt no ill will at this brief farewell, for a captain coming on board had to be received with the correct compliments. Moreover, Bush himself was desperately anxious to know the business that brought this captain on board.
“Hoist away!” ordered Sankey.
“Avast!” said Bush; and in reply to Sankey’s look of inquiry, “Let’s wait a minute.”
“I have no objection myself to knowing what’s going on,” said Sankey.
The calls of the bosun’s mates shrilled along the deck. The sideboys came running; the military guard wheeled to face the entry port; the marines formed up beside them. Up through the entry port came the captain, his gold lace flaming in the sunshine. Hornblower touched his hat.
“You are Mr Hornblower, at present the senior lieutenant on board this ship?”
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, at your service.”
“My name is Cogshill,” said the captain, and he produced a paper which he proceeded to unfold and read aloud. “Orders from Sir Richard Lambert, Vice Admiral of the Blue, Knight of the Bath, Commanding His Majesty’s ships and vessels on the Jamaica station, to Captain James Edward Cogshill, of His Majesty’s ship Buckler. You are hereby requested and required to repair immediately on board of His Majesty’s ship Renown now lying in Port Royal bay and to take command pro tempore of the aforesaid ship Renown.”
Cogshill folded his paper again. The assumption of command, even temporarily, of a king’s ship was a solemn act, only to be performed with the correct ceremonial. No orders that Cogshill might give on board would be legal until he had read aloud the authority by which he gave them. Now he had ‘read himself in’, and now he held the enormous powers of a captain on board — he could make and unmake warrant officers, he could order imprisonment or the lash, by virtue of the delegation of power from the King in Council down through the Lords of the Admiralty and Sir Richard Lambert.
“Welcome on board, sir,” said Hornblower, touching his hat again.
“Very interesting,” said Sankey, when Bush had been swayed down into the hospital boat alongside and Sankey had taken his seat beside the stretcher. “Take charge, coxs’n. I knew Cogshill was a favourite of the admiral’s. Promotion to a ship of the line from a twenty‑eight‑gun frigate is a long step for our friend James Edward. Sir Richard has wasted no time.”