“Pawpaws,” he said. “Mangoes. A pineapple. That’s only the second pineapple I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you. Very kind of you,” said Bush. But it was utterly beyond possibility that he could give the least hint of the feeling that the gift evoked in him, that after lying lonely for these days in the hospital he should find that someone cared about him — that in any case someone should give him so much as a thought. The words he spoke were limping and quite inadequate, and only a sensitive and sympathetic mind could guess at the feelings which the words concealed rather than expressed. But he was saved from further embarrassment by Hornblower abruptly introducing a new subject.
“The admiral’s taking the Gaditana into the navy,” he announced.
“Is he, by George!”
“Yes. Eighteen guns — six‑pounders and nines. She’ll rate as a sloop of war.”
“So he’ll have to promote a commander for her.”
“Yes.”
“By George!” said Bush again.
Some lucky lieutenant would get that important step. It might have been Buckland — it still might be, if no weight were given to the consideration that he had been captured asleep in bed.
“Lambert’s renaming her the Retribution,” said Hornblower.
“Not a bad name, either.”
“No.”
There was silence for a moment; each of them was reliving, from his own point of view, those awful minutes while the Renown was being recaptured, while the Spaniards who tried to fight it out were slaughtered without mercy.
“You know about the court of inquiry, I suppose?” asked Bush; it was a logical step from his last train of thought.
“Yes. How did you know about it?”
“Cogshill’s just been in here to warn me that I’ll have to give evidence.”
“I see.”
There followed silence more pregnant than the last as they thought about the ordeal ahead. Hornblower deliberately broke it.
“I was going to tell you,” he said, “that I had to reeve new tiller lines in Renown. Both of them were frayed — there’s too much wear there. I think they’re led round too sharp an angle.”
That provoked a technical discussion which Hornblower encouraged until it was time for him to leave.
Chapter XVI
The court of inquiry was not nearly as awe‑inspiring as a court‑martial. There was no gun fired, no court‑martial flag hoisted; the captains who constituted the board wore their everyday uniforms, and the witnesses were not required to give their evidence under oath; Bush had forgotten about this last fact until he was called into the court.
“Please take a seat, Mr Bush,” said the president. “I understand you are still weak from your wounds.”
Bush hobbled across to the chair indicated and was just able to reach it in time to sit down. The great cabin of the Renown — here, where Captain Sawyer had lain quivering and weeping with fear — was sweltering hot. The president had the logbook and journal in front of him, and he held in his hand what Bush recognised to be his own report regarding the attack on Samaná, which he had addressed to Buckland.
“This report of yours does you credit, Mr Bush,” said the president. “It appears that you stormed this fort with no more than six casualties, although it was constructed with a ditch, parapets, and ramparts in regular style, and defended by a garrison of seventy men, and armed with twenty‑four-pounders.”
“We took them by surprise, sir,” said Bush.
“It is that which is to your credit.”
The surprise of the garrison of Samaná could not have been greater than Bush’s own surprise at this reception; he was expecting something far more unpleasant and inquisitorial. A glance across at Buckland, who had been called in before him, was not quite so reassuring; Buckland was pale and unhappy. But there was something he must say before the thought of Buckland should distract him.
“The credit should be given to Lieutenant Hornblower, sir,” he said. “It was his plan.”
“So you very handsomely say in your report. I may as well say at once that it is the opinion of this court that all the circumstances regarding the attack on Samaná and the subsequent capitulation are in accordance with the best traditions of the service.”