“Mr Booth!” said the captain; his mood had changed again and the mirthless smile was back on his lips. “Take that miscreant. Justice demands that he be dealt with further. Another dozen from your cane, properly applied. Another dozen, and he’ll coo like a dove.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said the bosun, but he hesitated.
It was a momentary tableau: the captain with his flapping coat; the bosun looking appealingly at Bush and the burly bosun’s mates standing like huge statues behind him; the helmsman apparently imperturbable while all this went on round him, handling the wheel and glancing up at the topsails; and the wretched boy beside the binnacle — all this under the grey sky, with the grey sea tossing about them and stretching as far as the pitiless horizon.
“Take him down to the maindeck, Mr Booth,” said the captain.
It was the utterly inevitable; behind the captain’s words lay the authority of Parliament, the weight of ages‑old tradition. There was nothing that could be done. Wellard’s hands rested on the binnacle as though they would cling to it and as though he would have to he dragged away by force. But he dropped his hands to his sides and followed the bosun while the captain watched him, smiling.
It was a welcome distraction that came to Bush as the quartermaster reported, “Ten minutes before eight bells, sir.”
“Very good. Pipe the watch below.”
Hornblower made his appearance on the quarterdeck and made his way towards Bush.
“You’re not my relief,” said Bush.
“Yes I am. Captain’s orders.”
Hornblower spoke without any expression — Bush was used to the ship’s officers by now being as guarded as that, and he knew why it was. But his curiosity made him ask the question.
“Why?”
“I’m on watch and watch,” said Hornblower stolidly. “Until further orders.”
He looked at the horizon as he spoke, showing no sign of emotion.
“Hard luck,” said Bush, and for a moment felt a twinge of doubt as to whether he had not ventured to far in offering such an expression of sympathy. But no one was within earshot.
“No wardroom liquor for me,” went on Hornblower, “until further orders either. Neither my own nor anyone else’s.”
For some officers that would be a worse punishment than being put on watch and watch — four hours on duty and four hours off day and night — but Bush did not know enough about Hornblower’s habits to judge whether this was the case with him. He was about to say ‘hard luck’ again, when at that moment a wild cry of pain reached their ears, cutting its way through the whistling wind. A moment later it was repeated, with even greater intensity. Hornblower was looking out at the horizon and his expression did not change. Bush watched his face and decided not to pay attention to the cries.
“Hard luck,” he said.
“It might be worse,” said Hornblower.
Chapter III
It was Sunday morning. The Renown had caught the northeast trades and was plunging across the Atlantic at her best speed, with studding sails set on both sides, the roaring trades driving her along with a steady pitch and heave, her bluff bows now and then raising a smother of spray that supported momentary rainbows. The rigging was piping loud and clear, the treble and the tenor to the baritone and bass of the noises of the ship’s fabric as she pitched — a symphony of the sea. A few clouds of startling white dotted the blue of the sky, and the sun shone down from among them, revivifying and rejuvenating, reflected in dancing facets from the imperial blue of the sea.
The ship was a thing of exquisite beauty in an exquisite setting, and her bluff bows and her rows of guns added something else to the picture. She was a magnificent fighting machine, the mistress of the waves over which she was sailing in solitary grandeur. Her very solitude told the story; with the fleets of her enemies cooped up in port, blockaded by vigilant squadrons eager to come to grips with them, the Renown could sail the seas in utter confidence that she had nothing to fear. No furtive blockade‑runner could equal her in strength; nowhere at sea was there a hostile squadron which could face her in battle. She could flout the hostile coasts; with the enemy blockaded and helpless she could bring her ponderous might to bear in a blow struck wherever she might choose. At this moment she was heading to strike such a blow, perhaps, despatched across the ocean at the word of the Lords of the Admiralty.