“Most likely you did right, Mr. Livingstone. And then?”
“At the next bend they opened fire on us with field-pieces, sir. Their practice was bad in the dark, sir, but they hit and sank our second launch with almost their last shot, and we lost several more men — the current was running fast by then.”
That was clearly the end of Livingstone’s story, but Hornblower could not dismiss him without one more word.
“But Captain Bush, Mr. Livingstone? Can’t you tell me any more about him?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t pick up a single survivor from the Nonsuch’s boats. Not one.”
“Oh, very well then, Mr. Livingstone. You had better go and get some rest. I think you did very well.”
“Let me have your report in writing and list of casualties before the end of the day, Mr. Livingstone,” interposed Dobbs — as Assistant-Adjutant-General he lived in an atmosphere of reports and Lists of casualties.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Livingstone withdrew, and the door had hardly closed upon him before Hornblower regretted having let him go with such chary words of commendation. The operation had been brilliantly successful. Deprived of his siege-train and munitions, Quiot would not be able to besiege Le Havre, and it would probably be a long time before Bonaparte’s War Ministry in Paris could scrape together another train. But the loss of Bush coloured all Hornblower’s thoughts. He found himself wishing that he had never conceived the plan — he would rather have stood a siege here in Le Havre and have Bush alive at his side. It was hard to think of a world without Bush in it, of a future where he would never, never see Bush again. People would think the loss of a captain and a hundred and fifty men a small price to pay for robbing Quiot of all his offensive power, but people did not understand.
Dobbs and Howard were sitting glum and silent when he glanced at them; they respected his sorrow. But the sight of their deferential gloom roused Hornblower’s contrariness. If they expected him to be upset and unable to work, he would show them how mistaken they were.
“I’ll see those court-martial reports now, Captain Howard, if you please.”
The busy day’s work began; it was possible to think clearly, to make decisions, to work as if nothing had happened, despite the feeling of being drained dry by unhappiness. Not merely that; it was even possible to think of new plans.
“Go and find Hau,” he said to Howard. “Tell him I’d like to see the Duke for a moment.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Howard rose to his feet. He allowed himself a grin and a twinkle as he pompously reworded Hornblower’s language.
“Sir Horatio solicits the favour of a short audience with His Royal Highness if His Royal Highness will be so kind as to condescend to receive him.”
“That’s right,” said Hornblower, smiling in spite of himself. It was even possible to smile.
The Duke received him standing, warming the royal back before a cheerful fire.
“I do not know,” began Hornblower, “if Your Royal Highness is acquainted with the circumstances which first brought me to the waters on this part of the coast.”
“Tell me about them,” said the Duke. Maybe it was not etiquette for royalty to admit ignorance on any subject. The Duke’s attitude did not seem to convey a feeling of much interest in any case.
“There was a mutiny in one of His Majesty’s — one of His Britannic Majesty’s — ships of war.”
“Indeed?”
“I was sent to deal with it, and I succeeded in capturing the vessel and most of the mutineers, Your Royal Highness.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
“Some twenty of them were tried, convicted, and have now been sentenced to death.”
“Excellent.”
“I would be glad not to carry those sentences out, Your Royal Highness.”
“Indeed?” His Royal Highness was not apparently greatly interested — a yawn seemed to be hesitating only just inside the royal lips.
“As far as my service is concerned, it is impossible for me to pardon the men without the gravest prejudice to discipline, Your Royal Highness.”
“Quite so. Quite so.”