Mr Midshipman Hornblower by C. S. Forester

“The rest are mine,” said Hornblower, laying down his cards.

“What do you mean?” said Simpson, with the king of diamonds in his hand.

“Five tricks,” said Chalk briskly. “Game and rubber.”

“But don’t I take another?” persisted Simpson.

“I trump a lead of diamonds or hearts and make three more clubs,” explained Hornblower. To him the situation was as simple as two and two, a most ordinary finish to a hand; it was hard for him to realize that foggy-minded players like Simpson could find difficulty in keeping tally of fifty-two cards. Simpson flung down his hand.

“You know too much about the game,” he said. “You know the backs of the cards as well as the fronts.”

Hornblower gulped. He recognized that this could be a decisive moment if he chose. A second before he had merely been playing cards, and enjoying himself. Now he was faced with an issue of life or death. A torrent of thought streamed through his mind. Despite the comfort of his present surroundings he remembered acutely the hideous misery of the life in the Justinian to which he must return. This was an opportunity to end that misery one way or the other. He remembered how he had contemplated killing himself, and into the back of hid mind stole the germ of the plan upon which he was going to act. His decision crystallized.

“That is an insulting remark, Mr Simpson,” he said. He looked round and met the eyes of Chalk and Caldwell, who were suddenly grave; Simpson was still merely stupid. “For that I shall have to ask satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction?” said Chalk hastily. “Come, come. Mr Simpson had a momentary loss of temper. I am sure he will explain.”

“I have been accused of cheating at cards,” said Hornblower. “That is a hard thing to explain away.”

He was trying to behave like a grown man; more than that, he was trying to act like a man consumed with indignation, while actually there was no indignation within him over the point in dispute, for he understood too well the muddled state of mind which had led Simpson to say what he did. But the opportunity had presented itself, he had determined to avail himself of it, and now what he had to do was to play the part convincingly of the man who has received a mortal insult.

“The wine was in and the wit was out,” said Chalk, still determined on keeping the peace. “Mr Simpson was speaking in jest, I am sure. Let’s call for another bottle and drink it in friendship.”

“With pleasure,” said Hornblower, fumbling for the words which would set the dispute beyond reconciliation. “If Mr Simpson will beg my pardon at once before you two gentlemen, and admit that he spoke without justification and in a manner no gentleman would employ.”

He turned and met Simpson’s eye with defiance as he spoke, metaphorically waving a red rag before the bull, who charged with gratifying fury.

“Apologize to you, you little whippersnapper!” exploded Simpson, alcohol and outraged dignity speaking simultaneously. “Never this side of Hell.”

“You hear that, gentlemen?” said Hornblower. “I have been insulted and Mr Simpson refuses to apologize while insulting me further. There is only one way now in which satisfaction can be given.”

For the next two days, until the West India convoy came in, Hornblower and Simpson, under Chalk’s orders, lived the curious life of two duellists forced into each other’s society before the affair of honour. Hornblower was careful — as he would have been in any case — to obey every order given him, and Simpson gave them with a certain amount of self-consciousness and awkwardness. It was during those two days that Hornblower elaborated on his original idea. Pacing through the dockyards with his patrol of seamen at his heels he had plenty of time to think the matter over. Viewed coldly — and a boy of seventeen in a mood of black despair can be objective enough on occasions — it was as simple as the calculations of the chances in a problem at whist. Nothing could be worse than his life in the Justinian, not even (as he had thought already) death itself. Here was an easy death open to him, with the additional attraction that there was a chance of Simpson dying instead. It was at that moment that Hornblower advanced his idea one step further — a new development, startling even to him, bringing him to a halt so that the patrol behind him bumped into him before they could stop.

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