“You are determined, then, Mr Hornblower, to continue with this murderous business?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The captain has given me further orders to attend the duel in person, because of the strange conditions on which you insist. I must inform you that I shall request the seconds to arrange for that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, then, Mr Homblower.”
Masters looked at Hornblower as he dismissed him even more keenly than he had done when Hornblower first came on board. He was looking for signs of weakness or wavering — indeed, he was looking for any signs of human feeling at all — but he could detect none. Hornblower had reached a decision, he had weighed all the pros and cons, and his logical mind told him that having decided in cold blood upon a course of action it would be folly to allow himself to be influenced subsequently by untrustworthy emotions. The conditions of the duel on which he was insisting were mathematically advantageous. If he had once considered with favour escaping from Simpson’s persecution by a voluntary death it was surely a gain to take an even chance of escaping from it without dying. Similarly, if Simpson were (as he almost certainly was) a better swordsman and a better pistol shot than him, the even chance was again mathematically advantageous. There was nothing to regret about his recent actions.
All very well; mathematically the conclusions were irrefutable, but Hornblower was surprised to find that mathematics were not everything. Repeatedly during that dreary afternoon and evening Hornblower found himself suddenly gulping with anxiety as the realization came to him afresh that to‑morrow morning he would be risking his life on the spin of a coin. One chance out of two and he would be dead, his consciousness at an end, his flesh cold, and the world, almost unbelievably, would be going on without him. The thought sent a shiver through him despite himself. And he had plenty of time for these reflections, for the convention that forbade him from encountering his destined opponent before the moment of the duel kept him necessarily in isolation, as far as isolation could be found on the crowded decks of the Justinian. He slung his hammock that night in a depressed mood, feeling unnaturally tired; and he undressed in the clammy, stuffy dampness of the ‘tweendecks feeling more than usually cold. He hugged the blankets round himself, yearning to relax in their warmth, but relaxation would not come. Time after time as he began to drift off to sleep he woke again tense and anxious, full of thoughts of the morrow. He turned over wearily a dozen times, hearing the ship’s bell ring out each half hour, feeling a growing contempt at his cowardice. He told himself in the end that it was as well that his fate to‑morrow depended upon pure chance, for if he had to rely upon steadiness of hand and eye he would be dead for certain after a night like this.
That conclusion presumably helped him to go to sleep for the last hour or two of the night, for he awoke with a start to find Danvers shaking him.
“Five bells,” said Danvers. “Dawn in an hour. Rise and shine!”
Hornblower slid out of his hammock and stood in his shirt; the ‘tweendecks was nearly dark and Danvers was almost invisible.
“Number One’s letting us have the second cutter,” said Danvers. “Masters and Simpson and that lot are going first in the launch. Here’s Preston.”
Another shadowy figure loomed up in the darkness.
“Hellish cold,” said Preston. “The devil of a morning to turn out. Nelson, where’s that tea?”
The mess attendant came with it as Hornblower was hauling on his trousers. It maddened Hornblower that he shivered enough in the cold for the cup to clatter in the saucer as he took it. But the tea was grateful, and Hornblower drank it eagerly.
“Give me another cup,” he said, and was proud of himself that he could think about tea at that moment.
It was still dark as they went down into the cutter.
“Shove off,” said the coxswain, and the boat pushed off from the ship’s side. There was a keen cold wind blowing which filled the dipping lug as the cutter headed for the twin lights that marked the jetty.