Two hands appeared on the stout wooden barricade surrounding the top, and as Hornblower looked up with annoyance at having his meditations interrupted a head appeared above them. It was Finch, another man in Hornblower’s division, who also had his station in action here in the mizzen-top. He was a frail little man with wispy hair and pale blue eyes and a foolish smile, which lit up his face when, after betraying some disappointment at finding the mizzen‑top already occupied, he recognized Hornblower.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said. “I didn’t know as how you was up here.”
Finch was hanging on uncomfortably, back downwards, in the act of transferring himself from the futtock shrouds to the top, and each roll threatened to shake him loose.
“Oh come here if you want to,” said Hornblower, cursing himself for his soft heartedness. A taut officer, he felt, would have told Finch to go back whence he came and not bother him.
“Thank ‘ee, sir. Thank ‘ee,” said Finch, bringing his leg over the barricade and allowing the ship’s roll to drop him into the top.
He crouched down to peer under the foot of the mizzen-topsail forward to the mainmast head, and then turned back to smile disarmingly at Hornblower like a child caught in moderate mischief. Hornblower knew that Finch was a little weak in the head — the all embracing press swept up idiots and landsmen to help man the fleet — although he was a trained seaman who could hand, reef and steer. That smile betrayed him.
“It’s better up here than down below, sir,” said Finch, apologetically.
“You’re right,” said Hornblower, with a disinterested intonation which would discourage conversation.
He turned away to ignore Finch, settled his bark again comfortably, and allowed the steady swing of the top to mesmerize him into dreamy thought that might deal with his problem. Yet it was not easy, for Finch was as restless almost as a squirrel in a cage, peering forward, changing his position, and so continually breaking in on Hornblower’s train of thought, wasting the minutes of his precious half‑hour of freedom.
“What the devil’s the matter with you, Finch?” he rasped at last, patience quite exhausted.
“The Devil, sir?” said Finch. “It isn’t the Devil. He’s not up here, begging your pardon, sir.”
That weak mysterious grin again, like a mischievous child. A great depth of secrets lay in those strange blue eyes. Finch peered under the topsail again; it was a gesture like a baby’s playing peep‑bo.
“There!” said Finch. “I saw him that time, sir. God’s come back to the maintop, sir.”
“God?”
“Aye indeed, sir. Sometimes He’s in the maintop. More often than not, sir. I saw Him that time, with His beard all a‑blowing in the wind. ‘Tis only from here that you can see Him, sir.”
What could be said to a man with that sort of delusion? Hornblower racked his brains for an answer, and found none. Finch seemed to have forgotten his presence, and was playing peep‑bo again under the foot of the mizzen‑topsail.
“There He is!” said Finch to himself. “There He is again! God’s in the maintop, and the Devil’s in the cable tier.”
“Very appropriate,” said Hornblower cynically, but to himself. He had no thought of laughing at Finch’s delusions.
“The Devil’s in the cable tier during the dog watches,” said Finch again to no one at all. “God stays in the maintop for ever.”
“A curious timetable,” was Hornblower’s sotto voce comment.
From down on the deck below came the first strokes of eight bells, and at the same moment the pipes of the bosun’s mates began to twitter, and the bellow of Waldron the bos’un made itself heard.
“Turn out the watch below! All hands wear ship! All hands! All hands! You, master‑at‑arms, take the name of the last man up the hatchway. All hands!”
The interval of peace, short as it was, and broken by Finch’s disturbing presence, was at an end. Hornblower dived over the barricade and gripped the futtock shrouds; not for him was the easy descent through the lubber’s hole, not when the first lieutenant might see him and reprimand him for unseamanlike behaviour. Finch waited for him to quit the top, but even with this length start Hornblower was easily outfaced in the descent to the deck, for Finch, like the skilled seaman he was, ran down the shrouds as lightly as a monkey. Then the thought of Finch’s curious illusions was temporarily submerged in the business of laying the ship on her new course.