The Commodore. C. S. Forester

“Thank you,” he said, “but I am still waiting for an explanation of why I have the honour of this visit.”

“I am here to support M. le Baron in his statement of the belligerent position of Swedish Pomerania.”

Braun interpreted, and Basse’s embarrassment perceptibly increased.

“Boat with English colours alongside, sir,” interrupted Bush.

The man who came on board was immensely fat, and dressed in a sober black civilian suit.

“Hauptmann,” he said, bending himself at the waist; he spoke English with a thick German accent. “His Britannic Majesty’s consular agent at Stralsund.”

“What can I do for you, Mr Hauptmann?” asked Hornblower, trying not to allow himself to grow bewildered.

“I have come,” said Hauptmann — actually what he said was “I haf gome” — “to help explain to you the position here in Swedish Pomerania.”

“I see no need for explanation,” said Hornblower. “If Sweden is neutral, then that privateer must be either forced to leave or taken into custody. If Sweden is a belligerent, then my hands are free and I can take whatever steps I think proper.”

He looked round at his audience. Braun began to translate into Swedish.

“What was it you said, Captain?” asked Dumoulin.

Desperately Hornblower plunged into a French translation, and the curse of Babel descended upon the Nonsuch. Everyone tried to speak at once; translation clashed with expostulation. Clearly, what Basse wanted was the best of both worlds, to make both France and England believe Sweden was friendly. What Dumoulin wanted was to make sure that Blanchefleur would be enabled to continue her depredations among British shipping. Hornblower looked at Hauptmann.

“Come with me for a minute, please,” said Hauptmann. He put his fat hand on Hornblower’s shrinking arm and led him across the quarter-deck out of earshot.

“You are a young man,” said Hauptmann, “and I know you naval officers. You are all headstrong. You must be guided by my advice. Do nothing in a hurry, sir. The international situation here is tense, very tense indeed. A false move may mean ruin. An insult to Sweden might mean war, actual war instead of pretending war. You must be careful what you do.”

“I am always careful,” snapped Hornblower, “but do you expect me to allow that privateer to behave as if this were Brest or Toulon?”

Braun came over to them.

“Baron Basse asks me to say to you, sir, that Bonaparte has 200,000 men on the borders of Pomerania. He wants me to say that one cannot offend the master of an army that size.”

“That bears out what I say, Captain,” said Hauptmann.

Here came Dumoulin, and Basse after him — no one would trust any one of his colleagues to be alone with the British captain for a moment. Hornblower’s tactical instinct came to his rescue; the best defensive is a vigorous local offensive. He turned on Hauptmann.

“May I ask, sir, how His Majesty maintains a consular agent in a port whose neutrality is in doubt?”

“It is necessary because of the need for licences to trade.”

“Are you accredited to the Swedish Government by His Majesty?”

“No, sir. I am accredited by His Bavarian Majesty.”

“His Bavarian Majesty?”

“I am a subject of His Bavarian Majesty.”

“Who happens to be at war with His Britannic Majesty,” said Hornblower dryly. The whole tangle of Baltic politics, of hole-and-corner hostilities and neutralities, was utterly beyond unravelling. Hornblower listened to everyone’s pleas and expostulations until he could bear it no longer; his impatience grew at length apparent to his anxious interviewers.

“I can form no conclusion at present, gentlemen,” said Hornblower. “I must have time to think over the information you have given me. Baron Basse, as representative of a governor-general, I fancy you are entitled to a seventeen-gun salute on leaving this ship?”

The salutes echoed over the yellow-green water as the officials went over the side. Seventeen guns for Baron Basse. Eleven for Dumoulin, the Consul-General. Hauptmann, as a mere consular agent, rated only five, the smallest salute noticed in naval ceremonial. Hornblower stood at the salute as Hauptmann went down into his boat, and then sprang into activity again.

“Signal for the captains of Moth, Harvey, and Clam to come on board,” he ordered, abruptly.

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