Then he caught himself up short. This was all lies, all self-deception, refusal to face the truth. He had just flattered himself that he had more imagination than Bush; more imagination, perhaps, but far less courage. Bush knew nothing of the sick horror, the terrible moment of fear which Hornblower had experienced when the shell dropped. Bush did not know how his admired captain had had a moment’s vivid mental picture of being blown into bloody rags by the explosion, how his heart had almost ceased to beat – the heart of a coward. Bush did not know the meaning of fear, and he could not credit his captain with that knowledge either. And so Bush would never know why Hornblower had made so light of the incident of the shell, and why he had been so irascible when it was discussed. But Hornblower knew, and would know, whenever he could bring himself to face facts.
There were orders being bellowed on the quarter-deck, a rush of bare feet over the planking, a clatter of ropes against woodwork, and Hotspur was beginning to lean over on a new course. Hornblower was at the cabin door bent on finding out what was the meaning of this activity which he had not ordered, when he found himself face to face with Young.
‘Signal from the Flag, sir. “Hotspur report to Commander-in-Chief.” ’
‘Thank you.’
On the quarter-deck Bush touched his hat.
‘I put the ship about as soon as we read the signal, sir,’ he explained.
‘Very good, Mr Bush.’
When a commander-in-chief demanded the presence of a ship no time was to be wasted even to inform the captain.
‘I acknowleged the signal, sir.’
‘Very good, Mr Bush.’
Hotspur was turning her stern to Brest; with the wind comfortably over her quarter she was running out to sea, away from France. For the commander-in-chief to demand the attendance of his farthest outpost must be of significance. He had summoned the ship, not merely the captain. There must be something more in the wind than this gentle breeze.
Bush called the crew to attention to render passing honours to Parker’s flagship, the flagship of the Inshore Squadron.
‘Hope he has as good a ship as us to replace us, sir,’ said Bush, who evidently had the same feeling as Hornblower, to the effect that the departure was only the beginning of a long absence from the Iroise.
‘No doubt,’ said Hornblower. He was glad that Bush was bearing no malice for his recent dressing-down. Of course this sudden break in routine was a stimulant in itself, but Hornblower in a moment of insight realised that Bush, after a lifetime of being subject to the vagaries of wind and weather, could manage to be fatalistic about the unpredictable vagaries of his captain.
This was the open sea; this was the wide Atlantic, and there on the horizon was a long line of topsails in rigid order – the Channel Fleet, whose men and whose guns prevented Bonaparte from hoisting the Tricolour over Windsor Castle.
‘Our number from the Commander-in-Chief, sir. “Pass within hail.” ’
‘Acknowledge. Mr Prowse, take a bearing, if you please.’
A pleasant little problem, to set a course wasting as little time as possible, with Hibernia close-hauled under easy sail and Hotspur running free under all plain sail. It was a small sop to Prowse’s pride to consult him, for Hornblower had every intention of carrying out the manoeuvre by eye alone. His orders to the wheel laid Hotspur on a steadily converging course.
‘Mr Bush, stand by to bring the ship to the wind.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
A big frigate was foaming along in Hibernia’s wake. Hornblower looked and looked again. That was the Indefatigable, once Pellew’s famous frigate – the ship in which he had served during those exciting years as midshipman. He had no idea she had joined the Channel Fleet. The three frigates astern of Indefatigable he knew at once; Medusa, Lively, Amphion, all veterans of the Channel Fleet. Bunting soared up Hibernia’s halliards,
‘ “All captains,” sir!’
‘Clear away the quarter-boat, Mr Bush!’
It was another example of how good a servant Doughty was, that he appeared on the quarter-deck with sword and boat cloak within seconds of that signal being read. It was highly desirable to shove off in the boat at least as quickly as the boats from the frigates, even though it meant that Hornblower had to spend longer pitching and tossing in the boat while his betters went up Hibernia’s side before him, but the thought that all this presaged some new and urgent action sustained Hornblower in the ordeal.
In the cabin of the Hibernia there was only one introduction to be made, of Hornblower to Captain Graham Moore of the Indefatigable. Moore was a strikingly handsome burly Scotsman; Hornblower had heard somewhere that he was the brother of Sir John Moore, the most promising general in the army. The others he knew, Gore of the Medusa, Hammond of the Lively, Sutton of the Amphion. Cornwallis sat with his back to the great stern window, with Collins on his left, and the five captains seated facing him.
‘No need to waste time, gentlemen,’ said Cornwallis abruptly. ‘Captain Moore has brought me despatches from London and we must act on them promptly.’
Even though he began with these words he spent a second or two rolling his kindly blue eyes along the row of captains, before he plunged into his explanations.
‘Our Ambassador at Madrid—’ he went on, and that name made them all stir in their seats; ever since the outbreak of war the Navy had been expecting Spain to resume her old rôle of ally to France.
Cornwallis spoke lucidly although rapidly. British agents in Madrid had discovered the content of the secret clauses of the treaty of San Ildefonso between France and Spain; the discovery had confirmed long cherished suspicions. By those clauses Spain was bound to declare war on England whenever requested by France, and until that request was made she was bound to pay a million francs a month into the French treasury.
‘A million francs a month in gold and silver, gentlemen,’ said Cornwallis.
Bonaparte was in constant need of cash for his war expenses; Spain could supply it thanks to her mines in Mexico and Peru. Every month waggon-loads of bullion climbed the Pyrenean passes to enter France. Every year a Spanish squadron bore the products of the mines from America to Cadiz.
‘The next flota is expected this autumn, gentlemen,’ said Cornwallis. ‘Usually it brings about four millions of dollars for the Crown, and about the same amount on private account.’
Eight millions of dollars, and the Spanish silver dollar was worth, in an England cursed by a paper currency, a full seven shillings. Nearly three million pounds.
‘The treasure that is not sent to Bonaparte,’ said Cornwallis, ‘will largely go towards re-equipping the Spanish navy, which can be employed against England whenever Bonaparte chooses. So you can understand why it is desirable that the flota shall not reach Cadiz this year.’
‘So it’s war, sir?’ asked Moore, but Cornwallis shook his head.
‘No. I am sending a squadron to intercept the flota, and I expect you’ve already guessed that it is your ships that I’m sending, gentlemen. But it is not war. Captain Moore, the senior officer, will be instructed to request the Spaniards to alter course and enter an English port. There the treasure will be removed and the ships set free. The treasure will not be seized. It will be retained by His Majesty’s Government as a pledge, to be returned to His Most Catholic Majesty on the conclusion of a general peace.’
‘What ships are they, sir?’
‘Frigates. Ships of war. Three frigates, sometimes four.’
‘Commanded by Spanish naval officers, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll never agree, sir. They’ll never violate their orders just because we tell ’em to.’
Cornwallis rolled his eyes up to the deck-beams above and then down again.
‘You will have written orders to compel them.’
‘Then we’ll have to fight them, sir?’
‘If they are so foolish as to resist.’
‘And that will be war, sir.’
‘Yes.
His Majesty’s Government is of the opinion that Spain without eight million dollars is less dangerous as an open enemy than she would be as a secret enemy with that money available. Is the situation perfectly clear now, gentlemen?’
It was instantly obvious. It could be grasped even more quickly than the problem in simple mental arithmetic could be solved. Prize money; one-quarter of three million pounds for the captains – something approaching eight hundred thousand pounds. Five captains. Say a hundred and fifty thousand pounds each. An enormous fortune; with that sum a captain could buy a landed estate and still have sufficient left over to provide an income on which to live in dignity when invested in the Funds. Hornblower could see that every one of the four other captains was working out that problem too.
‘I see you all understand, gentlemen. Captain Moore will issue his orders to you to take effect in case of separation, and he will make his own plans to effect the interception. Captain Hornblower—’ every eye came round ‘—will proceed immediately in Hotspur to Cadiz to obtain the latest information from His Britannic Majesty’s Consul there, before joining you at the position selected by Captain Moore. Captain Hornblower, will you be kind enough to stay behind after these gentlemen have left?’
It was an extremely polite dismissal of the other four, whom Collins led away to receive their orders, leaving Hornblower face to face with Cornwallis. Cornwallis’s blue eyes, as far as Hornblower knew, were always kindly, but apart from that they were generally remarkably expressionless. As an exception, this time they had an amused twinkle.
‘You’ve never made a penny of prize money in your life, have you, Hornblower?’ asked Cornwallis.
‘No, sir.’
‘It seems likely enough that you will make several pennies now.’
‘You expect the Dons to fight, sir?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Only a fool would think otherwise, and you’re no fool, Hornblower.’
An ingratiating man would say ‘Thank you, sir,’ to that speech, but Hornblower would do nothing to ingratiate himself.
‘Can we fight Spain as well as France, sir?’
‘I think we can. Are you more interested in the war than in prize money, Hornblower?’
‘Of course, sir.’
Collins was back in the cabin again, listening to the conversation.
‘You’ve done well in the war so far, Hornblower,’ said Cornwallis. ‘You’re on the way towards making a name for yourself.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He could say that this time, because a name was nothing.
‘You have no interest at Court, I understand? No friends in the Cabinet? Or in the Admiralty?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s a long, long step from Commander to Captain, Hornblower.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’ve no young gentlemen with you in Hotspur, either.’
‘No, sir.’
Practically every captain in the Navy had several boys of good family on board, rated as volunteers or as servants, learning to be sea officers. Most families had a younger son to be disposed of, and this was as good a way as any. Accepting such a charge was profitable to the captain in many ways, but particularly because by conferring such a favour he could expect some reciprocal favour from the family. A captain could even make a monetary profit, and frequently did, by appropriating the volunteer’s meagre pay and doling out pocket money instead.
‘Why not?’ asked Cornwallis.
‘When we were commissioned I was sent four volunteers from the Naval Academy, sir. And since then I have not had time.’
The main reason why young gentlemen from the Naval Academy – King’s Letter Boys – were detested by captains was because of this very matter; their presence cut down on the number of volunteers by whom the captain could benefit.
‘You were unfortunate,’ said Cornwallis.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Collins, breaking in on the conversation. ‘Here are your orders, captain, regarding your conduct in Cadiz. You will of course receive additional orders from Captain Moore.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Cornwallis still had time for a moment more of gossip.
‘You were fortunate the day Grasshopper was lost that that shell did not explode, were you not, Hornblower?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It is quite unbelievable,’ said Collins, adding his contribution to the conversation, ‘what a hot bed of gossip a fleet can be. The wildest tales are circulating regarding that shell.’
He was looking narrowly at Hornblower, and Hornblower looked straight back at him in defiance.
‘You can’t hold me responsible for that, sir,’ he said.
‘Of course not,’ interposed Cornwallis, soothingly. ‘Well, may good fortune always go with you, Hornblower.’
XX
Hornblower came back on board Hotspur in a positively cheerful state of mind. There was the imminent prospect of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in prize money. That ought to satisfy Mrs Mason, and Hornblower found it possible not to dwell too long on the picture of Maria as chatelaine of a country estate. He could avoid that subject by thinking about the immediate future, a visit to Cadiz, a diplomatic contact, and then the adventure of intercepting a Spanish treasure fleet in the broad Atlantic. And if that were not sufficiently ample food for pleasant day dreams, he could recall his conversation with Cornwallis. A Commander-in-Chief in home waters had small power of promotion, but surely his recommendations might have weight. Perhaps—?
Bush, with his hand to his hat, welcoming him aboard again, was not smiling. He was wearing a worried, anxious look.
‘What is it, Mr Bush?’ asked Hornblower.
‘Something you won’t like, sir.’
Were his dreams to prove baseless? Had Hotspur sprung some incurable leak?
‘What is it?’ Hornblower bit back at the ‘damn you’ that he nearly said.
‘Your servants under arrest for mutiny, sir.’ Hornblower could only stare as Bush went on. ‘He struck his superior officer.’
Hornblower could not show his astonishment or his distress. He kept his face set like stone.
‘Signal from the Commodore, sir!’ This was Foreman breaking in. ‘Our number. “Send boat.” ’
‘Acknowledge. Mr Orrock! Take the boat over at once.’
Moore in the Indefatigable had already hoisted the broad pendant that marked him as officer commanding a squadron. The frigates were still hove-to, clustered together. There were enough captains there to constitute a general court martial, with power to hang Doughty that very afternoon.
‘Now, Mr Bush, come and tell me what you know about this.’
The starboard side of the quarter-deck was instantly vacated as Hornblower and Bush walked towards it. Private conversation was as possible there as anywhere in the little ship.
‘As far as I can tell, sir,’ said Bush, ‘it was like this—’
Taking stores on board at sea was a job for all hands, and even when they were on board there was still work for all hands, distributing the stores through the ship. Doughty, in the working-party in the waist, had demurred on being given an order by a bos’n’s mate, Mayne by name. Mayne had swung his ‘starter’, his length of knotted line that petty officers used on every necessary occasion – too frequently, in Hornblower’s judgement. And then Doughty had struck him. There were twenty witnesses, and if that were not enough, Mayne’s lip was cut against his teeth and blood poured down.
‘Mayne’s always been something of a bully, sir,’ said Bush. ‘But this—’
‘Yes,’ said Hornblower.
He knew the Twenty-Second Article of War by heart. The first half dealt with striking a superior officer; the second half with quarrelling and disobedience. And the first half ended with the words ‘shall suffer death’; there were no mitigating words like ‘or such less punishment.’ Blood had been drawn and witnesses had seen it. Even so,
some petty officers in the give and take of heavy labour on board ship might have dealt with the situation unofficially, but not Mayne.
‘Where’s Doughty now?’ he asked.
‘In irons, sir.’ That was the only possible answer.
‘Orders from the Commodore, sir!’ Orrock was hastening along the deck towards them, waving a sealed letter which Hornblower accepted.
Doughty could wait; orders could not. Hornblower thought of returning to his cabin to read them at leisure, but a captain had no leisure. As he broke the seal Bush and Orrock withdrew to give him what little privacy was possible when every idle eye in the ship was turned on him. The opening sentence was plain enough and definite enough.
‘Sir,
You are requested and required to proceed immediately in HM Sloop Hotspur under your command to the port of Cadiz.’
The second paragraph required him to execute at Cadiz the orders he had received from the Commander-in-Chief. The third and last paragraph named a rendezvous, a latitude and longitude as well as a distance and bearing from Cape St Vincent, and required him to proceed there ‘with the utmost expedition’ as soon as he had carried out his orders for Cadiz.
He re-read, unnecessarily, the opening paragraph. There was the word ‘immediately.’
‘Mr Bush! Set all plain sail. Mr Prowse! A course to weather Finisterre as quickly as possible, if you please. Mr Foreman, signal to the Commodore. “Hotspur to Indefatigable. Request permission to proceed.” ’
Only time for one pacing of the quarter-deck, up and down, and then ‘ “Commodore to Hotspur. Affirmative.” ’
‘Thank you, Mr Foreman. Up helm, Mr Bush. Course sou’west by south.’
‘Sou’west by south. Aye aye, sir.’
Hotspur came round, and as every sail began to fill she gathered way rapidly.
‘Course sou’west by south, sir,’ said Prowse, breathlessly returning.
‘Thank you, Mr Prowse.’
The wind was just abaft the beam, and Hotspur foamed along as sweating hands at the braces trimmed the yards to an angle that exactly satisfied Bush’s careful eye.
The Young Hornblower Omnibus Page 82
