Admiral Hornblower

by C. S. Forester

  ‘Port a little,’ said Bush to the helmsman. ‘Let her fall off. Meet her there! Steady as you go!’

  ‘Steady as you go, sir,’ echoed the helmsman, and then by a neat feat of facial gymnastics transferred his quid from his cheek to his mouth, and a moment later spat accurately into the spit-kid beside the wheel without transferring any of his attention from the leech of the maintop-sail and the compass in the binnacle.

  Nonsuch edged down steadily towards the entrance and the batteries. This was a ticklish business, coming down to be shot at. There was smoke as from a fire visible not far from the batteries; maybe it was merely rising from the cooking stoves of the garrison, but it might well be smoke from the furnaces for heating red-hot shot. But Bush was aware of that possibility when in action against coastal batteries, and had needed no warning. Every available man was standing by with fire buckets, and every pump and hose was rigged. Now he was measuring the range with his eye.

  ‘A little closer, if you please, Captain Bush,’ said Hornblower to prompt him, for to Hornblower it was obvious that they were still out of range. A fountain of water was visible for a moment on the surface of the choppy sea, two cables’ lengths from the starboard bow.

  ‘Not near enough yet, Captain Bush,’ said Hornblower.

  In the tense silence the ship moved on. A whole cluster of fountains sprang suddenly into existence close under the starboard quarter, one so close indeed that a hatful of water, flung by some freak wave and wind, hit Bush full in the face.

  ‘God damn it to hell,’ spluttered Bush, wiping his eyes.

  That battery had no business to have come so close as that with that salvo. And there was no smoke near it either. Hornblower traversed his glass round, and gulped. It was another battery altogether which had fired, one farther to the left, and moreover one whose existence he had not suspected until that moment. Apparently the grass had grown over the parapets sufficiently to conceal it from quite close inspection; but it had unmasked itself a trifle too soon. If the officer commanding there had been patient for another ten minutes Nonsuch might have found herself in a difficult situation.

  ‘That will do, Captain Bush,’ said Hornblower.

  ‘Full and by,’ said Bush to the helmsman and then raised his voice. ‘Lee braces, there!’

  Nonsuch swung round, turning her starboard broadside towards the batteries, and, close-hauled, was now edging towards them far less rapidly. Hornblower pointed out the exact situation of the newly revealed battery to the midshipman of the watch, and then sent him flying below to carry the information to the guns.

  ‘Keep your luff!’ growled Bush to the helmsman.

  ‘Keep your luff, sir.’

  For a moment or two there were waterspouts leaping from the surface of the sea all round, and the loud noise of cannonballs passing through the air assaulted their ears. It was remarkable that they were not hit; at least, it was remarkable until Hornblower, glancing up, saw two elliptical holes in the mizzen-topsail. The shooting was poor, for there were at least twenty heavy guns firing at them, as Hornblower calculated from the smoke appearing on shore. He took careful note of the sites of the batteries – one never knew when such intelligence might be useful.

  ‘Open fire, Captain, if you please,’ said Hornblower, and before the polite ending of the sentence had passed his lips Bush had raised his speaking-trumpet and was repeating the order at the top of his lungs. The gunner’s mate posted at the main hatchway relayed the message to the lower gundeck. There was a brief pause which Hornblower noted with pleasure, because it showed that the gun-captains were taking pains to train their guns on the target, and not merely jerking the lanyards the moment the word reached them. Then came a ragged crash; the ship trembled, and the smoke surged up and blew away to leeward. Through his glass Hornblower could see sand flying all round the masked battery. The seventeen twenty-four-pounders roared out again and again, the deck vibrating under Hornblower’s feet with the concussion and with the rumble of the gun-tracks.

  ‘Thank you, Captain Bush,’ said Hornblower, ‘you can put the ship about, now.’

  Bush blinked at him momentarily, his fighting blood roused so that he had to stop and think before dealing with the new order.

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’ He raised his trumpet. ‘Cease fire! Stand by to go about!’

  The order was relayed to the guns, and the din died down abruptly, so that Bush’s ‘Hard-a-lee,’ to the helmsman sounded unnecessarily loud.

  ‘Mainsail haul!’ bellowed Bush.

  As Nonsuch went ponderously about, rising to an even keel with her canvas slatting, a further cluster of waterspouts, grouped closely together for the first time, rose from the surface of the sea on the starboard bow. If she had not made the sudden turn the shots might well have hit her. Hornblower might be a mutilated corpse lying on the quarterdeck with his guts strung out beside him at this moment.

  Nonsuch had passed the wind, and the after sails were filling.

  ‘Let go and haul!’ yelled Bush. The forward sails filled as the hands came aft with the lee braces, and Nonsuch settled down on the new tack.

  ‘Any further orders, sir?’ asked Bush.

  ‘That will do for the present.’

  Close-hauled on the starboard tack the ship was drawing away fast from the land, beating out to where the two sloops were backing and filling while waiting for her. The people on shore must be exulting over having driven off a serious attack; probably some garrulous gunner was swearing that he had seen with his own eyes damaging hits striking home on the British intruder. They must be encouraged in the belief that something desperate was still being meditated in this neighbourhood.

  ‘Midshipman?’ said Hornblower.

  Strings of coloured flags soared up Nonsuch’s halliards; it was good practice for the signal midshipman to try to spell out, ‘The curfew tolls the knell of parting day’, with the fewest possible number of flag hoists. With his telescope pointed the midshipman read off Raven’s reply.

  ‘The—’ he read ‘l – o – w – must be “blowing”. No, it’s “lowing”, whatever he means by that. H – e – r – d. Herd. Two – five. That’s “wind”, and “s”. That’s “winds”. S – l – o –’

  So Cole in the Raven was at least familiar with Gray’s Elegy, and whoever was responsible for the flag hoists on board her was ingenious enough to use the code hoist for ‘winds’. As Hornblower expected, he used the code hoist ‘lee’ for ‘lea’ as well, thereby saving one signal flag.

  ‘The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lee, sir,’ reported the puzzled midshipman.

  ‘Very good. Acknowledge.’

  All these innumerable signals between battleship and sloops must be visible from the shore and exciting their interest. Hornblower sent up another signal under Lotus’s number – ‘The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,’ – only to receive the puzzled reply, ‘Signal not understood’. Purvis, the first lieutenant of the Lotus, at present in command, was obviously not very bright, or perhaps not very well read. What in the world, at that rate, he was making of all this, was beyond even Hornblower’s imagination, although the thought of it brought a smile to his lips.

  ‘Cancel the signal, then,’ he ordered, ‘and substitute “Report immediately number of red-haired married men on board”.’

  Hornblower waited until the reply came; he could have wished that Purvis had not been so literal-minded and had been able to think up an answer which should combine the almost incompatible qualities of deference and wit, instead of merely sending the bald reply ‘Five’. Then he turned to business.

  ‘Signal to both sloops,’ he ordered. ‘ “Advance on boom in threatening manner avoiding action”.’

  In the dwindling daylight he watched the two vessels move down as though to attack. They wheeled, edged into the wind, and fell away again. Twice Hornblower saw a puff of smoke and heard, echoing over the water, the dull flat boom of a twenty-four-pounder as a gunboat tried the range. Then, while there was
just light enough for the signal to be read, he hoisted, ‘Discontinue the action after half an hour’. He had done all he could to attract the enemy’s attention to this end of the bay, the only exit. The garrison ought to be quite certain now that the raiding boats would attempt to escape by this route. Probably the garrison would anticipate a rush in the first light of dawn, assisted by an attack by the big ships from outside. He had done all he could, and it only remained now to go to bed and spend the rest of the night in tranquillity if that were possible.

  Naturally, it was impossible, with the fate of a hundred and fifty seamen at stake, with his own reputation for good fortune and ingenuity at stake. Half an hour after he had got into bed Hornblower found himself wishing that he had ordered three junior officers to join him in a game of whist until dawn. He dallied with the idea of getting up and doing so now, but put it aside in the certainty that if he should do so now everyone would know that he had tried to go to sleep and had failed. He could only turn over stoically and force himself to stay in bed until dawn came to release him.

  When he came on deck the pearly mist of the Baltic morning was making the vague outline of visible objects vaguer yet. There was every promise of a fine day, wind moderate, backing a little. Bush was already on deck – Hornblower knew that, before he went up, because he had heard Bush’s wooden leg thumping over his head – and at first sight of him Hornblower hoped that his own face did not show the same signs of sleeplessness and anxiety. They had at least the effect of bracing him up to conceal his own anxiety as he returned Bush’s salute.

  ‘I hope Vickery’s all right, sir,’ said Bush.

  The mere fact that Bush ventured to address Hornblower at this time in the morning after so many years of service under him was the best possible proof of his anxiety.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Hornblower, bluffly. ‘I’ll trust Vickery to get out of any scrape.’

  That was a statement made in all sincerity; it occurred to Hornblower as he made it – what he had often thought before – that worry and anxiety were not really connected with the facts of the case. He had done everything possible. He remembered his profound study of the charts, his careful reading of the barometer, his painstaking – and now clearly successful – attempts to predict the weather. If he were compelled to bet, he would bet that Vickery was safe, and moreover he would judge the odds to be at least three to one. But that did not save him from being anxious, all the same. What did save him was the sight of Bush’s nervousness.

  ‘With this breeze there can’t have been much surf, sir,’ said Bush.

  ‘Of course not.’

  He had thought of that fifty times at least during the night, and he tried to look as if it had not been more than once. The mist was thin enough now to make the land just visible; the gunboats were still stationed along the boom, and he could see a belated guard-boat rowing along it.

  ‘The wind’s fair for the bomb-ketches, sir,’ said Bush. ‘They ought to have picked Vickery up by now and be on their way towards us.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Bush turned a searching eye aloft to make sure that the lookouts were at their posts and awake. It was twelve miles down the Nehrung, the long spit of sand that divided the Haff from the Baltic, that Mound with the bomb-ketches was going to pick up Vickery and his men. Vickery was going to land in the darkness on the Nehrung, abandon his boats, cross the sandspit, and rendezvous with Mound an hour before dawn. With their shallow draught the ketches would be safe among the shoals, so that they could send in their boats and bring Vickery off. Vickery’s four ship’s boats would all be lost, but that was a small price to pay for the destruction he must have caused, and Hornblower hoped that, what with the distraction of his own demonstrations off Pillau, and what with the fact that the possibility of Vickery abandoning his boats might easily never occur to the enemy’s mind, Vickery would find no opposition on the Nehrung. Even if there were, the Nehrung was fifteen miles long and Vickery with a hundred and fifty determined men could be relied upon to break through any thin cordon of sentries or customs officials.

  Yet if all had gone well the bomb-ketches ought to be in sight very soon. The next few minutes would be decisive.

  ‘We couldn’t have heard gunfire in the bay yesterday, sir,’ said Bush, ‘the wind being where it was. They may have met with any sort of armed vessel in the bay.’

  ‘So they may,’ said Hornblower.

  ‘Sail ho!’ yelled the masthead lookout. ‘Two sail on the port beam! It’s the bomb-ketches, sir.’

  They might possibly be coming back, having been unable to pick up Vickery, but it was unlikely that in that case they would have returned so promptly. Bush was grinning broadly, with all his doubts at an end.

  ‘I think, Captain,’ said Hornblower, ‘you might put the helm down and go to meet them.’

  It would not be consonant with the dignity of a Commodore to hang out a signal of inquiry as the vessels closed to visual range, for it to be read the moment a telescope in the Harvey could distinguish the flags. But Nonsuch was making a good five knots, with the water lapping cheerfully under her bows, and Harvey was doing the same, so that it was only a matter of waiting a few more minutes.

  ‘Harvey’s signalling, sir,’ reported the midshipman. He read the flags and hurriedly referred to the code book, ‘ “seamen on board”, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Make, “Commodore to Captain. Come on board with Mr Vickery to make your report”.’

  There was not much longer to wait. As the two vessels came within hail they rounded-to, and Harvey’s gig dropped into the water and came bobbing across to Nonsuch. It was a weary Vickery who came up the side with Mound beside him; his face was grey, and below his eyes were marks like new scars as proof that he had not slept for three successive nights. He sat down gratefully when Hornblower gave him permission to do so as soon as they were in his cabin.

  ‘Well?’ said Hornblower. ‘I’ll hear you first, Vickery.’

  ‘It went off very well, sir.’ Vickery dragged a scrap of paper out of his pocket on which apparently he had kept notes. ‘There was no trouble going past the boom on the night of the 15th. We saw nothing of the enemy. At dawn on the 16th we were off the mouth of the Königsberg river. There we took and destroyed the – the Fried Rich, coaster, of Elbing, about two hundred tons, seven of a crew, with a cargo of rye and live pigs. We burned her, and sent the crew ashore in their own boat. Then we caught the – the – Blitzer, also of Elbing, about one hundred tons, laden with grain. We burned her, too. Then the Charlotte, of Danzig. She was ship-rigged, four hundred tons, twenty-five crew, laden with general cargo of military stores – tents, stretchers, horseshoes, ten thousand stand of small arms; we burned her. Then the Ritter Horse, powder barge, about seventy tons. We blew her up.’

  ‘We saw that, I think,’ said Hornblower. ‘That was Nonsuch’s cutter.’

  ‘Yes, sir. That was all at this end of the bay. Then we bore down to the westward. We caught the Weece Ross of Kolberg, two hundred tons. She carried four six-pounders and showed fight, but Montgomery boarded her over the bows and they threw down their arms. We had two men wounded. We burned her. Then there was—’

  ‘How many altogether?’

  ‘One ship, sir. Eleven sail of coasting vessels. Twenty-four barges. All destroyed.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Hornblower. ‘And then?’

  ‘By then it was nigh on dark, sir. I anchored on the north side of the bay until midnight. Then I ran over to the sand-spit. We found two soldiers there, and made ’em prisoners. ’Twas easy enough crossing the spit, sir. We burned a blue light and made contact with the Harvey. They started taking us aboard at two a.m., and I was aboard at three, by the first light. I went back and burned the boats before I embarked, sir.’

  ‘Better still.’

  The enemy, then, had not even the sorry compensation of the capture of four ships’ boats in exchange for the frightful destruction Vickery had wrought. He turned to Mound.

  ‘I
have nothing particular to report, sir. Those waters are shoal, without a doubt, sir. But I had no difficulty making my way to the rendezvous. After taking Mr Vickery’s party on board we touched bottom, sir. We had nearly a hundred extra hands on board an’ must have been drawing nigh on a foot more water. But we got off all right. I had the men run from side to side to rock the vessel, an’ I threw all aback an’ she came off.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Hornblower looked at Mound’s expressionless face and smiled inwardly at his studied languid manner. Picking the way in the dark through the shoals to the rendezvous must have been something of an epic achievement. Hornblower could estimate the seamanship it called for, but it was not in the tradition to lay stress on difficulties surmounted. And a less reliable officer might have tried to suppress the fact that his ship had touched ground once. It was to Mound’s credit that he had not done so.

  ‘I shall call the attention of the Admiralty,’ said Hornblower, trying his best to combat the pomposity which persisted in making itself heard in his voice, ‘to the conduct of both of you officers. I consider it excellent. I shall, of course, require reports from you immediately in writing.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Now that he was a Commodore Hornblower felt more sympathy towards senior officers who had been pompous to him; he was pompous himself – it was one way in which could be concealed the fact that he had been anxious.

  XVI

  Hornblower was dining by himself. He had Gibbon securely wedged against the cheese-crock on the table before him, and his legs stretched out at ease under it. Today he was indulging himself extraordinarily with a half-bottle of wine, and the sea pie from which he was about to help himself smelt most appetising. It was one of those days when there was nothing wrong with the world at all, when he could allow himself to sway with the rhythm of the ship without any further thought, when food tasted good and wine delicious. He dug a spoon into the sea pie just at the moment when there was a knock on the door and a midshipman entered.