Admiral Hornblower

by C. S. Forester

  ‘There, there!’ said Hornblower, as soothingly as he knew how.

  ‘The carriage will be ready in two minutes, My Lord,’ said Hough’s voice from the door. ‘A glass of wine and a bite before you start?’

  Hough came in with a smile.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hornblower, struggling with embarrassment.

  ‘This child has been in a rare way since this morning,’ said Hough, indulgently. ‘These young people— She was the only person in the island, I fancy, who gave a thought to the secretary as well as to the Commander-in-Chief.’

  ‘Er – yes. These young people,’ said Hornblower.

  The butler entered with a tray at that moment.

  ‘Pour His Lordship a glass of wine, Lucy, my dear,’ said Hough, and then to Hornblower, ‘Mrs Hough has been considerably prostrated, but she will be down in a moment.’

  ‘Please do not discommode her, I beg of you,’ said Hornblower. His hand was shaking as he reached for the glass. Hough took up carving knife and fork and set about carving the cold chicken.

  ‘Excuse me, please,’ said Lucy.

  She turned and ran from the room as quickly as she had entered it, sobbing wildly.

  ‘I had no idea the attachment was so strong,’ said Hough.

  ‘Nor had I,’ said Hornblower. He had gulped down the whole glass of wine in his agitation. He addressed himself to the cold chicken with all the calm he could muster.

  ‘The carriage is at the door, sir,’ announced the butler.

  ‘I’ll take these with me,’ said Hornblower, a slice of bread in one hand and a chicken wing in the other. ‘Would it be troubling you too much to ask you to send a messenger ahead of me to warn His Excellency of my coming?’

  ‘That has already been done, My Lord,’ answered Hough. ‘And I have sent out messengers to inform the patrols that you are safe.’

  Hornblower sank into the cushioned ease of the carriage. The incident with Lucy had at least had the effect of temporarily driving all thought of fatigue from his mind. Now he could lean back and relax; it was five minutes before he remembered the bread and chicken in his hands and set himself wearily to eat them. The long drive was not particularly restful, for there were continual interruptions. Patrols who had not heard that he was safe stopped the carriage. Ten miles down the road they encountered the Highland battalion encamped at the roadside and the colonel insisted on coming and paying his respects to the naval Commander-in-Chief and congratulating him. Farther on a galloping horse reined up beside the carriage; it was Gerard. The light of the carriage lamp revealed that he had ridden his horse into a lather. Hornblower had to listen to him say ‘Thank God, you are safe, My Lord’ – everyone used those same words – and explain to him what had happened. Gerard abandoned his horse at the first opportunity and got into the carriage beside Hornblower. He was full of self-reproach at having allowed this to happen to his Chief – Hornblower rather resented the implication that he was incapable of looking after himself even though the event seemed to prove it – and at not having rescued him.

  ‘We tried to use the bloodhounds they track runaway slaves with, My Lord, but they were of no use.’

  ‘Naturally, since I was on mule-back,’ said Hornblower. ‘In any case, the scent must have been several hours old. Now forget the past and let me think about the future.’

  ‘We’ll have those pirates dangling on ropes before two days are up, My Lord.’

  ‘Indeed? And what about Spendlove?’

  ‘Oh – er. Yes, of course, My Lord.’

  Spendlove was very much of an afterthought with everyone, even with Gerard, who was his friend. But to Gerard must be given the credit at least for appreciating Hornblower’s difficulty the moment it was pointed out to him.

  ‘We can’t let anything happen to him, of course, My Lord.’

  ‘And how do we prevent it? Do we grant those pardons – do we persuade His Excellency to grant them?’

  ‘Well, My Lord—’

  ‘There’s nothing I would not do to set Spendlove free,’ said Hornblower. ‘Do you understand that? Nothing!’

  Hornblower caught himself setting his jaw in grim determination; his ineradicable tendency to self-analysis revealed him to himself. He was cynically surprised at his own flow of emotion. Ferocity and tenderness intermingled; let those pirates touch one hair of Spendlove’s head and – but how was he to prevent it? How to free Spendlove from men who knew that their lives, their actual lives and not merely their fortunes, depended on keeping him prisoner? How could he ever live with himself if anything were to happen to Spendlove? If the worst came to the worst he would have to go back to the pirates and yield himself up to them, as that Roman – Regulus – returned to death at the hands of the Carthaginians; and the worst seemed likely to come to the worst.

  ‘Government House, My Lord,’ said Gerard, breaking in upon this train of nightmare thoughts.

  Sentries at the gates, sentries at the door. A brightly lit entrance-hall, where aides-de-camp looked at him curiously, curse them. So did Gerard. He was ushered through into an inner room, where after only a moment another door opened to admit His Excellency, and the escorting aide-de-camp discreetly retired. His Excellency was an angry man, angry as a man can only be who had been badly scared.

  ‘Now, what is all this, My Lord?’

  There was none of the usual deference displayed towards the man who had attained a peerage, the man of legendary fame. Hooper was a full General, far above a mere Rear-Admiral; moreover, as Governor he was absolute ruler throughout this island. His red face and bulging blue eyes – as well as the rage he was displaying – seemed to confirm the rumour that he was a grandson of the royal blood. Hornblower explained briefly and quietly what had happened; his fatigue – if not his common sense – prevented an angry reply.

  ‘Do you realise the cost of all this, My Lord?’ blared Hooper. ‘Every white man who can sit a horse is out. My last reserve – the Highlanders – are bivouacked at the roadside. What that will mean in malaria and yellow fever I do not dare guess. For two weeks every man of the garrison except for them has been out guarding fishing boats and watching beaches at your request. The sick-lists are enormous. And now this!’

  ‘My instructions, and I believe Your Excellency’s as well, laid the greatest stress on the suppression of piracy, sir.’

  ‘I don’t need any whipper-snapper jumped up Rear-Admiral to interpret my instructions,’ roared Hooper. ‘What sort of bargain did you make with these pirates of yours?’

  There it was. It was not an easy thing to explain to a man in this mood.

  ‘I made no actual bargain, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Hard to believe you had that much sense.’

  ‘But my honour is pledged.’

  ‘Your honour pledged? To whom? The pirates?’

  ‘No, Your Excellency. To my secretary, Spendlove.’

  ‘What was the pledge?’

  ‘He was retained as a hostage when I was set free.’

  ‘What did you promise him?’

  What? He had said something about thinking about him.

  ‘I made no verbal promise, Your Excellency. But one was implied, undoubtedly.’

  ‘What was implied?’

  ‘That I should set him free.’

  ‘And how did you think you could do that?’

  Nothing for it but to take the bull by the horns.

  ‘I was released in order that I might solicit from Your Excellency pardons under seal for the pirates.’

  ‘Pardons! Par—’ Hooper could not even finish the word a second time. He could only gobble like a turkey for several seconds before with a gulp he was able to continue. ‘Are you insane, My Lord?’

  ‘That was why I was released. And that is why Spendlove is still retained.’

  ‘Then this Spendlove must take his chance.’

  ‘Your Excellency!’

  ‘Do you think I could grant pardons to a gang of pirates? What d’ye mean? So
that they can live like lords on their booty? Rolling in coaches round the island? A fine way that would be of suppressing piracy! D’ye want the whole West Indies in a turmoil? Have you lost your senses?’

  The effect of this speech was in no way modified by the fact that Hornblower had guessed long before that Hooper would argue exactly along this line.

  ‘I fully see the difficulty of the situation, Your Excellency.’

  ‘I’m glad you do. You know the hiding-place of these pirates?’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency. It is a very secure place.’

  ‘No matter. It can be reduced, of course. A few hangings will quiet this island down again.’

  What in the world was there that he could do or could say? The sentence he framed in his mind was patently absurd to him even before he uttered it.

  ‘I shall have to go back there before you take any steps, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Go back there?’ Hooper’s eyes almost came out of their sockets as the implications of what Hornblower was saying dawned upon him. ‘What new foolery do you have in mind?’

  ‘I must go back and join Spendlove if Your Excellency does not see fit to grant the pardons.’

  ‘Rubbish! I can grant no pardons. I cannot. I will not.’

  ‘Then I have no alternative, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Rubbish, I said. Rubbish! You made no promise. You said yourself that you gave no pledge.’

  ‘I am the judge of that, Your Excellency.’

  ‘You’re in no condition to judge anything at present, if ever you were. Can you imagine for one moment I’ll let you tie my hands like this?’

  ‘No one regrets the necessity more than I do, My Lord.’

  ‘Necessity? Are you dictating to me? I’ll have you know that I’m your superior officer as well as Governor of this island. One more word and you’ll be under arrest, My Lord. Let’s hear no more of this nonsense.’

  ‘Your Excellency—’

  ‘Not one more word, I said. This Spendlove is one of the King’s servants. He must run the risks of his position, even though he is only a secretary.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I order you to keep silence, My Lord. You have fair warning. Tomorrow when you’re rested we can plan to smoke out this wasps’ nest.’

  Hornblower himself checked the protest that still rose to his lips. Hooper meant what he said when he threatened arrest. The massive discipline that permeated the armed forces of the Crown had Hornblower in its grip as surely as if he were the least seaman. To disobey an order was hopeless from the start. The irresistible force of his own conscience might be driving him forward, but here he was up against the immovable barrier of discipline. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was another day.

  ‘Very well, Your Excellency.’

  ‘A night’s rest will do you all the good in the world, My Lord. Perhaps it would be best if you slept here. I will give the necessary orders. If you instruct your flag-lieutenant as to the fresh clothes you will need I will send to Admiralty House for them to be ready for you in the morning.’

  Clothes? Hornblower looked down at himself. He had forgotten entirely that he was wearing his black full-dress. One glance was enough to tell him that never again could he wear that suit. Now he could guess about the rest of his appearance. He knew that his haggard cheeks must be sprouting a bristly beard, his neckcloth in wild disorder. No wonder that people had looked at him curiously in the anteroom.

  ‘Your Excellency is very kind,’ he said.

  There was no harm in being formally polite in the face of the temporarily inevitable. There had been that in Hooper’s tone which told him that the invitation might as well have been an order, that he was as much a prisoner in Government House as if Hooper had actually carried out his threat of putting him under arrest. It was best to yield gracefully since he had to yield for the moment at least. Tomorrow was another day.

  ‘Allow me to conduct you to your room, My Lord,’ said Hooper.

  The mirror in the bedroom confirmed his worst fears regarding his appearance. The bed, with its enormous mosquito net, was wide and inviting. His aching joints clamoured that he should allow himself to fall across that bed and repose himself; his weary brain demanded that he should sink into oblivion, forget his troubles in sleep as a drunkard might forget them in liquor. It was a relaxation to soap himself in a tepid bath, despite the smarting protests of the raw places on his body. And yet, bathed and relaxed, with one of His Excellency’s nightshirts flapping round his knees, he could not give way to his weaknesses. His innermost ego refused to recognise them. He found himself hobbling barefooted about the room. He had no quarterdeck to pace; the candle-heated tropical air of the bedroom was not as conducive to inspiration as was a fresh sea breeze; mosquitoes buzzed about him, stinging his neck and his bare legs and distracting him. It was one of those dreadful nights; sometimes he relaxed so far as to sit on a chair, but within a few seconds a new train of thought brought him to his feet again, to limp up and down.

  It was maddening that he could not keep his thoughts concentrated on the problem of Spendlove. He felt a contempt for himself that he should find his mind deserting his devoted secretary; there was a rival train of thought which was frequently successful in holding his attention. He knew, before the night was over, just how he would deal with the pirates’ lair if his hands were free; he even knew satisfaction in recapitulating his plans, only to find the satisfaction replaced by sick despair at the thought of Spendlove in the pirates’ hands. There were moments when his stomach turned over as he remembered Johnson’s threat to dig out Spendlove’s eyes.

  Weariness took him by surprise in the end; he had sat down and rested his head on his hand, and then awakened with a start as he fell forward in his chair. The awakening was not complete enough; unconscious of what he was doing he settled himself back in his chair and slept in that fashion, the vast comfortable bed untenanted, until a knocking at his door roused him to blink about him wondering where he was before bracing himself to make it seem as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to sleep in a chair when a bed was available.

  It was Giles who came in, bearing clean linen and a uniform and razors; the business of shaving and of dressing carefully served to steady him and kept him from thinking too furiously about the problem he would have to solve in the next few minutes.

  ‘His Excellency would be glad if His Lordship would take breakfast with him.’

  That was a message conveyed through the door to Giles; the invitation must be accepted, of course, as it was the equivalent of a royal command. Hooper, apparently, was partial to a steak for breakfast; a silver dish of steak and onions was brought in almost as soon as Hornblower had uttered his formal good morning. Hooper looked at Hornblower oddly when he answered the butler’s enquiry with a request for papaya and a boiled egg – that was a bad start, for it confirmed Hooper in his opinions of Hornblower’s eccentricity that he should have these outlandish Frenchified notions about breakfast. Years of living on shore had not yet dulled the appetite for fresh eggs in their shells which Hornblower had acquired during decades at sea. Hooper daubed mustard on his steak and set about it with appetite.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Well enough, thank you, Your Excellency.’

  Hooper’s abandonment of the formal ‘My Lord’ was a not too subtle indication that he was willing to forget last night’s discussion and to act magnanimously as if Hornblower was a normal person with only a temporary lapse on his record.

  ‘We’ll leave business until we’ve eaten.’

  ‘As you wish, Your Excellency.’

  But not even a Governor can be sure of his future. There was a bustle at the door, and a whole group of people came hurrying in, not merely the butler but two aides-de-camp and Gerard and – and – who was that? Pale and ragged and weary, almost unable to stand on tottering legs.

  ‘Spendlove!’ said Hornblower, his spoon clattering to the floor as he rose and hurried to him.

&nb
sp; Hornblower clasped his hand, grinning with delight. Perhaps there had never been a moment in his life which had held so much sheer pleasure for him.

  ‘Spendlove!’ He could only repeat the name at first.

  ‘Is this the return of the prodigal?’ asked Hooper from the table.

  Hornblower remembered his manners.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said, ‘may I take it upon myself to present my secretary, Mr Erasmus Spendlove?’

  ‘Glad to see you, young man. Take a seat at the table. Bring Mr Spendlove some food! He looks as if a glass of wine would not come amiss. Bring the decanter and a glass.’

  ‘You’re not wounded?’ asked Hornblower. ‘You’re not hurt?’

  ‘No, My Lord,’ said Spendlove, extending his legs cautiously under the table. ‘It is only that seventy miles on horseback have stiffened my unaccustomed limbs.’

  ‘Seventy miles?’ asked Hooper. ‘From where?’

  ‘Montego Bay, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Then you must have escaped in the night?’

  ‘At nightfall, Your Excellency.’

  ‘But what did you do, man?’ demanded Hornblower. ‘How did you get away?’

  ‘I jumped, My Lord. Into the water.’

  ‘Into the water?’

  ‘Yes, My Lord. There was eight feet of water in the river at the foot of the cliff; enough to break my fall from any height.’

  ‘So there was. But – but – in the dark?’

  ‘That was easy, My Lord. I looked over the parapet during the day. I did when I said good-bye to Your Lordship. I marked the spot and I measured the distance with my eye.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I jumped when it was fully dark, and raining hard.’

  ‘What were the pirates doing?’ asked Hooper.

  ‘They were taking shelter, Your Excellency. They were paying no attention to me, thinking I was safe enough there, with the ladder pulled up.’

  ‘And so—?’

  ‘So I took a run, Your Excellency, and jumped the parapet, as I said, and came down feet first into the water.’

  ‘Unhurt?’

  ‘Unhurt, Your Excellency.’

  Hornblower’s vivid imagination conjured up everything about the feat, the half-dozen strides through the dark and the roaring rain, the leap, the endless fall. He felt the hair at the back of his neck lifting.