That was very true, and pleasant to write. So was the next passage. ‘It is with much gratification that I can inform you that the battery is completely wrecked. The parapet is thrown down along with the guns, and the gun-carriages destroyed, as will be understood because not less than one ton of gunpowder was exploded in the battery.’ There were four thirty-two pounders in that battery. A single charge for one of these guns was ten pounds of powder, and the magazine, sunk deep below the parapets, must have contained charges for fifty rounds per gun as a minimum. A crater had been left where once the parapet stood.
Not much more to write now. ‘The retreat was effected in good order. I append the list of killed, wounded, and missing.’ The rough list lay in front of him, and he proceeded to copy it out carefully; there were widows and bereaved parents who might derive consolation from the sight of those names in the Gazette. One seaman had been killed and several slightly wounded. He recorded their names and began a fresh paragraph. ‘Royal Marines. Killed. Captain Henry Jones. Privates —’ A thought struck him at this moment and he paused with his pen in the air. There was not only consolation in seeing a name in the Gazette; parents and widows could receive the back pay of the deceased and some small gratuity. He was still thinking when Bush came hurrying in the door.
“Cap’n, sir. I’d like to show you something from the deck.”
“Very well. I’ll come.”
He paused for only a short while. There was a single name in the paragraph headed ‘Seamen killed’ — James Johnson, Ordinary Seaman. He added another name. ‘John Grimes, Captain’s Steward’ and then he put down the pen and came out on deck.
“Look over there, sir,” said Bush, pointing eagerly ashore and proffering his telescope.
The landscape was still unfamiliar, with the semaphore gone and the battery — easily visible previously — replaced now by a mound of earth. But that was not what Bush was referring to. There was a considerable body of men on horseback riding along the slopes; through the telescope Hornblower could fancy he could detect plumes and gold lace.
“Those must be generals, sir,” said Bush excitedly, “come out to see the damage. The commandant, and the governor, an’ the chief engineer, an’ all the rest of ‘em. We’re nearly in range now, sir. We could drop down without their noticing, run out the guns smartly, full elevation, and — we ought to hit a target that size with one shot in a broadside at least, sir.”
“I think we could,” agreed Hornblower. He looked up at the wind-vane and over at the shore. “We could wear ship and —”
Bush waited for Hornblower to complete his speech, but the end never came.
“Shall I give the order, sir?”
There was another pause.
“No,” said Hornblower at last. “Better not.”
Bush was too good a subordinate to protest, but his disappointment showed plainly enough, and it was necessary to soften the refusal with an explanation. They might kill a general, although the odds were that it would merely be an orderly dragoon. On the other hand they would be drawing most forcible attention to the present weakness of this portion of coast.
“Then they’ll be bringing field batteries,” went on Hornblower, “only nine-pounders, but —”
“Yes, sir. They might be a nuisance,” said Bush in reluctant agreement. “Do you have anything in mind, sir?”
“Not me. Him,” said Hornblower. All operations of the Inshore Squadron were Pellew’s responsibility and should be to Pellets credit. He pointed towards the Inshore Squadron where Pellew’s broad pendant flew.
But the broad pendant was to fly there no longer. The boat that took Hornblower’s report to the Tonnant returned not only with stores but with official dispatches.
“Sir,” said Orrock, after handing them over. “The Commodore sent a man with me from the Tonnant who carries a letter for you.”
“Where is he?”
He seemed a very ordinary sort of seaman, dressed in the standard clothes of the slop chest. His thick blond pigtail, as he stood hat in hand, indicated that he had long been a seaman. Hornblower took the letter and broke the seal.
My dear Hornblower,
It is with infinite pain to myself that I have to confirm the news, conveyed to you in the official despatches, that your latest report will also be the last that I shall have the pleasure of reading. My flag has come, and I shall hoist it as Rear-Admiral commanding the squadron assembling for the blockade of Rochefort. Rear Admiral Wm. Parker will take over the command of the Inshore Squadron and I have recommended you to him in the strongest terms although your actions speak even more strongly for you. But Commanding officers are likely to have their favourites, men with whom they are personally acquainted. We can hardly quarrel on this score, seeing that I have indulged myself in a favourite whose initials are H.H.! Now let us leave this subject for another even more personal.
I noted in your report that you have had the misfortune to lose your steward, and I take the liberty to send you James Doughty as a substitute. He was steward of the late Captain Stevens of the Magnificent, and he has been persuaded to volunteer for the Hotspur. I understand that he has had much practical experience in attending to gentlemen’s needs, and I hope you will find him suitable and that he will look after you for many years. If during that time you are reminded of me by his presence I shall be well satisfied.
Your sincere friend,
Ed. Pellew
Even with all his quickness of mind it took Hornblower a little while to digest the manifold contents of this letter after reading it. It was all bad news; bad news about the change of command, and just as bad, although in a different way, that he was being saddled with a gentleman’s gentleman who would sneer at his domestic arrangements. Yet if there was anything that a naval career taught anybody, it was to be philosophic about drastic changes.
“Doughty?” said Hornblower.
“Sir.”
Doughty looked respectful, but there might be something quizzical in his glance.
“You’re going to be my servant. Do your duty and you have nothing to fear.”
“Yes, sir. No, sir.”
“You’ve brought your dunnage?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“The First Lieutenant will detail someone to show you where to sling your hammock. You’ll share a berth with my clerk.”
The captain’s steward was the only ordinary seaman in the ship who did not have to sleep in the tiers.
“Aye aye, sir.”