“Message from Mr Bush, sir. The boat’s waiting.”
What was he to do? Ask Bush to write Maria a note and send it by a shore boat? No, he would have to risk being late — Maria could not bear to receive second hand messages at this time of all times. A hurried scribble with the left-handed quill.
My own darling,
So much pleasure in seeing you, but not a moment to spare yet. I will write to you at length.
Your devoted husband,
H.
He used that initial in all his letters to her; he did not like his first name and he could not bring himself to sign ‘Harry’. Damn it all, here was the half-finished letter, interrupted earlier that day and never completed. He thrust it aside and struggled to apply a wafer to the finished note. Seven months at sea had destroyed every vestige of gum and the wafer would not adhere. Doughty was hovering over him with sword and hat and cloak — Doughty was just as aware of the necessity for punctuality as he was. Hornblower gave the open note to Bush.
“Seal this, if you please, Mr Bush. And send it by shore boat to Mrs Hornblower on the pier. Yes, she’s on the pier. By a shore boat, Mr Bush; no one from the ship’s to set foot on land.”
Down the side and into the boat. Hornblower could imagine the explanatory murmur through the crowd on the pier, as Maria would learn from better informed bystanders what was going on.
“That’s the captain going down into the boat.” She would feel a surge of excitement and happiness. The boat shoved off, the conditions of wind and current dictating that her bow was pointing right at the pier; that would be Maria’s moment of highest hope. Then the boat swung round while the hands hauled at the halliards and the balance-lug rose up the mast. Next moment she was flying towards the flagship, flying away from Maria without a word or a sign, and Hornblower felt a great welling of pity and remorse within his breast.
Hewitt responded to the flagship’s hail, turned the boat neatly into the wind, dropped the sail promptly, and with the last vestige of the boat’s way ran her close enough to the starboard main-chains for the bowman to hook on. Hornblower judged his moment and went up the ship’s side. As his head reached the level of the main-deck the pipes began to shrill in welcome. And through that noise Hornblower heard the three sharp double strokes of the ship’s bell. Six bells in the afternoon watch; three o’clock, the time stated in his invitation.
The great stern cabin in the Hibernia was furnished in a more subdued fashion than Pellew had affected in the Tonnant, more Spartan and less lavish, but comfortable enough. Somewhat to Hornblower’s surprise there were no other visitors; present in the cabin were only Cornwallis, and Collins, the sardonic Captain of the Fleet, and the flag lieutenant, whose name Hornblower vaguely heard as one of these new-fangled double barrelled names with a hyphen.
Hornblower was conscious of Cornwallis’s blue eyes fixed upon him, examining him closely in a considering, appraising way that might have unsettled him in other conditions. But he was still a little preoccupied with his thoughts about Maria, on the one hand, while on the other seven months at sea, seven weeks of continuous storms, provided all necessary excuse for his shabby coat and his seaman’s trousers. He could meet Cornwallis’s glance without shyness. Indeed, the effect of Cornwallis’s kindly but unsmiling expression was much modified because his wig was slightly awry; Cornwallis still affected a horsehair bobwig of the sort that was now being relegated by fashion to noblemen’s coachmen, and today it had a rakish cant that dissipated all appearance of dignity.
Yet, wig or no wig, there was something in the air, some restraint, some tension, even though Cornwallis was a perfect host who did the honours of his table with an easy grace. The quality of the atmosphere was such that Hornblower hardly noticed the food that covered the table, and he felt acutely that the polite conversation was guarded and cautious. They discussed the recent weather; Hibernia had been in Tor Bay for several days, having run for shelter just in time to escape the last hurricane.
“How were your stores when you came in, Captain?” asked Collins.
Now here was another sort of atmosphere, something artificial. There was an odd quality about Collins’ tone, accentuated by the formal ‘Captain’, particularly when addressed to a lowly Commander. Then Hornblower identified it. This was a stilted and prepared speech, exactly of the same nature as his recent speech to Bush regarding the admission of women to the ship. He could identity the tone, but he still could not account for it. But he had a commonplace answer, so commonplace that he made it in a commonplace way.
“I still had plenty, sir. Beef and pork for a month at least.”
There was a pause a shade longer than natural, as if the information was being digested, before Cornwallis asked the next question in a single word.
“Water?”
“That was different, sir. I’d never been able to fill my casks completely from the hoys. We were pretty low when we got in. That was why we ran for it.”
“How much did you have?”
“Two days at half-rations, sir. We’d been on half-rations for a week, and two-thirds rations for four weeks before that.”
“Oh,” said Collins, and in that instant the atmosphere changed.
“You left very little margin for error, Hornblower,” said Cornwallis, and now he was smiling, and now Hornblower in his innocence realized what had been going on. He had been suspected of coming in unnecessarily early, of being one of those captains who wearied of combating tempests. Those were the captains Cornwallis was anxious to weed out from the Channel Fleet, and Hornblower had been under consideration for weeding out.
“You should have come in at least four days earlier,” said Cornwallis.
“Well, sir —” Hornblower could have covered himself by quoting the orders of Chambers of the Naiad, but he saw no reason to, and he changed what he was going to say. “It worked out all right in the end.”
“You’ll be sending in your journals, of course, sir?” asked the flag lieutenant.
“Of course,” said Hornblower.
The ship’s log would be documentary proof of his assertions, but the question was a tactless, almost an insulting one, impugning of his veracity, and Cornwallis instantly displayed a hot-tempered impatience at this awkwardness on the part of his flag lieutenant.
“Captain Hornblower can do that all in his own good time,” he said. “Now, wine with you, sir?”
It was extraordinary how pleasant the meeting had become; the change in the atmosphere was as noticeable as the change in the lighting at this moment when the stewards brought in candles. The four of them were laughing and joking when Newton, captain of the ship, came in to make his report and for Hornblower to be presented to him.
“Wind’s steady at west nor’west, sir,” said Newton.
“Thank you, captain.” Cornwallis rolled his blue eyes on Hornblower. “Are you ready for sea?”
“Yes, sir.” There could be no other reply.
“The wind’s bound to come easterly soon,” meditated Cornwallis. “The Downs, Spithead, Plymouth Sound — all of them jammed with ships outward bound and waiting for a fair wind. But one point’s all you need with Hotspur.”
“I could fetch Ushant with two tacks now, sir,” said Hornblower. There was Maria huddled in some lodging in Brixham at this moment, but he had to say it.
“M’m,” said Cornwallis, still in debate with himself. “I’m not comfortable without you watching the Goulet, Hornblower. But I can let you have one more day at anchor.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That is if the wind doesn’t back any further.” Cornwallis reached a decision. “Here are your orders. You sail at nightfall tomorrow. But if the wind backs one more point you hoist anchor instantly. That is, with the wind at nor’west by west.”