It was on the second day that Bailey provided a moment’s distraction for Hornblower while Hotspur still reached out into the Atlantic to gain her offing.
“This was in the pocket of your nightshirt, sir. I found it when I was going to wash it.”
It was a folded piece of paper with a note written on it, and that note must have been written the evening that Hotspur lay in Cadiz Bay — Bailey clearly did not believe in too frequent washing of nightshirts.
Sir -
The Cabin Stores are short of Capers and Cayenne.
Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir.
Your Humble obedient Servant
J. Doughty.
Hornblower crumpled the paper in his hand. It was painful to be reminded of the Doughty incident. This must be the very last of it.
“Did you read this, Bailey?”
“No, sir. I’m no scholar, sir.”
That was the standard reply of an illiterate in the Royal Navy, but Hornblower was not satisfied until he had taken a glance at the ship’s muster rolls and seen the ‘X’ against Bailey’s name. Most Scotsmen could read and write — it was fortunate that Bailey was an exception.
So Hotspur continued close-hauled, first on the starboard tack and then on the port, carrying sail very tenderly on her wounded main-yard, while she made her way northward over the grey Atlantic until at last she weathered Finisterre and could run two points free straight for Ushant along the hypotenuse of the Bay of Biscay. It snowed on New Year’s Eve just as it had snowed last New Year’s Eve when Hotspur had baulked Bonaparte’s attempted invasion of Ireland. It was raining and bleak, and thick weather closely limited the horizon when Hotspur attained the latitude of Ushant and groped her way slowly forward in search of the Channel Fleet. The Thunderer loomed up in the mist and passed her on to the Majestic, and the Majestic passed her on until the welcome word “Hibernia” came back in reply to Bush’s hail. There was only a small delay while the news of Hotspur‘s arrival was conveyed below to the Admiral before the next hail came; Collins’s voice, clearly recognizable despite the speaking-trumpet.
“Captain Hornblower?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you kindly come aboard?”
Hornblower was ready this time, so closely shaved that his cheeks were raw, his best coat on, two copies of his report in his pocket.
Cornwallis was shivering, huddled in a chair in his cabin, a thick shawl over his shoulders and another over his knees, and presumably with a hot bottle under his feet. With his shawls and his wig he looked like some old woman until he looked up with his china blue eyes.
“Now what in the world have you been up to this time, Hornblower?”
“I have my report here, sir.”
“Give it to Collins. Now tell me.”
Hornblower gave the facts as briefly as he could.
“Moore was furious at your parting company, but I think he’ll excuse you when he hears about this. Medusa never acknowledged your signal?”
“No, sir.”
“You did quite right in hanging on to Félicité. I’ll endorse your report to that effect. Moore ought to be glad that there was one ship fewer to share his prize money.”
“I’m sure he didn’t give that a thought, sir.”
“I expect you’re right. But you, Hornblower. You could have turned a blind eye to the Félicité — there’s a precedent in the Navy for turning a blind eye. Then you could have stayed with Moore and shared the prize money.”
“If Félicité had escaped round Cape St Vincent there might not have been any prize money, sir.”
“I see. I quite understand.” The blue eyes had a twinkle. “I put you in the way of wealth and you disdain it.”
“Hardly that, sir.”
It was a sudden revelation to Hornblower that Cornwallis had deliberately selected him and Hotspur to accompany Moore and share the prize money. Every ship must have been eager to go; conceivably this was a reward for months of vigilance in the Goulet.
Now Collins entered the conversation.
“How are your stores?”
“I’ve plenty, sir. Food and water for sixty more days on full rations.”
“What about your powder and shot?” Collin’ tapped his finger on Hornblower’s report, which he had been reading.
“I’ve enough for another engagement, sir.”
“And your ship?”
“We’ve plugged the shot holes, sir. We can carry sail on the main-yard as long as it doesn’t blow too strong.”
Cornwallis spoke again.
“Would it break your heart if you went back to Plymouth?”
“Of course not, sir.”
“That’s as well, for I’m sending you in to refit.”
“Aye aye, sir. When shall I sail?”
“You’re too restless even to stay to dinner?”
“No, sir.”
Cornwallis laughed outright. “I wouldn’t like to put you to the test.”
He glanced up at the tell-tale wind-vane in the deck beams above. Men who had spent their whole lives combating the vagaries of the wind all felt alike in that respect; when a fair wind blew it was sheer folly to waste even an hour on a frivolous pretext.
“You’d better sail now,” went on Cornwallis. “You know I’ve a new second in command?”
“No, sir.”
“Lord Gardner. Now that I have to fight the Dons as well as Boney I need a vice-admiral.”
“I’m not surprised, sir.”
“If you sail in this thick weather you won’t have to salute him. That will save the King some of his powder that you’re so anxious to burn. Collins, give Captain Hornblower his orders.”
So he would be returning once more to Plymouth. Once more to Maria.
Chapter 24
“It really was a magnificent spectacle,” said Maria
The Naval Chronicle, at which Hornblower was glancing while conversing with her, used those identical words ‘magnificent spectacle’.
“I’m sure it must have been, dear.”
Under his eyes was a description of the landing of the Spanish treasure at Plymouth from the frigates captured by Moore’s squadron. Military precautions had of course been necessary when millions of pounds in gold and silver had to be piled into wagons and dragged through the streets up to the Citadel, but the fanfare had exceeded military necessity. The Second Dragoon Guards had provided a mounted escort, the Seventy-First Foot had marched with the wagons, the local militia had lined the streets, and every military band for miles round had played patriotic airs. And when the treasure was moved on to London troops had marched with it and their bands had marched with them, so that every town through which the convoy passed had been treated to the same magnificent spectacle. Hornblower suspected that the government was not averse to calling the attention of as many people as possible to this increase in the wealth of the country, at a moment when Spain had been added to the list of England’s enemies.
“They say the captains will receive hundreds of thousands of pounds each,” said Maria. “I suppose it will never be our good fortune to win anything like that, dear?”
“It is always possible,” said Hornblower.
It was astonishing, but most convenient, that Maria was quite unaware of any connexion between Hotspur‘s recent action with Félicité and Moore’s capture of the flota. Maria was shrewd and sharp, but she was content to leave naval details to her husband, and it never occurred to her to inquire how it had come about that Hotspur, although attached to the Channel Fleet off Ushant, had found herself off Cape St Vincent. Mrs Mason might have been more inquisitive, but she, thank God, had returned to Southsea.