And it was pleasant, later, when eating his dinner, to be able to congratulate himself on his duty done, orders given, all prepared. Those words of McCullum’s, “a cascade of silver,” ran in his mind as he sat and ate. It called for little imagination to conjure up a mental picture of the wreck down there in the translucent water, with her strong-room torn open and the silver in a frozen stream pouring out of it. Gray could have written a poem about it; and somewhere in that strong-room there was the gold. Life was good, and he was a fortunate man. He slowly consumed his last mouthful of roast lamb, and addressed himself to his lettuce salad, tender young plants, sweet and delicious, the first fruits of the Turkish spring.
Chapter XVI
The Turkish spring was not going to give way to summer without a last struggle, without calling the vanished winter back to her aid. The wind blew wildly and cold from the north-westward; the skies were grey, and the rain lashed down torrentially. It drummed upon the deck, streaming out through the scuppers; it poured in unexpected streams down from points in the rigging; even though it grudgingly gave to the crew the chance to wash their clothes in fresh water it denied them the opportunity of drying them again. Atropos swung fitfully to her anchor as the gusts blowing down from the surrounding mountains backed and veered, whipping the surface of the Bay into turbulent white-caps. Wind and rain seemed peculiarly searching. Everyone seemed to be colder and wetter than if the ship were battling a storm in mid-Atlantic, with the deck leaking as she worked in a sea way and the waves crashing down upon it; sulkiness and bad temper made their appearance among the ship’s company along with the cold and wet — lack of exercise and lack of occupation combined with the constant drumming of the rain to bring that about.
Walking upon the quarterdeck with the raindrops rattling upon his oilskin seemed to Hornblower to be a cheerless business, the more so until this gale dropped there would be no chance of continuing the salvage operations. Boxes of gold lay over there under that wind-whipped surface; he hated having to wait through these empty hours before knowing if they could be recovered. He hated the thought of having to rouse himself from his inertia and exert himself to re-establish the good spirits of the ship’s company, but he knew he must.
“Messenger!” he said, “my compliments to Mr. Smiley and Mr. Horrocks, and I’ll see them at once in my cabin.”
Half an hour later both watches were assembled on deck by divisions (“Half an hour I’ll give you to get it all arranged,” Hornblower had said) wearing only their duck trousers in the rain, the cold drops beating on their bare chests and feet. There was plenty of growling at the discomfort, but there was amusement among the topmen because every idler in the ship was there — “I’ll have ‘em all,” Hornblower had said, “waisters and holders, gunner’s crew and sailmaker’s crew.” And there was the excitement always attendant upon a race; and there was the compensation of seeing the three senior watch-keeping officers, Jones and Still and Turner, climbing the ratlines to take their places in the cross-trees to see that the racing was fair. Hornblower stood forward by the knightheads with his speaking trumpet so that the wind would carry his voice plainly along the deck.
“One to get steady!” he shouted. “Two to be ready! Three — and you’re off!”
It was a relay race, up the rigging of each mast in turn and down again, port watch against starboard; it was the inclusion of the men who rarely, if ever, went aloft that gave spice to the proceedings. Soon divisions down on deck were dancing with excitement as they watched the slow ascent and descent of some lumbering gurneys mate or ship’s corporal; until he completed the journey they were not free to dash to the next mast and start again.
“Come on, Fatty!”
The Pegasus-winged topmen to whom the ascent was a trifle leaped up and down on deck with never a thought for the streaming rain as some rival division, set free by the eventual descent of its last man, rushed loyally along the deck to the next mast while they were forced to stand and witness the cautious movements of the slowest of their own side.
Up went the men and down, round and across. The Prince of Seitz-Bunau came shrieking round the deck, wild with excitement; Horrocks and Smiley, captains of the two sides, were croaking like crows, their voices failing them with the continual shouting as they organized and encouraged. The cook’s mate, who was the last man of the port watch, was already close to the mainmast head when Horrocks, who had reserved himself to be the last of the starboard watch, began the ascent on the other side. Everyone in the ship seemed to be shouting and gesticulating. Up ran Horrocks, the shrouds vibrating with the ape-like speed of his passage. The cook’s mate reached the cross-trees and started down again.
“Come on, Fatty!”
The cook’s mate did not even look to see where to put his feet, and he was coming down two ratlines at a time. Horrocks reached the crosstrees and leaped for the deck stay. Down he came, sliding at a speed that must burn his hands. Cook’s mate and midshipman reached the deck together, but Horrocks had farther to run to reach his place with his division than did the cook’s mate. There was a final yell as both of them staggered gasping to their places, but the cook’s mate was first by a full yard, and every eye was turned towards Hornblower.
“Port watch wins!” he announced. “Starboard watch provides the entertainment tomorrow night!”
The port watch cheered again, but the starboard watch — Hornblower was observing them closely — was not humiliated. He could guess that there were plenty of men among them who were not too displeased at the thought of tomorrow exhibiting their talents to an audience and who were already planning their turns. He put his speaking trumpet to his lips again.
“Attention! Mr. Horrocks! Mr. Smiley! Dismiss your teams.”
Aft, beside the wardroom door, as Hornblower was returning to his cabin, there was an unusual figure, walking with slow steps under the supervision of the doctor.
“This is a pleasure, Mr. McCullum,” said Hornblower. “It’s good to see you out of your bed.”
“The incision has entirely healed, sir,” said Eisenbeiss, proudly. “Not only are the sutures removed, but I have judged it safe to remove the bristle from the wound, as the drainage was complete.”
“Excellent!” said Hornblower. “Then that arm will come out of its sling soon?”
“Within a few days. The broken ribs seem to have knitted well.”
“Still a bit stiff round here,” said McCullum, feeling his right armpit with his left hand. He was displaying none of his usual ill temper; but a convalescent, making his first attempt to walk, and with his wound under discussion, could feel so much in the centre of the picture as to be well disposed towards humanity.
“Well it might be,” said Hornblower. “A pistol bullet at twelve paces is not a welcome visitor. We thought we had lost you. At Malta they thought that bullet was in your lungs.”
“It would have been easier,” said Eisenbeiss, “if he had not been so muscular. The bullet could not be felt in that mass of muscle.”
McCullum fished from his left trouser pocket a small object which he handed to Hornblower.
“D’you see that?” asked McCullum. It was the bullet which Eisenbeiss had extracted, flattened and irregular. Hornblower had seen it before, but this was not the moment to say so. He marvelled over it in suitable terms, much to McCullum’s gratification.
“I think,” said Hornblower, “that this occasion should be observed with a fitting ceremony. I shall invite the wardroom to dine with me, and I can ask you two gentlemen first of all.”