In these conditions of doubtful neutrality it would be best for the first contact with the shore to be made by Basse. At least ostensibly the squadron had come to Kronstadt merely to bring him with his news to the Swedish Crown Prince. Hornblower had his barge hoisted out and sent Basse away in it, and the boat returned without him but with no other information. Basse had landed at the jetty, and the barge, in accordance with Hornblower’s orders, had immediately returned. Apart from the salute and the doctor’s visit the Russian Empire chose to ignore the British squadron’s existence.
“What sort of people do they think we are?” grumbled Bush, fretting, as usual, at inaction. Bush knew as well as Hornblower that in all matters of diplomacy it was best to display no eagerness at all, but he could not force himself to appear calm as Hornblower could. He gave a meaning glance at Hornblower’s full uniform and ribbon and star, donned so as to be ready for any official occasion whatever; he wanted Hornblower to proceed on shore to call on the local governor and put the whole situation to the test, but Hornblower was obstinate. He was waiting for an invitation. England had survived the storm in Europe so far without a Russian alliance, and future relations would be simplified if Russia were to make the first advances now — provided she did make them. His squadron was present merely to bring Basse to report to Bernadotte; if the Russian Government chose to take advantage of his presence to approach him, well and good. Otherwise he would have to devise some other plan.
“The telegraph hasn’t ceased working since Basse reached shore,” commented Bush, glass to eye. The three gaunt black arms of the semaphore on the top of the fortress were whirling busily round transmitting messages to the next station higher up the bay. Otherwise there was almost nothing to be seen; across the low land of the island were visible a few masts to mark the site of the naval dockyard; two or three merchant ships swung at anchor in that direction, and a few fishing-boats plied their trade.
“There goes a boat!” said Montgomery suddenly.
A smart pinnace was shooting out from the direction of the dockyard heading across the channel almost directly away from Nonsuch.
“Russian Imperial colours,” said Bush. “Can anyone see who’s onboard?”
But the pinnace was too far away for any details to be visible by telescope.
“I think I can see gold lace,” said Carlin, doubtfully.
“Much good that is,” said Bush. “A blind man would guess there was gold lace in a Russian navy pinnace at Kronstadt.”
The pinnace passed away into the distance, quartering across the broad channel until her white sail dwindled to a speck.
“Call me if anything happens, if you please, Captain Bush,” said Hornblower.
He went off below to his cabin; Brown relieved him of his heavy full-dress coat with the epaulettes, and, once more alone, he began to fidget about the cabin. He opened the case of pistols which Barbara had given him, read the card inside it — the last word he had received from her — and shut the case again. He stepped out into the stern gallery and returned to the cabin. The realization that he was worried annoyed him; he took down Archdeacon Coxe’s travels from the bookshelf and set himself seriously to read the Archdeacon’s intensely wearisome remarks about the condition of Russia, in the endeavour to inform himself more fully about the northern powers. But the words made sheer nonsense to him; he took up the slim volume of Childe Harold instead.
“Bombast and fustian,” he said to himself, flipping through the pages.
He heard six bells strike; it was still no later than eleven in the morning, and he could not possibly dine before two.
He got up from his chair and made himself lie on his cot, shut his eyes and grimly clenched his hands and tried to force himself to doze. He could not possibly go up on deck again and walk up and down, as he wanted to — that would be a public admission that he was restless and nervous. The minutes passed on leaden feet; he felt he had never felt so caged and unhappy before in his life.
Eight bells went, and he heard the watch relieved; it was like an eternity before he heard a bustle on the half-deck outside and someone knocked on the door. Hornblower settled himself in an attitude of complete relaxation on his cot.
“Come in!” he called, and he blinked and peered at the midshipman as if he had just awakened from a sound sleep.
“Boat heading towards us, sir,” said the midshipman.
“I’ll come up,” said Hornblower. “Pass the word for my cox’n.”
Brown helped him into his dress-coat, and he reached the deck while the boat was still some distance off.
“The same pinnace that we saw before, sir,” commented Hurst.
The pinnace came into the wind, and took in her mainsail while the bowman hailed the ship in Russian.
“Where’s Mr Braun?” said Hornblower.
The hail was repeated, and Braun translated.
“He is asking permission to hook on to us, sir. And he says he has a message for you.”
“Tell him to come alongside,” said Hornblower, This dependence upon an interpreter always irritated him.
The boat’s crew was smart, dressed in something like a uniform with blue shirts and white trousers, and in the stern-sheets, ready to mount the side, was an officer in military uniform, frogged across the breast in Hussar fashion. The Hussar came clumsily up the side, and glanced round, saluting the mass of gold lace which awaited him. Then he produced a letter, which he offered with a further explanation in Russian.
“From His Imperial Majesty the Tsar,” translated Braun with a catch in his voice.
Hornblower took the letter; it was addressed in French —
M. LE CHEF D’ESCADRE LE CAPITAINE SIR HORNBLOWER,
VAISSEAU BRITANNIQUE NOONSUCH.
Apparently the Tsar’s secretary, however competent he might be in other ways, was shaky regarding both British titles and spelling. The letter within was written in French as well — it was pleasant to be able to translate without Braun’s assistance.
The Imperial Palace of Peterhof
Grand Marshalate of the Imperial Court
May 30, 1812
SIR,
I am commanded by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of All the Russias to express to you His Imperial Majesty’s pleasure at hearing of your arrival in His Imperial Majesty’s waters. His Imperial Majesty and His Royal Highness the Prince of Sweden further command you to dinner at this palace to-day at four o’clock accompanied by your staff. His Excellency the Minister of Marine has put at your disposal a boat which will convey you and your party direct to the quay, and the officer who conveys this letter to you will serve as your guide.
Accept, sir, the assurances of my highest consideration,
KOTCHUBEY, Grand Marshal of the Court
“I am invited to dinner with the Tsar and Bernadotte,” said Hornblower to Bush; he handed over the letter, and Bush looked at it wisely with his head on one side as if he could read French.
“You’re going, I suppose, sir?”
“Yes.”
It would hardly be tactful to begin his first encounter with the Russian and Swedish authorities by refusing an Imperial and a royal command.
Hornblower suddenly glanced round to find half the officers of the ship hanging on his words. This public discussion of his affairs was not in the least dignified, and detracted vastly from the pomp and mystery which should surround a Commodore. He had fallen sadly away from his old standards.
“Have none of you anything better to do than stand about and gape?” he bellowed, rounding on the herd. “I can find mastheads even for senior officers if necessary.”
They began to slink away in gratifying fright, each one doing his best to avoid catching his eye as he glowered round him. That was a very desirable result. Then he became aware that the Hussar had yet another letter in his hand. He took it from him and glanced at the superscription.