There was a touching of hats and a general turning away of them all except Jones.
“There’s an Admiralty letter waiting for you, sir,” said the latter.
An Admiralty letter! Orders! The key to the future, which would reveal what was to be their fate—the words which might despatch him and the Atropos to China or Greenland or Brazil. Hornblower felt his excitement surge up again—it had hardly subsided in any case. Once more he checked himself from swallowing.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones. I’ll read it as soon as I have leisure.”
“Would you care to come below, sir?”
“Thank you.”
The captain’s quarters in the Atropos were as minute as Hornblower had expected; the smallest possible daycabin and nightcabin. They were so small that they were not bulkheaded off from one another; a curtain was supposed to be hung between them, but there was no curtain. There was nothing at all—no cot, no desk, no chair, nothing. Apparently Caldecott had made a clean sweep of all his belongings when he left the ship. There was nothing surprising about that, but it was inconvenient. The cabin was dark and stuffy, but as the ship was newly out of dry dock she had not yet acquired all the manifold smells which would impregnate her later.
“Where are these orders?” demanded Hornblower, brusque with his suppressed excitement.
“In my desk, sir. I’ll fetch ‘em at once.”
It could not be too quickly for Hornblower, who stood under the little skylight awaiting Jones’ return. He took the sealed package into his hand and stood holding it for a moment. This was an instant transition. The journey of the last twentyfour hours had been a longer period, but of the same kind—an interval between one kind of activity and another. The next few seconds would eventually transform the Atropos from an idle ship in the Thames to an active ship at sea, lookouts at the mastheads, guns ready for action, peril and adventure and death only just over the horizon if not alongside. Hornblower broke the seal—the foul anchor of the Admiralty, the most inappropriate emblem conceivable for a nation that ruled the sea. Looking up, he met Jones’ eyes, as the first lieutenant waited anxiously to hear what their fate was to be. Hornblower knew that he should have sent Jones away before breaking the seal, but it was too late now. Hornblower read the opening lines he could have announced beforehand what would be the first six words, or even the first twelve.
You are hereby requested and required, immediately upon receipt of these orders—
This was the moment; Hornblower savoured it for one half of one second.
–to wait upon Henry Pallender, Esq., Blue Mantle Pursuivant at Arms, at the College of Heralds—
“God Hess my soul,” said Hornblower.
“What is it, sir?” asked Jones.
“I don’t know yet,” answered Hornblower.
–there to consult with him upon the arrangements to be made for the funeral Procession by water of the late ViceAdmiral Lord Viscount Nelson—
“So that’s it,” said Hornblower.
“It’s what, sir?” asked Jones, but Hornblower could not spare the time at present to enlighten him.
–You will take upon yourself, by the authority of these order, the command of all officers, seamen, and Royal Marines to be engaged in the Procession aforesaid, likewise of all vessels, boats and barges belonging to the Cities of London and Westminster and to the City Companies. You will issue all the orders necessary for the Procession to be conducted in a seamanlike manner. You will, by your consultations with Henry Pallender, Esq., aforesaid, ascertain the requirements of Ceremonial and Precedence, but you are hereby charged, upon your peril, to pay strict attention to conditions of Tide and Weather so that not only may Ceremonial be observed, but also that no Danger or Damage may be incurred by the boats, barges, and vessels aforesaid, nor by their Crews and Passengers.
“Please, sir. Please, sir,” said Jones.
His thoughts came back into the little cabin.
“These are orders for me personally,” he said. “Oh—very well, you can read them if you wish to.”
Jones read them with moving lips and finally looked up at Hornblower with a bewildered compression.
“So the ship stays here, sir?” he asked.
“She certainly does. She is from this moment the flagship of the funeral procession,” said Hornblower. “I shall need a boat and boat’s crew at once. Oh yes, pen and paper to send a message to my wife.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“See there’s a good petty officer in the boat. She’ll be waiting a good deal ashore.”
“Aye aye, sir. We’re having men run every day.”
Of course desertion could be a very serious problem in a ship anchored here in the river, within swimming distance of shore and innumerable boats plying about, with the whole City of London close at hand into which a deserter might disappear. And there could be the question of liquor being surreptitiously sold on board from shore boats. And Hornblower had been on board for a full ten minutes and he was no wiser about the things he most wanted to know—about how Atropos was manned and officered, what she lacked, what was her material condition—than he had been yesterday. But all the problems with which he was so anxious to deal must for the moment be shelved, to be dealt with at intervals when this new strange duty permitted. The mere question of the furnishing of his cabin might demand more attention than he could spare at present. Hornblower knew from the newspaper he had read yesterday that Nelson’s body was at the Nore, awaiting a fair wind before being brought up to Greenwich. Time was pressing and there were orders in hundreds to be written, he did not doubt.
And so the moment of transition was over. If he had been allowed a thousand guesses as to what his orders would contain, he would never have thought of this particular duty. He could laugh about it if it were not so serious. He could laugh in any case, and he did. After a moment’s glance of surprise Mr. Jones decided that he should laugh too, and did so, obsequiously.
Chapter IV
“Black breeches?” asked Hornblower, startled.
“Of course. Black breeches and stockings, and mourning bands,” said Mr. Pallender solemnly.
He was an aged man, and although the top of his head was bald he wore the remainder of his white hair long, clubbed at the nape of his neck in a thick short queue tied with black ribbon. He had pale blue eyes, rheumy with age, and a thin pointed nose which in the chill of the room bore a small drop at its reddish tip—perhaps always bore one.
Hornblower made a note on the sheet of paper before him regarding the black breeches and stockings and mourning bands. He also made a mental note that he would have to obtain these things for himself as well, and he wondered where the money was coming from to do it.
“It would be best,” went on Mr. Pallender, “if the procession were to pass through the City at midday. Then the populace will have plenty of time to assembles and the apprentices can do a morning’s work.”
“I can’t promise that,” said Hornblower. “It depends on the tide.”
“The tide, Captain Hornblower? You must realize that this is a ceremonial in which the Court—His Majesty himself—is deeply interested.”
“But it has to depend on the tide all the same,” said Hornblower. “And even on the winds too.”
“Indeed? His Majesty will be most provoked if his ideas are scouted.”