“I see,” said Hornblower.
He thought of remarking that although His Majesty ruled the waves he had no more control over the tides than had his illustrious predecessor King Canute, but he thought better of it. Mr. Pallender was not the type to appreciate jokes about the limitations of the royal power. Instead Hornblower decided to imitate Mr. Pallender’s solemnity.
“Since the actual day of the ceremonial hasn’t yet been decided upon,” he said, “it might be possible to choose such a day as the tide serves best.”
“I suppose so,” conceded Mr. Pallender.
Hornblower made a note of the necessity of immediately consulting the tidetables.
“The Lord Mayor,” said Mr. Pallender, “Will not be present in person, but his representative will.”
“I understand.”
There would be some small relief in not being responsible for the person of the Lord Mayor, but not much, seeing that the eight most senior admirals in the Navy were going to be present, and were going to be his responsibility.
“Are you sure you won’t try a little of this brandy?” asked Mr. Pallender, giving the decanter a little push.
“No, thank you.”
Hornblower had no desire at all to drink brandy at this time of day; but now he knew what gave Mr. Pallender’s nose that reddish tip. Mr. Pallender sipped appreciatively before going on.
“Now as regards the minute guns—”
Along the processional route apparently there were fifteen points at which minute guns were to be fired, and his Majesty would be listening to see that they were properly timed. Hornblower covered more paper with notes. There would be thirtyeight boats and barges in the procession, to be assembled in the tricky tideway at Greenwich, marshalled in order, brought up to Whitehall Steps, and dispersed again after delivering over the body to a naval guard of honour assembled there which would escort it to the Admiralty to lie there for the night before the final procession to St. Paul’s.
“Can you tell me, sir,” asked Hornblower, “what kind of vessel these ceremonial barges are?”
He regretted the question as soon as he asked it; Mr. Pallender showed surprise that any man should not be familiar with ceremonial barges, but as for knowing how handy they were in choppy water, or even how many oars aside they rowed, that was of course more than could be expected of Mr. Pallender. Hornblower realized that the sooner he took one over, and rowed it over the course of the procession in the appropriate tidal conditions, timing every stage, the better. He went on adding to his pages of notes while Mr. Pallender went on with what to him was most important—the order of precedence of the boats; how the whole College of Heralds would be present, including Norroy King of Arms and himself, Blue Mantle Pursuivant; the Royal Dukes and the Admirals; the formalities to be observed at the embarkation and the landing; the Chief Mourner and the trainbearer, the pallbearers and the Family of the Deceased.
“Thank you, sir,” said Hornblower at last, gathering up his notes. “I will begin these preparations at once.”
“Greatly obliged, I’m sure, sir,” said Mr. Pallender, as Hornblower took his leave.
This was an operation as elaborate as Abercrombie’s landing on the Egyptian coast—and in the Mediterranean there were no tides to complicate arrangements. Thirtyeight boats with their crews and oarsmen; guards of honour; mourners and officials; there would be a thousand officers and men at least under Hornblower’s command. And Hornblower’s heart sank a little when he was able to take one of the barges from the hands of the workmen who were attaching the insignia to it in Deptford Yard, and conduct his own trials with it. It was a vast clumsy vessel, not much smaller and no more manageable then a cargo lighter. Forward in the open bows she pulled twelve oars; from midships aft she was covered with a vast canopy of solid construction, exposing an enormous area to the wind. The barge allotted to the conveyance of the Body (Mr. Pallender had made that capital letter quite obvious in their discussion) was being so covered with plumes that she would catch the wind like a frigate’s mainsail. There must be lusty oarsmen detailed to the task of rowing that barge along—and it would be best to have as nearly as complete a relief available as possibly hidden away under the canopy. But as she would head the procession, with the other boats taking station upon her, he must be careful not to overdo that. He must time everything exactly—up with the flood tide, arriving at Whitehall Steps precisely at slack water so that the complicated manoeuvres there could be carried out with the minimum of risk, and then back with the ebb, dispersing barges and crews along the route as convenient.
“My dear,” said Maria to him, in their bedroom at the “George.” “I fear I have little of your attention at present.”
“Your pardon, dear?” said Hornblower, looking round from the table at which he was writing. He was deep in plans for issuing a solid breakfast to a thousand men who would have small chance of eating again all day.
“I was telling you that I spoke to the midwife today. She seems a worthy woman. She will hold herself free from tomorrow. As she lives only in the next street there is no need for her to take up residence here until the time comes, which is fortunate—you know how little money we have, Horatio.”
“Yes, dear,” said Hornblower. “Have those black breeches of mine been delivered yet?”
It was a perfectly natural step from Maria’s approaching confinement to Hornblower’s black breeches, via the question of money, but Maria resented her husband’s apparent heartlessness.
“Do you care more for your breeches than for your child?” she asked, “—or for me?”
“Dearest,” answered Hornblower. He had to put down his pen and rise from his chair to comfort her. “I have much on my mind. I can’t tell you how much I regret it at this moment.”
This was the very devil. The eyes not only of London but of all England would be on that procession. He would never be forgiven if there was any blunder. But he had to take Maria’s hands in his and reassure her.
“You, my dear,” he said, smiling into her eyes, “are my all in all. There is nothing in my world as important as you are.”
“I wish I could be sure,” said Maria.
He kissed the hands he held.
“What can I say to make you sure?” he asked. “That I love you?”
“That would be pleasant enough,” said Maria.
“I love you, dear,” he said, but he had not had now a smile from her as yet, and he went on, “I love you more dearly even than my new black breeches.”
“Oh!” said Maria.
He had to labour the point to make sure that she understood he was both joking and tender.
“More dearly than a thousand pair of black breeches,” he said. “Could any man say more?”
She was smiling now, and she took her hands from his and laid them on his shoulders.
“Is that a compliment for me to treasure always?” she asked.
“It will always be true, my dear,” he said.
“You are the kindest of husbands,” she said, and the break in her voice showed that she meant it.
“With the sweetest of wives,” he answered. “And now may I go on with my work?”
“Of course, darling. Of course. I fear I am selfish. But—but—darling, I love you so. I love you so!”
“There, there,” said Hornblower patting her shoulder. Perhaps he felt as strongly over this business as Maria did, but he had much else to feel strongly about. And if he mismanaged these ceremonial arrangements the child to come might go on short commons with him on half-pay for life. And Nelson’s body was at this very moment lying in state at Greenwich, and the day after tomorrow was the date fixed for the procession, with the tide beginning to flood at eleven, and there was still much to be done. He was glad to get back to the writing of his orders. He was glad to go back on board Atropos and plunge into business there.