“Mr. Jones, I’d be glad if you’d call the midshipmen and master’s mates. I need half a dozen who can write a fair round hand.”
The cabin of the Atropos took on the appearance of a schoolroom, with the midshipmen sitting on mess stools at improvised tables, with inkwells and pens, copying out Hornblower’s drafts of the orders, and Hornblower going from one to another, like a squirrel in a cage, answering questions.
“Please, sir, I can’t read this word.”
“Please, sir, do I start a new paragraph here?”
It was one way of finding out something of the junior officers, of distinguishing them as individuals out of what had been so far a formless mass of officers; there were the ones who appealed for help at every turn, and the ones who could make deductions from the context; there were the stupid ones who wrote orders that made nonsense.
“Damn it, man,” said Hornblower. “Would anyone out of Bedlam say a thing like that—far less write it?”
“That’s what it looked like, sir,” said the midshipman stubbornly.
“God help us all,” said Hornblower in despair.
But that was the man who wrote a very clear hand; Hornblower put him on to the task of writing the beginnings of each letter.
H.M.S. Atropos at Deptford
Jan 6th 1806
Sir
By virtue of the powers entrusted to me by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty—
Other men could carry on from there, with a saving of time. The ninety different written orders with their duplicates were written at last, and distributed by midnight; crews and petty officers had been found from various sources for every boat that was to take part in the procession, rations allotted to them, their place in the line clearly stated—“You will take the seventeenth position, immediately after the barge of the CommanderinChief at the Nore and immediately preceding that of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers.”
The final arrangements were made with Mr. Pallender at two in the morning of the day of the procession, and Hornblower, yawning, could think of nothing else to be done. Yes, there was a final change to be made.
“Mr. Horrocks, you will come with me with the Body in the first barge. Mr. Smiley, you’ll command the second with the Chief Mourner.”
Horrocks was the stupidest of the midshipmen and Smiley the brightest—it had been natural to reserve the latter for himself, but now he realized how stupid Horrocks was, and how necessary it was to keep him under his own eye.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower fancied Smiley looked pleased at thus escaping from the direct supervision of his captain, and he pricked that bubble.
“You’ll have nine admirals and four captains as passengers, Smiley,” he said. “Including Admiral of the Fleet Sir Peter Parker and Lord St Vincent.”
Smiley did not look nearly as pleased at that.
“Mr. Jones, have the longboat with the hands at Greenwich Pier at six o’clock, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And call away the gig for me now.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I’ll be at the “George” until five. Send any messages there.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He still had a personal life; Maria was very near her time now.
On the deck there was a brisk westerly wind harping in the rigging, gusty, Hornblower noted. The barges would call for careful handling unless it dropped considerably. He stepped down into the gig.
“Make for Deptford Hard,” he ordered the coxswain, and clasped his coat close tightly round him, for the cabin of the Atropos had been hot with lamps and candles and many people. He walked up the Hard and knocked at the door of the “George;” from the window at the side there was a faint light showing and the window of their room above was illuminated. The door opened to reveal the landlady.”
“Oh, it’s you, sir. I thought it was the midwife. I’ve just sent Davie for her. Your good lady—”
“Let me by,” said Hornblower.
Maria was walking about the bedroom in her dressinggown; two candles illuminated the room, and the shadows of the bedtester and the other furniture moved in sinister fashion as Hornblower opened the door.
“Darling!” said Maria.
Hornblower came towards her, his hands held out.
“I hope all is well with you, dear,” he said.
“I think so. I—I hope so. It has only just begun,” said Maria.
They kissed.
“Darling,” said Maria. “How good of you to come here. I—I was hoping I should see you again before—before—my time came.”
“Not good of me,” said Hornblower. “I came because I wanted to come. I wanted to see you.”
“But you are so busy. Today is the day of the procession, is it not?”
“Yes,” said Hornblower.
“And our child will be born today. A little girl, dear? Or another little boy?”
“We’ll know soon,” said Hornblower. He knew which Maria wanted. “Whichever it is we’ll love her—or him.”
“That we shall,” said Maria.
The last syllable was jerked out of her more forcibly than necessary, and Maria’s face took on an expression of preoccupation.
“How is it, dearest?” asked Hornblower, concerned.
“Only a pain,” said Maria, smiling—forcing a smile, as Hornblower well knew. “They are not coming close together yet.”
“I wish I could help,” said Hornblower, in the manner of uncounted millions of fathers.
“You have helped by coming to me, my darling,” said Maria.
A bustle outside the door and a knock heralded the entrance of the midwife and the landlady.
“Well, well,” said the midwife. “So it has began, has it?”
Hornblower looked her over carefully. She was not neat—no one could be expected to be in those conditions—but she were at least sober, and her gaptoothed smile was kindly.
“I’ll have a look at you, ma’am,” said the midwife and then, with a sidelong glance, “Gentlemen will retire.”
Maria looked at him. She was trying so hard to appear unconcerned.
“I’ll see you again, dear,” said Hornblower, trying equally hard.
Outside the bedroom the landlady was cordial in her offers of hospitality.
“How about a go of brandy, sir? Or a glass o’ rum, hot?”
“No, thank you,” said Hornblower.
“The young gennelman’s sleeping in with one o’ the maids now,” explained the landlady. “He didn’t cry, no, not a sound, when we carried him in. A fine little fellow he is, sir.”
“Yes,” said Hornblower. He could smile at the thought of his little son.
“You’d better come into the coffeeroom, sir,” said the landlady. “There’s still what’s left of the fire there.”
“Thank you,” said Hornblower, with a glance at his watch. God, how time was passing!
“Your good lady will be all right,” said the landlady maternally. “It’ll be a boy, as sure as fate. I can tell by the way she was carrying.”
“Perhaps you’ll be right,” said Hornblower, and he looked at his watch again. He really must start preparations for the day.
“Now see here, please,” he said, and then he paused, as he made his mind clear itself of its preoccupation with Maria, and of its deadly fatigue. He began to list the things he needed from the bedroom upstairs, ticking them off on his fingers as he told them to the landlady. The black breeches and stockings, the epaulette and the best cocked hat, the sword and the mourning band.
“I’ll get ‘em, sir. You can dress in here—no one won’t disturb you, not at this time o’ night.”