“Pardon, sir,” said Jones, “but your call caught me half shaved, and I judged it best to come at once.”
“Very well, Mr. Jones,” said Hornblower; he was not sorry that Jones had something to explain away while he himself was not ready with the definite orders that a good officer should be able to issue.
Under that embarrassing stare Jones had to speak again.
“Did you want me, sir?”
“Yes,” said Hornblower. “We are under orders for the Mediterranean.”
“Indeed, sir?” Mr. Jones’s remarks did not make any great contribution to the progress of the conversation.
“I want your report on how soon we can be ready for sea.”
“Oh, sir—”
Jones put his hand up to his face again; perhaps it was as long as it was because of his habit of pulling at his chin.
“Are stores and water complete?”
“Well, sir, you see—”
“You mean they are not?”
“N—no, sir. Not altogether.”
Hornblower was about to ask for an explanation, but changed his approach at the last second.
“I won’t ask why at present. How short are we?”
“Well, sir—” The wretched Jones entered into a hurried statement. They were twenty tons of water short. Bread, spirits, meat—
“You mean that with the Victualling Yard only across the river you have not kept the ship complete with stores?”
“Well, sir—” Jones tried to explain that he had not thought it necessary to draw supplies from day to day. “There was plenty of other work for the hands, sir, fitting out.”
“Watch bills? Station bills?”
These were the lists that allocated the hands to their duties and quarters in the ship.
“We’re twenty topmen short, sir,” said Jones pitifully.
“All the more reason to make the most of what we have.”
“Yes, sir, of course, sir.” Jones sought desperately in his mind for excuses for himself. “Some of our beef, sir—it—it isn’t fit to eat.”
“Worse than usual?”
“Yes, sir. Must be some of an old batch. Real bad, some of it.”
“In which tier?”
“I’ll ask the purser, sir.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“No, sir—yes, sir.”
Hornblower fell into deep thought again, but as once more he did not take his eyes from Jones’s face that did not help the delinquent first lieutenant to recover his equanimity. Actually Hornblower was condemning himself. During the few days he had held command of the Atropos he had been hard at work on the details of Nelson’s funeral, and then he had been preoccupied with his own family affairs, but all that was no excuse. The captain of a ship should be aware at every moment of the state of his command. He was savagely angry with himself. He hardly knew his officers’ names; he could not even estimate what sort of fight Atropos could put up—and yet he would not have to go very far down the river to find his ship likely to be in action.
“What about the gunner’s stores?” he asked. “Powder? Shot? Wads? Cartridges?”
“I’ll send for the gunner, sir, shall I?” asked Jones. He was desperate at all this revelation of his own inadequacies.
“I’ll see ‘em all in a minute,” said Hornblower. “Purser, gunner, bos’n, cooper, master’s mate.”
These were the subordinate heads of department responsible through the first lieutenant to the captain for the proper functioning of the ship.
“Aye aye, sir.”
“What the devil’s that noise?” asked Hornblower pettishly. For some minutes now there had been some sort of altercation on the quarterdeck over their heads. Strange voices were making themselves heard through the skylight.
“Shall I find out, sir?” asked Jones eagerly, hoping for some distraction. But as he spoke there was a knock at the cabin door.
“This’ll tell us,” said Hornblower. “Come in!”
Midshipman Horrocks opened the door.
“Mr. Still’s respects, sir, an’ there are some gentlemen come on board with an Admiralty letter for you, sir.”
“Ask them to come here.”
It could only be trouble of one sort or another, Hornblower decided, as he waited. One more distraction at a moment when he was about to be desperately busy. Horrocks ushered in two figures, one large and one diminutive, wearing glittering uniforms of green and gold—Hornblower had last seen them only yesterday at the Court of St. James’s, the German princeling and his bearleader. Hornblower rose to his feet, and Eisenbeiss stepped forward with an elaborate bow, to which Hornblower replied with a curt nod.
“Well, sir?”
Eisenbeiss ceremoniously handed over a letter; a glance showed Hornblower that it was addressed to him. He opened it carefully and read it.
You are hereby requested and required to receive into your ship His Serene Highness Ernst Prince of SeitzBunau, who has been rated as midshipman in His Majesty’s Navy. You will employ your diligence in instructing His Serene Highness in his new profession as well as in continuing his education in readiness for the day which under Providence may not be far distant, when His Serene Highness will again assume the government of his hereditary dominions. You will also receive into your ship His Excellency the Baron Otto von Eisenbeiss, Chamberlain and First Secretary of State to His Serene Highness. His Excellency was until recently practicing as a surgeon, and he has received from the Navy Office a warrant as such in His Majesty’s Navy. You will make use of His Excellency’s services, therefore, as Surgeon in your ship while, as far as naval discipline and the Articles of War allow, he continues to act as Chamberlain to His Serene Highness.
“I see,” he said. He looked at the odd pair in their resplendent uniforms. “Welcome aboard, Your Highness.”
The prince nodded and smiled, clearly without understanding.
Hornblower sat down again, and Eisenbeiss began to speak at once, his thick German accent stressing his grievances.
“I must protest, sir,” he said.
“Well?” said Hornblower, in a tone that might well have conveyed a warning.
“His Serene Highness is not being treated with proper respect. When we reached your ship I sent my footman on board to announce us so that His Highness could be received with royal honours. They were absolutely refused, sir. The man on the deck there—I presume he is an officer—said he had no instructions. It was only when I showed him that letter, sir, that he allowed us to come on board at all.”
“Quite right. He had no instructions.”
“I trust you will make amends, then. And may I remind you that you are sitting in the presence of royalty?”
“You call me ‘sir’,” snapped Hornblower. “And you will address me as my subordinate should.”
Eisenbeiss jerked himself upright in his indignation, so that his head came with a shattering crash against the deckbeam above; this checked his flow of words and enabled Hornblower to continue.
“As officers in the King’s service you should have worn the King’s uniform. You have your dunnage with you?”
Eisenbeiss was still too stunned to answer, even if he understood the word, and Horrocks spoke for him.
“Please, sir, it’s in the boat alongside. Chests and chests of it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Horrocks. Now, doctor, I understand you have the necessary professional qualifications to act as surgeon in this ship. That is so?”
Eisenbeiss still strove to retain his dignity.
“As Secretary of State I am addressed as ‘Your Excellency’,” he said.
“But as surgeon in this ship you are addressed as ‘doctor’. And that is the last time I shall overlook the omission of the word ‘sir’. Now. Your qualifications?”
“I am a surgeon—sir.”
The last word came out with a jerk as Hornblower’s eyebrows rose.
“You have been in practice recently?”
“Until a few months ago—sir. I was surgeon to the Court of Seitz-Bunau. But now I am—”