“Please sit down, captain. Harkness, a glass of Madeira for Captain Hornblower. Or there is some Marsala that I can recommend, sir. Please forgive me for a moment. You will understand when I tell you these are letters from my wife.”
It was an upholstered chair in which Hornblower sat; under his feet was a thick carpet; there were a couple of pictures in gilt frames on the bulkheads; silver lamps hung by silver chains from the deckbeams. Looking round him while Collingwood eagerly skimmed through his letters, Hornblower thought of all this being hurriedly bundled away when the Ocean cleared for action. But what held his attention most was two long boxes against the great stern windows. They were filled with earth and were planted with flowers—hyacinths and daffodils, blooming and lovely. The scent of the hyacinths reached Hornblower’s nostrils where he sat. There was something fantastically charming about them here at sea.
“I’ve been successful with my bulbs this year,” said Collingwood, putting his letters in his pocket and following Hornblower’s glance. He walked over and tilted up a daffodil bloom with sensitive fingers, looking down into its open face. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? Soon the daffodils will be flowering in England—some time, perhaps, I’ll see them again. Meanwhile these help to keep me contented. It is three years since I last set foot on land.”
Commandersin-Chief might win peerages and pensions, but their children, too, grew up without knowing their fathers. And Collingwood had walked shottorn decks in a hundred fights; but Hornblower, looking at the wistful smile, thought of other things than battles—thirty thousand turbulent seamen to be kept disciplined and efficient, court-martial findings to be confirmed, the eternal problems of provisions and water, convoys and blockade.
“You will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner, Captain?” asked Collingwood.
“I should be honoured, my lord.”
It was gratifying to bring that phrase out pat like that, with hardly more than the least feeling of embarrassment.
“That is excellent. You will be able to tell me all the gossip of home. I fear there will be no other opportunity for some time, as Atropos will not be staying with the Fleet.”
“Indeed, my lord?”
This was a moment of high excitement, when the future was about to be revealed to him. But of course the excitement must not be allowed to appear; only the guarded interest of a selfcontained captain ready for anything.
“I fear so—not that you young captains with your saucy little ships want to stay tied to a fleet’s apron strings.”
Collingwood was smiling again, but there was something in the words that started a new train of thought in Hornblower’s mind. Of course, Collingwood had watched the advent of the newest recruit to his fleet with a keen eye. Hornblower suddenly realized that if Atropos had been clumsy in taking up station, or dilatory in answering signals, his reception here might not have been so pleasant. He might be standing at attention at this moment submitting with a tightshut mouth to a dressingdown exemplary in its drastic quality. The thought caused a little prickling of gooseflesh at the back of his neck. It reduced his reply to a not very coherent mumble.
“You have this man McCullum and his natives on board?” asked Collingwood.
“Yes, my lord.”
Only a little selfrestraint was necessary to refrain from asking what the mission would be; Collingwood would tell him.
“You are not acquainted with the Levant?”
“No, my lord.”
So it was to be the Levant, among the Turks and the Greeks and the Syrians.
“You soon will be, captain. After taking my dispatches to Malta you will convey Mr. McCullum to Marmorice Bay and assist him in his operations there.”
Marmorice Bay? That was on the coast of Asia Minor. The fleet and transports which had attacked Egypt some years ago had rendezvoused there. It was a far cry from Deptford.
“Aye aye, my lord,” said Hornblower.
“I understand you have no sailing master in Atropos.”
“No, my lord. Two master’s mates.”
“In Malta you will have a sailing master assigned to you. George Turner; he is familiar with Turkish waters and he was with the fleet in Marmorice. He took the bearings when Speedwell sank.”
Speedwell? Hornblower raked back in his memory. She was the transport which had capsized and sunk at her anchors in a sudden gale of wind in Marmorice Bay.
“Yes, my lord.”
“She had on board the military chest of the expeditionary force. I don’t expect you knew that.”
“No, indeed, my lord.”
“A very considerable sum in gold and silver coin for the pay and subsistence of the troops a quarter of a million sterling. She sank in water far deeper than any diver in the service could reach. But as no one knew what our gallant allies the Turks might contrive by way of salvage with infinite leisure it was decided to keep the loss a secret. And for once a secret remained a secret.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Certainly it was not common knowledge that a quarter of a million in coin lay at the bottom of Marmorice Bay.
“So the Government had to send to India for divers who could reach those depths.”
“I see, my lord.”
“Now it will be your duty to go to Marmorice Bay and with the assistance of McCullum and Turner to recover that treasure.”
“Aye aye, my lord.”
No imagination could ever compass the possible range of duties of a naval officer. But it was satisfactory that the words he had just uttered were the only ones a naval officer could say in such circumstances.
“You will have to be careful in your dealings with our friend the Turk. He will be curious about your presence in Marmorice, and when he ascertains the object of your visit he may raise objections. You will have to conduct yourself according to the circumstances of the moment.”
“Aye aye, my lord.”
“You will not find all this in your orders, captain. But you must understand that the Cabinet has no wish for complications with the Turks. Yet at the same time a quarter of a million sterling in cash would be a Godsend to the Government today—or any day. The money is badly needed, but no offense should be offered to the Turks.”
It was necessary to steer clear of Scylla and yet not fall into Charybdis, said Hornblower to himself.
“I think I understand, my lord.”
“Fortunately it is an unfrequented coast. The Turks maintain very small forces, either military or naval, in the locality. That does not mean that you should attempt to carry off matters with a high hand.”
Not in Atropos with eleven popguns a side, thought Hornblower, and then he mentally withdrew the sneer. He understood what Collingwood meant.
“No, my lord.”
“Very well then, captain, thank you.”
The secretary at Collingwood’s elbow had a pile of opened despatches in hand, and was clearly waiting for a break in the conversation to give him an opportunity to intervene, and the flag lieutenant was hovering in the background. Both of them moved in at once.
“Dinner will be in half an hour, my lord,” said the flag lieutenant.
“These are the urgent letters, my lord,” said the secretary.
Hornblower rose to his feet in some embarrassment.
“Perhaps, captain, you would enjoy a turn on the quarterdeck, eh?” asked Collingwood. “Flags here would keep you company, I’m sure.”
When a viceadmiral made suggestions to a captain and a flag lieutenant he did not have to wait long before they were acted upon. But out on the quarterdeck, pacing up and down making polite conversation, Hornblower could have wished that Collingwood had not been so thoughtful as to provide him with company. He had a great deal to think about.