“You’ll need three months’ provisions and water.”
“I can stow a hundred and eleven days at full rations, sir. The cooperage is delivering the water-butts at noon. I’ll have it all stowed by nightfall, sir.”
“Have you warped her out?”
“Yes, sir. She’s at anchor now in Spithead.”
“You’ve done well,” said Cornwallis.
Hornblower tried not to betray his relief at that speech; from Cornwallis that was more than approval—it was hearty praise.
“Thank you, sir.”
“So what do you need now?”
“Bos’n’s stores, sir. Cordage, canvas, spare spars.”
“Not easy to get the dockyard to part with those at this moment. I’ll have a word with them. And then the ordnance stores, you say?”
“Yes, sir. Ordnance are waiting for a shipment of nine-pounder shot. None to be had here at the moment.”
Ten minutes ago Hornblower had been thinking of words to please Maria. Now he was selecting words for an honest report to Cornwallis.
“I’ll deal with that, too,” said Cornwallis. “You can be certain of sailing the day after tomorrow if the wind serves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now for your orders. You’ll get them in writing in the course of the day, but I’d better tell you now, while you can ask questions. War’s coming. It hasn’t been declared yet, but Boney may anticipate us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to blockade Brest as soon as I can get the fleet to sea, and you’re to go ahead of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re not to do anything to precipitate war. You’re not to provide Boney with an excuse.”
“No, sir.”
“When war’s declared you can of course take the appropriate action. Until then you have merely to observe. Keep your eye on Brest. Look in as far as you can without provoking fire. Count the ships of war—the number and rate of ships with their yards crossed, ships still in ordinary, ships in the roads, ships preparing for sea.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Boney sent the best of his ships and crews to the West Indies last year. He’ll have more trouble manning his fleet even than we have. I’ll want your report as soon as I arrive on the station. What’s the Hotspur’s draught?”
“She’ll draw thirteen feet aft when she’s complete with stores, sir.”
“You’ll be able to use the Goulet pretty freely, then. I don’t have to tell you not to run her aground.”
“No, sir.”
“But remember this. You’ll find it hard to perform your duty unless you risk your ship. There’s folly and there’s foolhardiness on one side, and there’s daring and calculation on the other. Make the right choice and I’ll see you through any trouble that may ensue.”
Cornwallis’s wide blue eyes looked straight into Hornblower’s brown ones. Hornblower was deeply interested in what Cornwallis had just said, and equally interested in what he had left unsaid. Cornwallis had made a promise of sympathetic support, but he had refrained from uttering the threat which was the obvious corollary. This was no rhetorical device, no facile trick of leadership—it was a simple expression of Cornwallis’s natural state of mind. He was a man who preferred to lead rather than to drive; most interesting.
Hornblower realized with a start that for several seconds be had been staring his commander-in-chief out of countenance while following up this train of thought; it was not the most tactful behaviour, perhaps.
“I understand, sir,” he said, and Cornwallis rose from his chair.
“We’ll meet again at sea. Remember to do nothing to provoke war before war is declared,” he said, with a smile—and the smile revealed the man of action. Hornblower could read him as someone to whom the prospect of action was stimulating and desirable and who would never seek reasons or excuses for postponing decisions.
Cornwallis suddenly withheld his proffered hand.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I was forgetting. This is your wedding day.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were only married this morning?”
“An hour ago, sir.”
“And I’ve taken you away from your wedding breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” It would be cheap rhetoric to add anything trite like ‘For King and Country,’ or even ‘Duty comes first.’
“Your good lady will hardly be pleased.”
Nor would his mother-in-law, more especially, thought Hornblower, but again it would not be tactful to say so.
“I’ll try to make amends, sir,” he contented himself with saying.
“It’s I who should make amends,” replied Cornwallis. “Perhaps I could join the festivities and drink the bride’s health?”
“That would be most kind of you, sir,” said Hornblower.
If anything could reconcile Mrs Mason to his breach of manners, it would be the presence of Admiral the Hon. Sir William Cornwallis, K.B., at the breakfast table.
“I’ll come, then, if you’re certain I shan’t be unwelcome. Hachett, find my sword. Where’s my hat?”
So that when Hornblower appeared again through the door of the coffee-room Mrs Mason’s instant and bitter reproaches died away on her lips, the moment she saw that Hornblower was ushering in an important guest. She saw the glittering epaulettes, and the red ribbon and the star which Cornwallis had most tactfully put on in honour of the occasion. Hornblower made the introductions.
“Long life and much happiness,” said Cornwallis, bowing over Maria’s hand, “to the wife of one of the most promising officers in the King’s service.”
Maria could only bob, overwhelmed with embarrassment in this glittering presence.
“Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Sir William,” said Mrs Mason.
And the parson and his wife, and the few neighbours of Mrs Mason’s who were the only other guests, were enormously gratified at being in the same room as—let alone being personally addressed by—the son of an Earl, a Knight of the Bath, and a Commander-in-chief combined in one person.
“A glass of wine, sir?” asked Hornblower.
“With pleasure.”
Cornwallis took the glass in his hand and looked round: It was significant that it was Mrs Mason whom he addressed.
“Has the health of the happy couple been drunk yet?”
“No, sir,” answered Mrs Mason, in a perfect ecstasy.
“Then may I do so? Ladies, gentlemen. I ask you all to stand and join me on this happy occasion. May they never know sorrow. May they always enjoy health and prosperity. May the wife always find comfort in the knowledge that the husband is doing his duty for King and Country, and may the husband be supported in his duty by the loyalty of the wife. And let us hope that in time to come there will be a whole string of young gentlemen who will wear the King’s uniform after their father’s example, and a whole string of young ladies to be mothers of further young gentlemen. I give you the health of the bride and groom.”
The health was drunk amid acclamation, with all eyes turned on the blushing Maria, and then from her all eyes turned on Hornblower. He rose; he had realized, before Cornwallis had reached the midpoint of his speech, that the Admiral was using words he had used scores of times before, at scores of weddings of his officers. Hornblower, keyed up on the occasion, met Cornwallis’s eyes and grinned. He would give as good as he got; he would reply with a speech exactly similar to the scores that Cornwallis had listened to.
“Sir William, ladies and gentlemen, I can only thank you in the name of”—Hornblower reached down and took Maria’s hand—“my wife and myself.”
As the laughter died away—Hornblower had well known that the company would laugh at his mention of Maria as his wife, although he himself did not think it a subject for laughter—Cornwallis looked at his watch, and Hornblower hastened to thank him for his presence and to escort him to the door. Beyond the threshold Cornwallis turned and thumped him on the chest with his large hand.