Lieutenant Hornblower

He was still smiling, and his smile gave no clue at all regarding his thoughts. It would be rude to press him further; it was possible that he and Buckland had been discussing some private business. Nobody looking at him could guess.

“Come off those hammocks, there!” bellowed Hornblower; the skylarking midshipmen were not breaking one of the rules of the ship, but it was a convenient moment to divert the conversation.

Three bells rang out; the first dogwatch was threequarters completed.

“Mr. Roberts, sir!” suddenly called the sentry at the smokers’ slow match by the hatchway. “Passing the word for Mr. Roberts!”

Roberts turned from the group.

“Who’s passing the word for me?” he asked, although with the captain ill there could only be one man in the ship who could pass the word for the second lieutenant.

“Mr. Buckland, sir. Mr. Buckland passing the word for Mr. Roberts.”

“Very well,” said Roberts, hurrying down the companion.

The others exchanged glances. This might be the moment of decision. Yet on the other hand it might be only a routine matter. Hornblower took advantage of the distraction to turn away from the group and continue his walk on the weather side of the ship; he walked with his chin nearly down on his breast, his drooping head balanced by the hands behind his back. Bush thought he looked weary.

Now there came a fresh cry from below, repeated by the sentry at the hatchway.

“Mr. Clive! Passing the word for Mr. Clive. Mr. Buckland passing the word for Mr. Clive!”

“Ohho!” said Lomax in significant tones, as the surgeon hurried down.

“Something happens,” said Carberry, the master.

Time went on without either the second lieutenant or the surgeon reappearing. Smith, under his arm the telescope that was the badge of his temporary office, touched his hat to Hornblower and prepared to relieve him as officer of the watch as the second dogwatch was called. In the east the sky was turning dark, and the sun was setting over the starboard quarter in a magnificent display of red and gold; from the ship towards the sun the surface of the sea was gilded and glittering, but close overside it was the richest purple. A flying fish broke the surface and went skimming along, leaving a transient, momentary furrow behind it like a grove in enamel.

“Look at that!” exclaimed Hornblower to Bush.

“A flying fish,” said Bush, indifferently.

“Yes! There’s another!”

Hornblower leaned over to get a better view.

“You’ll see plenty of them before this voyage is over,” said Bush.

“But I’ve never seen one before.”

The play of expression on Hornblower’s face was curious. One moment he was full of eager interest; the next he assumed an appearance of stolid indifference, as a man might pull on a glove. His service at sea so far, varied though it might be, had been confined to European waters; years of dangerous activity on the French and Spanish coasts in a frigate, two years in the Renown in the Cha

Bush looked up to see Roberts and Clive ascending the companionway in the gathering night, and turned eagerly towards them. Officers came from every part of the quarterdeck to hear what they had to say.

“Well, sir?” asked Lomax.

“He’s done it,” said Roberts.

“He’s read the secret orders, sir?” asked Smith.

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Oh!”

There was a pause before someone asked the inevitable silly question.

“What did they say?”

“They are secret orders,” said Roberts, and now there was a touch of pomposity in his voice—it might be to compensate for his lack of knowledge, or it might be because Roberts was now growing more aware of the dignity of his position as second in command. “If Mr. Buckland had taken me into his confidence I still could not tell you.”

“True enough,” said Carberry.

“What did the captain do?” asked Lomax.

“Poor devil,” said Clive. With all attention turned to him Clive grew expansive. “We might be fiends from the pit! You should have seen him cower away when we came in. Those morbid terrors grow more acute.”

Clive awaited a request for further information, and even though none was forthcoming he went on with his story.

“We had to find the key to his desk. You would have thought we were going to cut his throat, judging by the way he wept and tried to hide. All the sorrows of the world—all the terrors of hell torment that wretched man.”

“But you found the key?” persisted Lomax.

“We found it. And we opened his desk.”

“And then?”

“Mr. Buckland found the orders. The usual linen envelope with the Admiralty seal. The envelope had been already opened.”

“Naturally,” said Lomax. “Well?”

“And now, I suppose,” said Clive, conscious of the anticlimax, “I suppose he’s reading them.”

“And we are none the wiser.”

There was a disappointed pause.

“Bless my soul!” said Carberry. “We’ve been at war since ‘93. Nearly ten years of it. D’ye still expect to know what lies in store for you? The West Indies today—Halifax tomorrow. We obey orders. Helmalee—let go and haul. A bellyful of grape or champagne in a captured flagship. Who cares? We draw our four shillings a day, rain or shine.”

“Mr. Carberry!” came the word from below. “Mr. Buckland passing the word for Mr. Carberry.”

“Bless my soul!” said Carberry again.

“Now you can earn your four shillings a day,” said Lomax.

The remark was addressed to his disappearing back, for Carberry was already hastening below.

“A change of course,” said Smith. “I’ll wager a week’s pay on it.”

“No takers,” said Roberts.

It was the most likely new development of all, for Carberry, the master, was the officer charged with the navigation of the ship.

Already it was almost full night, dark enough to make the features of the speakers indistinct, although over to the westward there was still a red patch on the horizon, and a faint red trail over the black water towards the ship. The bi

“Officer of the watch!” said Buckland.

“Sir!” said Smith, coming forward in the darkness.

“We’re altering course two points. Steer southwest.”

“Aye aye, sir. Course southwest. Mr. Abbott, pipe the hands to the braces.”

The Renown came round on her new course, with her sails trimmed to the wind, which was now no more than a point on her port quarter. Carberry walked over to the bi

“Another pull on the weather forebrace, there!” yelled Smith. “Belay!”

The bustle of the change of course died away.

“Course sou’west, sir,” reported Smith.

“Very good. Mr. Smith.” said Buckland, by the rail.

“Pardon, sir,” said Roberts, greatly daring, addressing him as he loomed in the darkness. “Can you tell us our mission, sir?”

“Not our mission. That is still secret, Mr. Roberts.”