Lieutenant Hornblower

“I’d like Mr. Hornblower to come with me, sir,” he said; it seemed almost without his volition that the words came from his mouth; a softhearted elder brother might have said much the same thing, burdening himself with the presence of a much younger brother out of kindness of heart when contemplating some pleasant day’s activities.

And as he spoke he received a glance in return from Hornblower that stifled at birth any regrets he may have felt at allowing his sentiments to influence his judgment. There was so much of relief, so much of gratitude, in the way Hornblower looked at him that Bush experienced a kindly glow of magnanimity; he felt a bigger and better man for what he had done. Naturally he did not for a moment see anything incongruous about Hornblower’s being grateful for a decision that would put him in peril of his life.

“Very well, Mr. Bush,” said Buckland; typically, he wavered for a space after agreeing. “That will leave me with only one lieutenant.”

“Carberry could take watch, sir,” replied Bush. “And there are several among the master’s mates who are good watchkeeping officers.”

It was as natural for Bush to argue down opposition once he had committed himself as it might be for a fish to snap at a lure.

“Very well,” said Buckland again, almost with a sigh. “And what is it that’s troubling you, Mr. Hornblower?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“There was something you wanted to say. Out with it.”

“Nothing important, sir. It can wait. But I was wondering about altering course, sir. We can head for Scotchman’s Bay now and waste no time.”

“I suppose we can.” Buckland knew as well as any officer in the navy that the whims of wind and weather were unpredictable, and that action upon any decision at sea should in consequence never be delayed, but he was likely to forget it unless he were prodded. “Oh, very well. We’d better get her before the wind, then. What’s the course?”

After the bustle of wearing the ship round had died away Buckland led the way back to his cabin and threw himself wearily into his chair again. He put on a whimsical air to conceal the anxiety which was now consuming him afresh.

“We’ve satisfied Mr. Hornblower for a moment,” he said. “Now let’s hear what you need, Mr. Bush.”

The discussion regarding the proposed expedition proceeded along normal lines: the men to be employed, the equipment that was to be issued to them, the rendezvous that had to be arranged for next morning. Hornblower kept himself studiously in the background as these points were settled.

“Any suggestions, Mr. Hornblower?” asked Bush at length. Politeness, if not policy as well, dictated the question.

“Only one, sir. We might have with us some boat grapnels with lines attached. If we have to scale the walls they might be useful.”

“That’s so,” agreed Bush. “Remember to see that they’re issued.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Do you need a messenger, Mr. Hornblower?” asked Buckland.

“It might be better if I had one, sir.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I’d prefer to have Wellard, sir, if you’ve no objection. He’s coolheaded and thinks quickly.”

“Very well.” Buckland looked hard at Hornblower at the mention of Wellard’s name, but said nothing more on the subject for the moment.

“Anything else? No? Mr. Bush? All settled?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bush.

Buckland drummed with his fingers on the table. The recent alteration of course had not been the decisive move; it did not commit him to anything. But the next order would. If the hands were roused out, arms issued to them, instructions given for a landing, he could hardly draw back. Another attempt; maybe another failure; maybe a disaster. It was not in his power to command success, while it was certainly in his power to obviate failure by simply not risking it. He looked up and met the gaze of his two subordinates turned on him remorselessly. No, it was too late now—he had been mistaken when he thought he could draw back. He could not.

“Then it only remains to issue the orders,” he said. “Will you see to it, if you please?”

“Aye aye, sir,” said Bush.

He and Hornblower were about to leave the cabin when Buckland asked the question he had wanted to ask for so long. It necessitated an abrupt change of subject, even though the curiosity that inspired the question had been reawakened by Hornblower’s mention of Wellard. But Buckland, full of the virtuous glow of having reached a decision, felt emboldened to ask the question; it was a moment of exaltation in any case, and confidences were possible.

“By the way, Mr. Hornblower,” he said, and Hornblower halted beside the door, “how did the captain come to fall down the hatchway?”

Bush saw the expressionless mask take the place of the eager look on Hornblower’s face. The answer took a moment or two to come.

“I think he must have overbalanced, sir,” said Hornblower, with the utmost respect and a complete absence of feeling in his voice. “The ship was lively that night, you remember, sir.”

“I suppose she was,” said Buckland; disappointment and perplexity were audible in his tone. He stared at Hornblower, but there was nothing to be gleaned from that face. “Oh, very well then. Carry on.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Chapter IX

The sea breeze had died away with the cooling of the land, and it was that breathless time of night when air pressures over land and ocean were evenly balanced. Not many miles out at sea the trade winds could blow, as they blew eternally, but here on the beach a humid calm prevailed. The long swell of the Atlantic broke momentarily at the first hint of shallows far out, but lived on, like some once vigorous man now feeble after an illness, to burst rhythmically in foam on the beach to the westward; here, where the limestone cliffs of the Samaná peninsula began, there was a sheltered corner where a small watercourse had worn a wide gully in the cliff, at the most easterly end of the wide beach. And sea and surf and beach seemed to be afire; in the dark night the phosphorescence of the water was vividly bright, heaving up with the surf, ru

Both landing and ascent were easy at the foot of the gully; the launches nuzzled their bows into the sand and the landing party had only to climb out, thighdeep in the water—thigh-deep in liquid fire—holding their weapons and cartridge boxes high to make sure they were not wetted. Even the experienced seamen in the party were impressed by the brightness of the phosphorescence; the raw hands were excited by it enough to raise a bubbling chatter which called for a sharp order to repress it. Bush was one of the earliest to climb out of his launch; he splashed ashore and stood on the unaccustomed solidity of the beach while the others followed him; the water streamed down out of his soggy trouser legs.

A dark figure appeared before him, coming from the direction of the other launch.

“My party is all ashore, sir,” it reported.

“Very good, Mr. Hornblower.”

“I’ll start up the gully with the advanced guard then, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Hornblower. Carry out your orders.”

Bush was tense and excited, as far as his stoical training and phlegmatic temperament would allow him to be; he would have liked to plunge into action at once, but the careful scheme worked out in consultation with Hornblower did not allow it. He stood aside while his own party was being formed up and Hornblower called the other division to order.

“StarbowLines! Follow me closely. Every man is to keep in touch with the man ahead of him. Remember your muskets aren’t loaded—it’s no use snapping them if we meet an enemy. Cold steel for that. If any one of you is fool enough to load and fire he’d get four dozen at the gangway tomorrow. That I promise you. Woolton!”