Lieutenant Hornblower

The red coats of the army, the blue coats of the navy, the bottlegreen and snuffcoloured coats of civilians; Bush and Hornblower made room for them before the fire after the introductions were made, and the coattails were parted as their wearers lined up before the flames. But the exclamations about the cold, and the polite conversation, died away rapidly.

“Whist?” asked one of the newcomers tentatively.

“Not for me. Not for us,” said another, the leader of the redcoats. “The TwentyNinth Foot has other fish to fry. We’ve a permanent engagement with our friend the Marquis in the next room. Come on, Major, let’s see if we can call a main right this time.”

“Then will you make a four, Mr. Hornblower? How about your friend Mr. Bush?”

“I don’t play,” said Bush.

“With pleasure,” said Hornblower. “You will excuse me, Mr. Bush, I know. There is the new number of the Naval Chronicle on the table there. There’s a Gazette letter on the last page which might perhaps hold your interest for a while. And there is another item you might think important, too.”

Bush could guess what the letter was even before he picked the periodical up, but when he found the place there was the same feeling of pleased shock to see his name in print there as keen as the first time he saw it: ‘I have the honour to be, etc., WM. BUSH.

The Naval Chronicle in these days of peace found it hard, apparently, to obtain sufficient matter to fill its pages, and gave much space to the reprinting of these despatches. ‘Copy of a letter from ViceAdmiral Sir Richard Lambert to Evan Nepean, Esq., Secretary to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.’ That was only Lambert’s covering letter enclosing the reports. Here was the first one—it was with a strange internal sensation that he remembered helping Buckland with the writing of it, as the Renown ran westerly along the coast of Santo Domingo the day before the prisoners broke out. It was Buckland’s report on the fighting at Samaná. To Bush the most important line was ‘in the handsomest ma

HMS Renown, off the Santo Domingo. January 9th, 1802

SIR,

I have the honour to inform you…

Bush relived those days of a year ago as he reread his own words: those words which he had composed with so much labour even though he had referred, during the writing of them to other reports written by other men so as to get the phrasing right.

…I ca

There was Hornblower now, playing cards with a post captain and two contractors.

Bush turned back through the pages of the Naval Chronicle. Here was the Plymouth letter, a daily account of the doings in the port during the last month.

’Orders came down this day for the following ships to be paid off....’ ‘Came in from Gibraltar La Diana, 44, and the Tamar, 38, to be paid off as soon as they go up the harbour and to be laid up.’ ‘Sailed the Caesar, 80, for Portsmouth, to be paid off.’ And here was an item just as significant, or even more so: ‘Yesterday there was a large sale of serviceable stores landed from different men of war.’ The navy was growing smaller every day and with every ship that was paid off another batch of lieutenants would be looking for billets. And here was an item—‘This afternoon a fishing boat turning out of atwater jibed and overset, by which accident two industrious fishermen with large families were drowned.’ This was the Naval Chronicle, whose pages had once bulged with the news of the Nile and of Camperdown; now it told of accidents to industrious fishermen. Bush was too interested in his own concerns to feel any sympathy towards their large families.

There was another drowning as a final item; a name—a combination of names—caught Bush’s attention so that he read the paragraph with a quickened pulse.

Last night the jolly boat of His Majesty’s cutter Rapid, in the Revenue service, while returning in the fog from delivering a message on shore, was swept by the ebb tide athwart the hawse of a merchantman anchored off Fisher’s Nose, and capsized. Two seamen and Mr. Henry Wellard, Midshipman, were drowned. Mr. Wellard was a most promising young man recently appointed to the Rapid, having served as a volunteer in His Majesty’s ship Renown.

Bush read the passage and pondered over it. He thought it important to the extent that he read the remainder of the Naval Chronicle without taking in any of it; and it was with surprise that he realised he would have to leave quickly in order to catch the carrier’s waggon back to Chichester.

A good many people were coming into the Rooms now; the door was continually opening to admit them. Some of them were naval officers with whom he had a nodding acquaintance. All of them made straight for the fire for warmth before begi

“When do we meet again?” asked Hornblower.

“I come in each month to draw my half pay,” said Bush. “I usually spend the night because of the carrier’s waggon. Perhaps we could dine—?”

“You can always find me here,” said Hornblower. “But—do you have a regular place to stay?”

“I stay where it’s convenient,” replied Bush.

They both of them knew that meant that he stayed where it was cheap.

“I lodge in Highbury Street. I’ll write the address down.” Hornblower turned to a desk in the corner and wrote on a sheet of paper which he handed to Bush “Would you care to share my room when next you come? My landlady is a sharp one. No doubt she will make a charge for a cot for you, but even so—”

“It’ll save money,” said Bush, putting the paper in his pocket; his grin as he spoke masked the sentiment in his next words. “And I’ll see more of you.”

“By George, yes,” said Hornblower. Words were not adequate.

Jenkins had come sidling up and was holding Bush’s greatcoat for him to put on. There was that in Jenkins’ ma

“Thank you, sir,” said Jenkins.

With Jenkins out of earshot again Bush lingered, wondering how to frame his question.

“That was hard luck on young Wellard,” he said, tentatively.

“Yes,” said Hornblower.

“D’you think,” went on Bush, plunging desperately, “he had anything to do with the captain’s falling down the hatchway?”

“I couldn’t give an opinion,” answered Hornblower. “I’ didn’t know enough about it.”

“But—” began Bush, and checked himself again; he knew by the look on Hornblower’s face that it was no use asking further questions.

The Marquis had come into the room and was looking round in unobtrusive inspection. Bush saw him take note of the several men who were not playing, and of Hornblower standing in idle gossip by the door. Bush saw the meaning glance which he directed at Hornblower, and fell into sudden panic.