Lieutenant Hornblower

“Goodbye,” he said, hastily.

The black northeast wind that greeted him in the street was no more cruel than the rest of the world.

Chapter XIX

It was a short, hardfaced woman who opened the door in reply to Bush’s knock, and she looked at Bush even harder when he asked for Lieutenant Hornblower.

“Top of the house,” she said, at last, and left Bush to find his way up.

There could be no doubt about Hornblower’s pleasure at seeing him. His face was lit with a smile and he drew Bush into the room while shaking his hand. It was an attic, with a steeply sloping ceiling; it contained a bed and a night table and a single wooden chair, but, as far as Bush’s cursory glance could discover, nothing else at all.

“And how is it with you?” asked Bush, seating himself in the proffered chair, while Hornblower sat on the bed.

“Well enough,” replied Hornblower—but was there, or was there not, a guilty pause before that answer? In any case the pause was covered up by the quick counterquestion. ‘ And with you?”

“Soso,” said Bush.

They talked indifferently for a space, with Hornblower asking questions about the Chichester cottage that Bush lived in with his sisters.

“We must see about your bed for tonight,” said Hornblower at the first pause. “I’ll go down and give Mrs Mason a hail.”

“I’d better come too,” said Bush.

Mrs Mason lived in a hard world, quite obviously; she turned the proposition over in her mind for several seconds before she agreed to it.

“A shilling for the bed,” she said. “Can’t wash the sheets for less than that with soap as it is.”

“Very good,” said Bush.

He saw Mrs Mason’s hand held out, and he put the shilling into it; no one could be in any doubt about Mrs Mason’s determination to be paid in advance by any friend of Hornblower’s. Hornblower had dived for his pocket when he caught sight of the gesture, but Bush was too quick for him.

“And you’ll be talking till all hours,” said Mrs Mason. “Mind you don’t disturb my other gentlemen. And douse the light while you talk, too, or you’ll be burning a shilling’s worth of tallow.”

“Of course,” said Hornblower.

“Maria! Maria!” called Mrs Mason.

A young woman—no, a woman not quite young—came up the stairs from the depths of the house at the call.

“Yes, Mother?”

Maria listened to Mrs Mason’s instructions for making up a truckle bed in Mr. Hornblower’s room.

“Yes, Mother,” she aid.

“Not teaching today, Maria?” asked Hornblower pleasantly.

“No, sir.” The smile that lit her plain face showed her keen pleasure at being addressed.

“OakApple Day? No, not yet. It’s not the King’s Birthday. Then why this holiday?”

“Mumps, sir,” said Maria. “They all have mumps, except Joh

“That agrees with everything I’ve heard about Joh

“Yes, sir,” said Maria. She smiled again, clearly pleased not only that Hornblower should jest with her but also because he remembered what she had told him about the school.

Back in the attic again Hornblower and Bush resumed their conversation, this time on a more serious plane. The state of Europe occupied their attention.

“This man Bonaparte,” said Bush. “He’s a restless cove.”

“That’s the right word for him,” agreed Hornblower.

“Isn’t he satisfied? Back in ‘96 when I was in the old Superb in the Mediterranean—that was when I was commissioned lieutenant—he was just a general. I can remember hearing his name for the first time, when we were blockading Toulon. Then he went to Egypt. Now he’s First Consul—isn’t that what he calls himself?”

“Yes. But he’s Napoleon now, not Bonaparte any more. First Consul for life.”

“Fu

“Lieutenant Napoleon Bush,” said Hornblower. “It wouldn’t sound well.”

They laughed together at the ridiculous combination.

“The Morning Chronicle says he’s going a step farther,” went on Hornblower. “There’s talk that he’s going to call himself Emperor.”

“Emperor!”

Even Bush could catch the co

“I suppose he’s mad?” asked Bush.

“If he is, he’s the most dangerous madman in Europe.”

“I don’t trust him over this Malta business. I don’t trust him an inch,” said Bush, emphatically. “You mark my words we’ll have to fight him again in the end. Teach him a lesson he won’t forget. It’ll come sooner or later—we can’t go on like this.”

“I think you’re quite right,” said Hornblower. “And sooner rather than later.”

“Then—” said Bush.

He could not talk and think at the same time, not when his thoughts were as tumultuous as the ones this conclusion called up; war with France meant the reexpansion of the navy; the threat of invasion and the needs of convoy would mean the commissioning of every small craft that could float and carry a gun. It would mean the end of half pay for him; it would mean walking a deck again and handling a ship under sail. And it would mean hardship again, danger, anxiety, monotony—all the concomitants of war. These thoughts rushed into his brain with so much velocity, and in such a continuous stream, that they made a sort of whirlpool of his mind, in which the good and the bad circled after each other, each in turn chasing the other out of his attention.

“War’s a foul business,” said Hornblower, solemnly. “Remember the things you’ve seen.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Bush; there was no need to particularize. But it was an unexpected remark, all the same. Hornblower gri

“Well,” he said, “Boney can call himself Emperor if he likes. I have to earn my half guinea at the Long Rooms.”

Bush was about to take this opportunity to ask Hornblower how he was profiting there, but he was interrupted by a rumble outside the door and a knock.

“Here comes your bed,” said Hornblower, walking over to open the door.

Maria came trundling the thing in. She smiled at them.

“Over here or over there?” she asked.

Hornblower looked at Bush.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Bush.

“I’ll put it against the wall, then.”

“Let me help,” said Hornblower.

“Oh no, sir. Please, sir, I can do it.”

The attention fluttered her—and Bush could see that with her sturdy figure she was in no need of help. To cover he confusion she began to thump at the bedding, putting the pillows into the pillowslips.

“I trust you have already had the mumps, Maria?” said Hornblower.

“Oh yes, sir. I had them as a child, on both sides.”

The exercise and her agitation between them had brought the colour into her cheeks. With blunt but capable hands she spread the sheet. Then she paused as another implication of Hornblower’s inquiry occurred to her.

“You’ve no need to worry, sir. I shan’t give them to you if you haven’t had them.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” salt Hornblower.

“Oh, sir,” said Maria, twitching the sheet into mathematical smoothness. She spread the blankets before she looked up again. “Are you going out directly, sir?”

“Yes. I ought to have left already.”

“Let me take that coat of yours for a minute, sir. I can sponge it and freshen it up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have you go to that trouble, Maria.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble, sir. Of course not. Please let me, sir. It looks—”

“It looks the worse for wear,” said Hornblower, glancing down at it. “There’s no cure for old age that’s yet been discovered.”

“Please let me take it, sir. There’s some spirits of hartshorn downstairs. It will make quite a difference. Really it will.”

“But—”

“Oh, please, sir.”

Hornblower reluctantly put up his hand and undid a button.

“I’ll only be a minute with it,” said Maria, hastening to him. Her hands were extended to the other buttons, but a sweep of Hornblower’s quick nervous fingers had anticipated her. He pulled off his coat and she took it out of his hands.