Flying Colours

“Pall Mall and the War Office next,” said Frere. “God, how we have to work!”

London smelt of horses—it always did, Hornblower remembered, to men fresh from the sea. The lights of Whitehall seemed astonishingly bright. At the War Office there was a young Lord to see him, someone whom Hornblower liked at first sight. Palmerston was his name, the Under Secretary of State. He asked a great many intelligent questions regarding the state of opinion in France, the success of the last harvest, the ma

“Quite right,” he said. “You’re afraid some damned fool’ll blab it out and get him shot. Some damned fool probably would. I’ll ask you for it if ever we need it badly, and you will be able to rely on us then. And what happened to these galley slaves?”

“The first lieutenant in the Triumph pressed them for the service, my lord.”

“So they’ve been hands in a King’s ship for the last three weeks? I’d rather be a galley slave myself.”

Hornblower was of the same opinion. He was glad to find someone in high position with no illusions regarding the hardships of the service.

“I’ll have them traced and brought home if I can persuade your superiors at the Admiralty to give ‘em up. I can find a better use for ‘em.”

A footman brought in a note which Palmerston opened.

“His Royal Highness commands your presence,” he a

It was those last words which spoilt the whole effect. Lord Palmerston pla

“What does His Royal Highness want of me?” he asked of Frere, as they went down the stairs together.

“That’s to be a surprise for you,” replied Frere archly.

“You may even have to wait until to-morrow’s levee to find out. It isn’t often Pri

It was only this morning, thought Hornblower, his head whirling, that he had been sitting listening to the evidence at his court martial. So much had already happened to-day. He was surfeited with new experiences. He was sick and depressed. And Lady Barbara and his little son were in Bond Street, not a quarter of a mile away.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Ten o’clock. Young Pam keeps late hours at the War Office. He’s a glutton for work.”

“Oh,” said Hornblower.

God only knew at what hour he would escape from the palace. He would certainly have to wait until to-morrow before he called at Bond Street. At the door a coach was waiting, coachmen and footmen in the royal red liveries.

“Sent by the Lord Chamberlain,” explained Frere. “Kind of him.”

He handed Hornblower in through the door and climbed after him.

“Ever met His Royal Highness?” he went on.

“No.”

“But you’ve been to Court?”

“I have attended two levees. I was presented to King George in 98.”

“Ah! Pri

“Yes.”

The carriage had stopped at a doorway brightly lit with lanterns; the door was opened, and a little group of footmen were awaiting to hand them out. There was a glittering entrance hall, where somebody in uniform and powder and with a white staff ran his eyes keenly over Hornblower.

“Hat under your arm,” he whispered. “This way, please.”

“Captain Hornblower. Mr. Hookham Frere,” somebody a

It was an immense room, dazzling with the light of its candles; a wide expanse of polished floor, and at the far end a group of people bright with gold lace and jewels. Somebody came over to them, dressed in naval uniform—it was the Duke of Clarence, pop-eyed and pineapple-headed.

“Ah, Hornblower,” he said, hand held out, “welcome home.”

Hornblower bowed over the hand.

“Come and be presented. This is Captain Hornblower, sir.”

“Evenin’, Captain.”

Corpulent, handsome, and dissipated, weak and sly, was the sequence of impressions Hornblower received as he made his bow. The thi

“Everyone’s been talkin’ about you, Captain, ever since your cutter—what’s its name, now?—came in to Portsmouth.”

“Indeed, sir?” Hornblower was standing stiffly at attention.

“Yes. And, damme, so they ought to. So they ought to, damme, Captain. Best piece of work I ever heard of—good as I could have done myself. Here, Conyngham, make the presentations.”

Hornblower bowed to Lady This and Lady That, to Lord Somebody and to Sir John Somebody-else. Bold eyes and bare arms, exquisite clothes and blue Garter-ribbons, were all the impressions Hornblower received. He was conscious that the uniform made for him by the Victory’s tailor was a bad fit.

“Now let’s get the business done with,” said the Prince. “Call those fellows in.”

Someone was spreading a carpet on the floor, someone else was bearing in a cushion on which something winked and sparkled. There was a little procession of three solemn men in red cloaks. Someone dropped on one knee to present the Prince with a sword.

“Kneel, sir,” said Lord Conyngham to Hornblower.

He felt the accolade and heard the formal words which dubbed him knight. But when he rose, a little dazed, the ceremony was by no means over. There was a ribbon to be hung over his shoulder, a star to be pi

“Let me be the first to congratulate you, Sir Horatio,” said the Duke of Clarence, coming forward, his kindly imbecile face wreathed in smiles.

“Thank you, sir,” said Hornblower. The broad star thumped his chest as he bowed again.

“My best wishes, Colonel,” said the Prince Regent.

Hornblower was conscious of all the eyes turned on him at that speech; it was that which warned him that the Prince was not making a slip regarding his rank.

“Sir?” he said, inquiringly, as seemed to be expected of him.

“His Royal Highness,” explained the Duke, “has been pleased to appoint you one of his Colonels of Marines.”

A Colonel of Marines received pay to the amount of twelve hundred pounds a year, and did no duty for it. It was an appointment given as a reward to successful captains, to be held until they reach flag rank. Six thousand pounds he had already, Hornblower remembered. Now he had twelve hundred a year in addition to his captain’s half pay at least. He had attained financial security at last, for the first time in his life. He had a title, a ribbon and star. He had everything he had ever dreamed of having, in fact.

“The poor man’s dazed,” laughed the Regent loudly, delighted.

“I am overwhelmed, sir,” said Hornblower, trying to concentrate again on the business in hand. “I hardly know how to thank your Royal Highness.”

“Thank me by joining us at hazard. Your arrival interrupted a damned interesting game. Ring that bell, Sir John and let’s have some wine. Sit here beside Lady Jane, Captain. Surely you want to play? Yes, I know about you, Hookham. You want to slip away and tell John Walter that I’ve done my duty. You might suggest at the same time that he writes one of his damned leaders and has my Civil List raised—I work hard enough for it, God knows. But I don’t see why you should take the captain away. Oh, very well then, damn it. You can go if you want to.”