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“Very well, then, My Lord,” said Sharpe. “Now I can take my leave. I will have the pleasure of seeing Your Lordship again at the Governor’s house.”
“I am deeply obliged to you, sir.”
This city of New Orleans was an enchanting place. Hornblower was bubbling internally with excitement at the prospect of exploring it. Nor was he the only one, as appeared as soon as Sharpe had taken his leave, when Lieutenant Harcourt, captain of the Crab, intercepted Hornblower on the quarterdeck.
“Pardon, My Lord,” he said, saluting. “Are there any orders for me?”
There could be no doubt about what Harcourt had in mind. Forward of the mainmast most of the crew of Crab were congregated together looking eagerly aft—in a tiny ship like this everyone was aware of everyone else’s business, and discipline ran on lines different from those in a big ship.
“Can you trust your men to be steady on shore, Mr. Harcourt?” asked Hornblower.
“Yes, My Lord.”
Hornblower looked forward again. The hands looked remarkably smart—they had been labouring on making new clothes for themselves all the way from Kingston, from the moment when it was a
“If you could give me notice of when you intend to sail, sir—I mean My Lord,” said Harcourt.
“Until dawn tomorrow in any case,” said Hornblower coming to a sudden decision; his day was full until then.
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
Would the grogshops of New Orleans waterfront be any different from the grogshops of Kingston or Port of Spain?
“Now perhaps I can have my breakfast, Mr. Gerard,” said Hornblower. “Unless you have any objection?”
“Aye aye, My Lord,” answered Gerard, carefully ignoring the sarcasm. He had long learned that his Admiral objected to nothing in the world as much as having to be active before breakfast.
It was after breakfast that a coloured man, trotting barefooted along the pier, came bearing on his head a basket of fruit which he handed in at the gangway at the moment when Hornblower was about to start off on his official round of calls.
“There’s a note with it, My Lord,” said Gerard. “Shall I open it?”
“Yes.”
“It is from Mr. Sharpe,” reported Gerard, after breaking the seal, and then some seconds later, “I think you had better read this yourself, My Lord.”
Hornblower took the thing impatiently.
My Lord [1],
I have imposed upon myself the pleasure of sending some fruit to Your Lordship.
It is my duty to inform Your Lordship that I have just received information that the freight which Count Cambro
I am, with great respect,
Your Lordship’s humble and obedient servant,
Cloudesley Sharpe,
HBM’s Consul-General at New Orleans.
Now what could Cambro
“Mr. Harcourt!”
“Sir—My Lord!”
“I would like your company in the cabin for a moment, if you please.”
The young lieutenant stood at attention in the cabin a little apprehensively waiting to hear what his Admiral had to say.
“This isn’t a reprimand, Mr. Harcourt,” said Hornblower testily. “Not even an admonition.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” said Harcourt, relaxing.
Hornblower took him to the cabin window and pointed out through it, just as Sharpe had done previously.
“That’s the Daring,” he said. “An ex-privateer, now under charter to a French General.”
Harcourt looked his astonishment.
“That is the case,” went on Hornblower. “And today she will be taking on some cargo out of bond. It will be brought round to her out of bond by lighter.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“I want to know as much about that cargo as possible.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Naturally, I do not want the world to know that I am interested. I want nobody to know u
“Yes, My Lord. I could use a telescope from here and see a good deal, with luck.”
“Very true. You can take note of whether it is bales or boxes or bags. How many there are of each. From the tackle employed you can guess at the weights. You can do all that.”
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
“Make careful note of all you see.”
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
Hornblower fixed his eyes on his youthful flag-captain’s face, trying to estimate his discretion. He remembered so well the emphatic words of the First Sea Lord regarding the necessity for the utmost tenderness regarding American susceptibilities. Hornblower decided the young man could be trusted.
“Now, Mr. Harcourt,” he said, “pay special attention to what I have to say. The more I know about that cargo the better. But don’t go at it like a bull at a gate. Should an opportunity present itself for finding out what it is, you must seize upon it. I can’t imagine what that opportunity may be, but opportunities come to those who are ready for them.”
Long, long ago, Barbara had said to him that good fortune is the portion of those who merit it.
“I understand, My Lord.”
“If the slightest hint of this gets out—if the Americans or the French get to know what you are doing—you will be sorry you were ever born, Mr. Harcourt.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“I’ve no use for a dashing young officer in this co
“Yes, My Lord.”
Hornblower at last took his eyes from Harcourt’s face. He himself had been a dashing young officer once. Now he had far more sympathy than ever before with the older men who had entrusted him with enterprises. A senior officer had perforce to trust his juniors, while still carrying the ultimate responsibility. If Harcourt should blunder, if he should be guilty of some indiscretion leading to a diplomatic protest, it would certainly be true that he might wish he had never been born—Hornblower would see to that. But Hornblower would be wishing he himself had never been born, too. But there was no useful purpose to be served in pointing that out.
“That is all, then, Mr. Harcourt.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Come on, Mr. Gerard. We’re late already.”
1
read the note