Hornblower in the West Indies h-12

by Cecil Scott Forester

  “And the trial will be soon?” she asked; the change in her was apparent in her tone.

  “The moment I can convene a court. Delay in matters of discipline defeats its own object. If a man were to mutiny on Monday he should be tried on Tuesday and hanged on Wednesday. But there are not enough captains available. Triton’s captain, when Ransome arrives, would give the necessary number, but then I shall be relieved of command and the matter will be out of my hands. But if Flora should come in before that—I detached her to the Gulf Coast—I shall be responsible.”

  “I see, dear,” said Barbara, not taking her eyes from his face. Even before he spoke again she was aware that there was something which would modify the harshness of what he had said so far.

  “Naturally, I have not made up my mind yet, dear,” he said. “But there is a further possibility which I’m considering.”

  “Yes?” She could hardly breathe the word.

  “The confirmation of the finding and the sentence would be the last act of my command. That would present an excuse—a reason. I could commute the sentence as an act of clemency in recognition of the good behaviour of the squadron during the period I have commanded it.”

  “I see, dear. And if Ransome arrives before Flora?”

  “I can do nothing except—”

  “Except—?”

  “I could suggest to Ransome that he might begin his command with an act of clemency.”

  “And would he?”

  “I know very little about Ransome, dear. I simply cannot say.”

  Barbara opened her mouth to speak. She was going to say, ‘Will he think a B flat more important than a man’s life?’ but she changed her speech in the nick of time. Instead she said the other thing that had also, and longer, been hovering on her lips.

  “I love you, darling,” she said.

  Again their eyes met across the table, and Hornblower felt his passion flooding to meet hers like a union of two rushing rivers. He knew perfectly well that all he had said about discipline and examples had been of no effect in changing Barbara’s mind; a woman (even more than a man) convinced against her will was of the same opinion still. But Barbara had not said so; she had said something else—and something (as always) more appropriate to the occasion. And not by one single variation of tone, not by a hair’s-breadth raising of an eyebrow, had she brought into the conversation the fact that he was tone deaf. A lesser woman would have used that as if it were a relevant argument in this matter. She knew of his tone deafness, and he knew she knew, and she knew that he knew; and so on ad infinitum, but there had never been any need for him to admit the defect or for her to admit her knowledge, and he loved her.

  Next morning he had to tell himself that the Commander-in-Chief in the West Indies, even if he were awaiting his relief, still had duties to do; even if his wife had newly joined him. But it was delightful to have Barbara walk down with him through the Admiralty House gardens to see him on his way as far as the wicket gate in the lofty dockyard palisade. It was a little unfortunate that at the moment when Evans was unlocking the gate Hudnutt should appear on the other side of the palisade taking his exercise. He was marching up and down between a file of marines under command of a corporal, the guard in parade uniform with bayonets fixed, Hudnutt hatless, as a prisoner under charges had to be.

  “Pris’ner an’ escort—halt!” bellowed the corporal at sight of his Admiral. “Escort, present—arms!”

  Hornblower formally acknowledged the salute before turning to say goodbye to his wife.

  “Escort, sl-o-o-ope arms!” bellowed the corporal, in marine fashion, as if the escort had been at the other side of the dockyard instead of two yards from him.

  “Is that the bandsman—Hudnutt, dear?” asked Barabara.

  “Yes,” said Hornblower.

  “Pris’ner an’ escort, by the right, quick—march!” bellowed the corporal, and the little group marched off. Barbara watched it go; she could look now that Hudnutt had his back to her and was unaware of it. Previously she had refrained from staring at the man who would soon be on trial for his life. The trim marine uniform could not conceal the gangling, undeveloped body; and the sun shone on the fair hair.

  “He’s nothing more than a boy,” said Barbara.

  That could be another irrelevant fact if she wanted to argue with her husband regarding his duty. Seventeen or seventy, a man under orders must obey orders.

  “He’s not very old, dear,” agreed Hornblower.

  Then he kissed the cheek that Barbara held up to him—he was not at all sure if an Admiral in uniform should kiss his wife goodbye in the presence of his staff, but Barbara had no doubts about it. He left her standing there by the gate chatting to Evans, looking round her at the lovely garden on the one side of the palisade and at the business-like dockyard through the palings.

  The presence of his wife was delightful, even though it meant greatly increased activities for him. The next two or three days involved considerable entertaining; island society wished to make the most of the fleeting presence of an Admiral’s wife, a peeress, and of the bluest of blood in her own right. To Hornblower, regretfully contemplating the immediate end of his period in command, it was a little like the aristocrats during the French Revolution dancing before the summons to the guillotine, but Barbara seemed to enjoy it all, perhaps because she had just endured five very dull weeks at sea and was facing the prospect of five more.

  “You danced a good deal with young Bonner, dear,” he remarked to her when they were home again after the Governor’s party.

  “He’s a very good dancer,” said Barbara.

  “He’s something of a villain, I believe,” countered Hornblower. “There’s never been anything proved, but much suspected—smuggling, slave running, and all the rest of it.”

  “He’s invited to Government House,” said Barbara.

  “Nothing proved, as I said. But in my official capacity I’ve often been interested in the activities of those fishing boats of his. You may find you’ve been dancing with a jailbird one of these days, dear.”

  “Jailbirds are more amusing than military secretaries,” smiled Barbara.

  Barbara’s activity was astonishing. Even after a night’s gaiety she went riding during the day, and Hornblower was content that she should, as long as there were young men available eager to act as Lady Hornblower’s escort, seeing that he had his duties to attend to and disliked horses in any case. It was even amusing to observe the transparent adoration which she received from everyone, from His Excellency, from the young men who rode with her, from Evans the gardener, from everyone she had anything to do with.

  Barbara was out riding one morning, before the heat of the day, when a messenger was brought in to Hornblower at Admiralty House.

  “Message from the cap’n, My Lord. Triton’s signalled. She’s heading in with a fair wind.”

  Hornblower stared for a moment; although this was a message that might have come at any time during the last month he was not ready for its full impact.

  “Very well. My compliments to the captain, and I’ll come down.”

  So this was the end of his three years as Commander-in-Chief. Ransome would take over command, possibly today, but certainly tomorrow, and he himself would be on half pay and due to go home. A queer mixture of thoughts went through his mind as he made himself ready to meet Ransome; young Richard about to enter Eton; the thought of a freezing winter in Smallbridge; the auditing of his final accounts; it was not until he was on his way to his barge that he remembered that now he would be relieved of the necessity to come to a decision in the Hudnutt case.

  Triton wore no Admiral’s flag, for Ransome legally held no command until he had taken over; the salutes at the moment merely acknowledged Triton’s joining the West Indian command. Ransome was a burly man with the heavy, fashionable side-whiskers, more grey than black. He wore a small decoration of Companion of the Bath, insignificant compared with Hornblower’s magnificent Grand Cross. Presumab
ly if he survived this appointment without any great blunder he might hope for knighthood. He presented his captain, Coleman, with whom Hornblower was quite unacquainted, and then turned an attentive ear to Hornblower’s explanation of the arrangements made so far and of future plans.

  “I’ll assume command tomorrow,” decided Ransome.

  “That will allow time to arrange the full ceremonial,” agreed Hornblower. “In that case, sir, would you care to spend tonight at Government House? I understand a command there awaits you if you think it convenient.”

  “No need to move twice,” said Ransome. “I’ll spend tonight on board here.”

  “Admiralty House will be ready for you tomorrow, of course, sir. Perhaps you might like to give us the honour of your company at dinner today? There might perhaps be information that I could give you regarding the situation here.”

  Ransome shot a glance at Hornblower charged with a certain amount of suspicion; he did not wish to have any ready-made policies thrust upon him by his predecessor. Yet the suggestion was obviously sensible.

  “It would be a great pleasure. I must thank you, My Lord.”

  Hornblower took a tactful step to allay that suspicion.

  “The packet in which my wife and I are taking passage to England is making ready for sea at present, sir. We sail in her, in a matter of a few days only.”

  “Very well, My Lord,” said Ransome.

  “Then, having repeated my welcome, sir, I shall take my leave. Shall we expect you at four o’clock? Or would some other time be convenient?”

  “Four o’clock will suit me well,” said Ransome.

  The king is dead, long live the king, thought Hornblower, on his way back. Tomorrow he would be supplanted, and would become a mere half-pay officer. The splendour and dignity of a Commander-in-Chief would be transferred from him to Ransome. And he found the thought a little irksome; he had found his polite pose of deference to Ransome more than a little irksome; and he really thought Ransome could have been more polite in return. He gave vent to a good deal of this feeling as he told Barbara about the interview, and he checked himself at sight of Barbara’s amused twinkle and raised eyebrow.

  “You are the sweetest simpleton, my very dearest,” said Barbara. “Have you no idea at all of any possible explanation?”

  “None, I’m afraid,” said Hornblower.

  Barbara came up close to him and looked into his face.

  “No wonder that I love you,” she said. “Don’t you understand that no man could find it easy to replace Hornblower? Your period of command has been overwhelmingly successful. You’ve set a standard Ransome will find it hard to live up to. One might say he’s jealous, envious—and he showed it.”

  “I can’t really believe that,” said Hornblower.

  “And I love you because you can’t believe it,” said Barbara. “I could tell you so in a hundred ways, if I did not have to go and put on my finest gown to win Admiral Ransome’s heart.”

  Ransome was a man of fine presence, bulk and side-whiskers and all; Hornblower had not really appreciated the fact at their first meeting. His manner was somewhat more cordial in Barbara’s presence, which might have been the effect of Barbara’s personality, but might also have been, as Hornblower realised, the result of Ransome’s knowing that Lady Hornblower was a person of much influence in political circles. Hornblower did his best to exploit Ransome’s faint cordiality. He passed the wine, he let slip as casually as possible bits of useful information regarding West Indian conditions—casually, so that Ransome could not suspect him of trying to bring influence to bear on him regarding his future policy, and yet useful information that Ransome could snap up and treasure with a smile at Hornblower’s carelessness. Yet all the same, dinner was not a tremendous success. There was still a certain tenseness.

  And as dinner was approaching its end Hornblower was conscious of a glance darted at him by Barbara; it was only one glance, and of the most fleeting nature. Ransome could not have been conscious of it, but Hornblower understood. Barbara was jogging his memory regarding a matter that was important to her. He awaited a suitable turn in the conversation before mentioning the subject.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, “there’s a court martial pending. A marine bandsman—”

  He went on to tell Ransome the circumstances of the case, treating it lightly. He was aware, even if Ransome was not, of the closeness with which Barbara was studying Ransome’s expression as the narrative continued.

  “’Repeated and deliberate disobedience to a lawful order,’” Ransome was repeating to himself Hornblower’s own words. “It could have been mutiny.”

  “So it could,” agreed Hornblower. “But it’s rather a curious case. I’m glad you have the decision to make regarding it, and not I.”

  “It seems to me as if the evidence will be quite incontrovertible.”

  “No doubt.” Hornblower made himself smile, telepathically conscious of the intensity of Barbara’s interest. “But the circumstances are a little unusual.”

  The stony expression on Ransome’s face was most discouraging. Hornblower knew the situation to be hopeless. He would have abandoned any further effort if Barbara had not been there, but as it was he went on, uselessly.

  “If the trial had been held during the period of my command I might have—naturally I had not made up my mind—commuted the sentence to mark my appreciation of the good behaviour of the squadron.”

  “Yes?” said Ransome; no monosyllable could have expressed greater disinterest, but Hornblower plunged on.

  “It had occurred to me that you might find this a favourable opportunity to display clemency as your first official act.”

  “That will be a matter for my own decision.”

  “Of course,” agreed Hornblower.

  “And I cannot imagine my taking any action of that sort, naturally. I cannot have the squadron believing that I shall be lenient as regards discipline. I cannot have my command unsettled at the start.”

  “Of course,” said Hornblower again. He could see the uselessness of further argument, and he might as well be graceful about it. “You are the best judge of all the circumstances, as well as the only judge.”

  “Now I shall leave you gentlemen to your wine,” said Barbara, suddenly. Hornblower looked at her just in time to see her frozen expression melt into the smile he knew so well. “I shall say goodnight to you, Admiral. I shall make every effort—as far as the rules of the Navy allow—to see that this house is in good condition for you to take over tomorrow, and I hope you will be comfortable in it.”

  “Thank you,” said Ransome; the two men were on their feet now.

  “Goodnight, dear,” said Barbara to Hornblower. The latter was aware that the smile she gave him was not quite real, and he knew her to be acutely upset.

  She left them, and Hornblower passed the port, and settled down again to what proved to be a long evening. Ransome, having asserted himself, and having made it perfectly clear that he would remain uninfluenced by any suggestion Hornblower might put forward, was by no means averse to acquiring any information that might come his way. Nor to finishing the bottle of port and starting on another.

  So that it was very late before he went to bed, and he used no light for fear of disturbing Barbara. He crept about the room as silently as he could. In the darkness the glances that he directed at the other bed (naval establishments made small allowance for wives, and that allowance did not include double beds) under its mosquito net revealed nothing to him, and he was glad. If Barbara had been awake they could hardly have avoided discussing the Hudnutt case.

  Nor was there any time next morning, for the moment Hornblower was called he had to hurry into the dressing room and array himself in his best uniform with his ribbon and star and hasten away to the ceremony of the change of command. As the officer to be relieved he was first upon the quarterdeck of the Clorinda, and stationed himself on the starboard side, his staff behind him. Captain Sir Thomas Fell had received him, a
nd next busied himself with receiving the other captains as they came on board. The marine band—without Hudnutt—played selections on the poop; the pipes of the bosun’s mates twittered unceasingly to welcome the continuous arrivals; the sun blazed down as if this were just some ordinary day. Then came a pause, intense in its drama. Then the band burst into a march again, there were ruffles of drums and flourishes of bugles as Ransome came up the side with his staff behind him, to take up his station on the port side. Fell came forward to Hornblower with his hand at his hat brim.

  “Ship’s company fallen in, My Lord.”

  “Thank you, Sir Thomas.” Spendlove pressed a paper into Hornblower’s hand; Hornblower stepped forward. “Orders from the Lords Commissioners for the execution of the office of Lord High Admiral, to me, Horatio Lord Hornblower, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Rear-Admiral of the Red Squadron—”

  He really had trouble in preventing his voice from trembling, forcing himself to read in a harsh and matter-of-fact tone. He folded the paper and gave his last order.

  “Sir Thomas, please have the goodness to haul down my flag.”

  “Aye aye, My Lord.”

  The first of the thirteen saluting guns went off as the red ensign came slowly down from the mizzen peak. A long, long, descent; sixty seconds for thirteen guns, and when the flag completed its descent Hornblower was the poorer by forty-nine pounds three shillings and seven pence a month command pay. A moment later Ransome came forward, paper in hand, to read the orders of the Lords Commissioners to him, Henry Ransome, Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Rear-Admiral of the Blue Squadron.

  “Hoist my flag, Sir Thomas.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Up to the mizzen peak rose the Blue Ensign; until it broke at the peak the ship was silent, but then it unfolded itself in the breeze and the salute roared out and the band played. When the last gun fired Ransome was legally Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s Ships and Vessels in West Indian waters. More blaring from the band, and in the midst of it Hornblower stepped forward raising his hand in salute to the new Commander-in-Chief.