‘Excellent, Mr Ramsbottom,’ said Hornblower. He tried to adopt the tone which he presumed would be adopted by a man who had just read a letter of introduction from the Prime Minister. ‘Is there any way in which I can be of service to you?’
‘None that I am aware of at present, My Lord. I must complete with water and stores, naturally, but my purser is a capable man. I intend to continue my voyage through these charming islands.’
‘Of course,’ said Hornblower, soothingly. He could not imagine why anyone should voluntarily spend any time in these waters where piracy was still smouldering, nor why anyone should wish to visit countries where malaria and yellow fever were endemic, and where civil war, revolution and massacre claimed even heavier toll.
‘You find the Bride of Abydos a comfortable ship?’ asked Hornblower.
Those eighteen-gun brigs of the Royal Navy were notoriously unpleasant craft, crowded and crank.
‘Comfortable enough, My Lord, thank you,’ answered Ramsbottom. ‘I lightened her by changing the armament; she mounts only twelve guns now – two long sizes and ten carronades, twenty-four-pounders instead of thirty-two-pounders.’
‘So you could still deal with a pirate?’
‘Oh, yes indeed, My Lord. And with the reduction in weight on deck – a full ten tons – and modifications in her sail plan I have made a seaworthy craft of her, I believe and hope.’
‘I’m sure you have, Mr Ramsbottom,’ said Hornblower. It was likely enough; the brigs-of-war were naturally crammed with guns and warlike stores to the limit of stability and human endurance, so that a moderate reduction in dead weight might bring profound results in comfort and handiness.
‘It would give me the greatest pleasure,’ went on Mr Ramsbottom, ‘if I could induce Your Lordship to visit me on board. It would indeed be an honour, and would gratify my crew. Perhaps I could even persuade Your Lordship to dine on board?’
‘We can discuss that after you have dined with me, Mr Ramsbottom,’ replied Hornblower, remembering his manners and his obligation to invite to dinner any bearer of a reasonable introduction.
‘You are most kind, My Lord,’ said Mr Ramsbottom. ‘I must, of course, present my introductions to His Excellency at the earliest opportunity.’
There was something quite winning about Mr Ramsbottom’s smile as he said this, an awareness and a tolerance of the rules of social etiquette. A visitor to Jamaica would normally be bound to pay his respects first to the Governor, but Ramsbottom was no ordinary visitor; as captain of a ship his first call was due to the Naval authorities, to Hornblower, in fact. A trivial point, as his smile implied, but, etiquette being etiquette, trivial points demanded strict attention.
By the time Ramsbottom took his leave he had made a very good impression on the reluctant Hornblower. He had talked sensibly about ships and the sea, he was easy and natural in his manner, and not in the least like Lord Byron, who was probably more responsible than anyone else for the growing fad for yachting among the wealthy. Hornblower was even prepared to forgive him for having ‘won some small portion’ of Barbara’s heart. And in the course of his several days’ stay in Jamaica Hornblower really came to like the young man, especially after having lost two pounds to him in a desperate tussle at whist and then winning ten pounds back in another tussle where admittedly Ramsbottom encountered a run of bad luck. Jamaican society gave Ramsbottom a warm welcome; even the Governor looked on him with approval, and the Governor’s wife, Lady Hooper, was loud in her praises of his excellent manners and considerate ways.
‘I wouldn’t have expected it of a Bradford manufacturer’s son,’ said Hooper, grudgingly.
‘Are you dining on board the Bride of Abydos, sir?’ asked Hornblower.
‘I am going there to dinner,’ answered Hooper, who enjoyed food, ‘but seeing that it is only a yacht I have little hope of dining.’
Hornblower arrived on board early, at Ramsbottom’s suggestion, so as to have time to inspect the vessel. He was received in Navy fashion with sideboys attending the side and a long flourish on boatswain’s pipes as he stepped on board. He looked keenly about him even while he shook Ramsbottom’s hand. He could not have said he was not in a King’s ship, as his eye took in the gleaming white deck, the ropes coiled in perfect symmetry, the gleaming trophy of pikes and cutlasses against the bulkhead, the brass winking in the sunshine, the disciplined orderly crew in blue jumpers and white trousers.
‘May I present my officers, My Lord?’ asked Ramsbottom.
They were two half-pay lieutenants, hardbitten men; as Hornblower shook their hands he told himself that if it had not been for a dozen strokes of luck he himself might still be a lieutenant, perhaps eking out his half-pay by serving in a rich man’s yacht. As Ramsbottom led him forward he recognised one of the hands standing at attention by a gun.
‘You were with me in the Renown, out here in 1800,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir, My Lord, so I was, sir.’ The man grinned with uneasy pleasure as he shyly took Hornblower’s outstretched hand. ‘And Charlie Kemp, sir, My Lord, over there, sir, ’e was with you in the Baltic. And Bill Cummings, up on the fo’c’sle, ’e was foretopman in the Lydia round the Horn with you sir, My Lord.’
‘Glad to see you again,’ said Hornblower. That was true, but he was equally glad that he had not been under the necessity of remembering names. He moved on.
‘You seem to have a Navy crew, Mr Ramsbottom,’ he remarked.
‘Yes, My Lord. They are nearly all man-o’wars men.’
In these years of peace and depression it would be easy enough to recruit a crew, thought Hornblower. Ramsbottom might be considered to be doing a public service in providing easy employment for these men who had deserved well of their country. Listening to the sharp orders given as the crew was put through its paces Hornblower could not suppress a smile. It was a harmless enough fad, he supposed, for Ramsbottom to indulge himself in playing at commanding a ship of war.
‘You have a most efficient ship and a well-trained crew, Mr Ramsbottom,’ he said.
‘It is a pleasure to hear Your Lordship say so.’
‘You have seen no service yourself?’
‘None, My Lord.’
There was a certain degree of surprise still to be found in the fact that in this year of 1821 there were to be found grown men, even heads of families, who nevertheless had been too young to see service in the wars that had devastated the world for a whole generation. It made Hornblower feel like a centenarian.
‘Here come further guests, My Lord, if you will pardon me.’
Two planters – Hough and Doggart – and then the Chief Justice of the island. So the arrival of the Governor would make a dinner party of six, three officials and three men in private life. They gathered under the awning, which, stretched across the main boom, shaded the quarterdeck, and watched the reception of His Excellency.
‘Do you think the dinner will come up to the ceremonial?’ asked Doggart.
‘Ramsbottom’s purser bought two tons of ice yesterday,’ said Hough.
‘At sixpence a pound that bids fair,’ commented Doggart.
Jamaica was the centre of a small trade in ice, brought down from New England in fast schooners. Cut and stored away in deep places during the winter, it was hurried to the Caribbean insulated in a packing of sawdust. At the height of summer it commanded fantastic prices. Hornblower was interested; he was more interested still in the sight of a seaman down in the waist steadily turning a crank. It did not seem a very hard labour, although unremitting. He could not for the life of him think of what function that crank could play in the life of the ship. The guests made their bows to His Excellency, and at his suggestion seated themselves in the comfortable chairs. A steward appeared at once passing round glasses of sherry.
‘Excellent, by George!’ exclaimed the Governor after his first cautious sip. ‘None of your Olorosos, none of your sweet sticky dark sherries.’
The Governor by virtue of his reputed royal blood
as well as in consequence of his position could make remarks that well might appear rude in another man. But the sherry was indeed delightful; pale, dry, infinitely delicate in flavour and bouquet, cool but not chilled. A new sound struck on Hornblower’s ear, and he turned and looked forward. At the foot of the mainmast a small orchestra had struck up, of various stringed instruments whose names he had never bothered to learn except for the fiddle. If it were not for the intrusion of this horrible music there could be nothing more delightful than to sit under an awning on the deck of a well-found ship with the sea breeze just beginning to come in, drinking this excellent sherry. The Governor made a small gesture which brought a fresh glass promptly to him.
‘Ah!’ said the Governor. ‘You keep a good orchestra, Mr Ramsbottom.’
It was well known that the royal family inherited a taste for music.
‘I must thank Your Excellency,’ said Ramsbottom, and the glasses went round again before he turned an ear to the murmured words of the steward. ‘Your Excellency, My Lord, gentlemen, dinner is served.’
They filed down the companion; apparently every bulkhead had been taken down in the after part of the ship to make a cabin spacious though low. The carronades on either side struck a subdued warlike note in a scene of luxury, for there were flowers everywhere; the dining-table stood in the centre concealed under a glittering linen cloth. Wind scoops at the scuttles helped to deflect the trade wind into the cabin, which, under the double shade of the awning and the deck, was pleasantly cool, but Hornblower’s eye at once caught sight of a couple of strange objects, like small wheels, set in two scuttles and ceaselessly whirling round. Then he knew why the seaman was turning that crank in the waist; he was driving these two wheels, which by some ingenious mechanism propelled currents of air from outside into the cabin, acting like windmill vanes but in the opposite sense.
Seated at the table in accordance with the courteous indication of their host, the guests awaited the serving of the dinner. The first course made its appearance – two ample dishes set in dishes even more ample filled with cracked ice. The inner dishes held a grey granular substance.
‘Caviare!’ exclaimed His Excellency, helping himself liberally after his first astonished stare.
‘I hope it is to your taste, sir,’ said Ramsbottom. ‘And I hope you will accompany it with some of the vodka here. It is the same as is served at the Russian Imperial table.’
Conversation regarding caviare and vodka occupied the attention of all during the first course. The last time Hornblower had tasted the combination was during the defence of Riga in 1812; the experience enabled him to add his quota to the conversation. The next course made its appearance.
‘You gentlemen are accustomed to this dish,’ said Ramsbottom, ‘but I need not apologise for it. It is, I believe, one of the delicacies of the Islands.’
It was flying fish.
‘Certainly no need to apologise when it is served like this,’ commented His Excellency. ‘Your chef de cuisine must be a man of genius.’
The sauce that came with it had the merest hint of mustard.
‘’Ock or Champagne, My Lord?’ murmured a voice in Hornblower’s ear. Hornblower had already heard the Governor answer the same question with ‘I’ll try the hock first’. The champagne was dry and insidiously delicate, an ideal companion for the food. The great eaters of antiquity, Nero or Vitellius or Lucullus, had never known what it was like to partake of champagne and flying fish.
‘You’ll be living differently from this soon, Hornblower,’ said His Excellency.
‘No doubt about that, sir.’
Ramsbottom, between them, looked a polite inquiry.
‘Your Lordship’s going to sea?’
‘Next week,’ replied Hornblower. ‘I take my squadron to sea for exercises before the coming of the hurricane season.’
‘Of course that would be necessary to maintain efficiency,’ agreed Ramsbottom. ‘The exercises will last for long?’
‘A couple of weeks or more,’ said Hornblower. ‘I have to keep my men accustomed to hard tack and salt pork and water from the cask.’
‘And yourself too,’ chuckled the Governor.
‘Myself too,’ agreed Hornblower ruefully.
‘And you take your whole squadron, My Lord?’ asked Ramsbottom.
‘All I can. I work ’em hard and try to make no exceptions.’
‘A good rule, I should think,’ said Ramsbottom.
The soup that followed the flying fish was a fiery mulligatawny, well adapted to West Indian palates.
‘Good!’ was the Governor’s brief comment after his first spoonful. The champagne went round again and conversation became livelier and livelier, and Ramsbottom deftly kept it going.
‘What news from the mainland, sir?’ he asked the Governor. ‘This fellow Bolivar – is he making any progress?’
‘He fights on,’ answered the Governor. ‘But Spain hurries out reinforcements whenever her own troubles permit. The government at Caracas is looking for the arrival of more at this moment, I believe. Then they may be able to conquer the plains and drive him out again. You know he was a refugee here in this very island a few years ago?’
‘Indeed, sir?’
All the guests at the table were interested in the desperate civil war that was being fought on the mainland Massacre and murder, blind heroism and devoted self-sacrifice, loyalty to the King and thirst for independence – all these were to be found in Venezuela; war and pestilence were laying waste the fertile plains and depopulating the crowded cities.
‘How will the Spaniards stand now that Maracaibo has revolted, Hornblower?’ asked the Governor.
‘It’s not a serious loss, sir. As long as they have the use of La Guaira their sea communications remain open – the roads are so bad that Caracas has always made use of La Guaira to preserve contact with the outside world; it’s only an open roadstead but it provides good anchorage.’
‘Has Maracaibo revolted, Your Excellency?’ asked Ramsbottom mildly.
‘The news came this morning. A feather in Bolivar’s cap after his recent defeats. His army must have been growing disheartened.’
‘His army, sir?’ This was the Chief Justice speaking. ‘Half his men are British infantry.’
Hornblower knew that to be true. British veterans formed the backbone of Bolivar’s army. The Ilaneros – the men of the Venezuelan plains – supplied him with a brilliant cavalry, but not with the material for permanent conquest.
‘Even British infantry could grow disheartened in a hopeless cause,’ said the Governor, solemnly. ‘The Spaniards control most of the coast – ask the Admiral here.’
‘That’s so,’ agreed Hornblower. ‘They’ve made it hard for Bolivar’s privateers.’
‘I hope you’re not going to venture into that turmoil, Mr Ramsbottom,’ said the Governor.
‘They’ll make short work of you if you do,’ added the Chief Justice. ‘The Dons will tolerate no interference. They’ll snatch you up and you’ll languish in a Spanish prison for years before we can extricate you from King Ferdinand’s clutches. Unless jail fever carries you off first. Or they hang you as a pirate.’
‘I have certainly no intention of venturing near the mainland,’ said Ramsbottom. ‘At least not while this war continues. It is a pity, because Venezuela was my mother’s country, and it would give me pleasure to visit it.’
‘Your mother’s country, Mr Ramsbottom?’ asked the Governor.
‘Yes, sir. My mother was a Venezuelan lady. There I would be Carlos Ramsbottom y Santona.’
‘Most interesting,’ remarked the Governor.
And more grotesque than Horatio Hornblower. It was significant of the world-wide interest of British commerce that a Bradford woollen manufacturer should have a Venezuelan mother. At any rate it accounted for Ramsbottom’s dark almost swarthy, good looks.
‘I can very well wait until peace is settled one way or the other,’ said Ramsbottom off-handedly. ‘There will be oth
er voyages to make. Meanwhile, sir, let me call your attention to this dish here.’
The main course had now arrived on the table, roast chickens and a leg of pork as well as the dish that Ramsbottom indicated. What lay in it was concealed by poached eggs covering the surface.
‘A made dish?’ asked the Governor, doubtfully. His tone indicated that at this stage of the dinner he looked rather for a substantial roast.
‘Please try it, sir,’ said Ramsbottom coaxingly.
The Governor helped himself and tasted cautiously.
‘Pleasant enough,’ he decided. ‘What is it?’
‘A ragoût of preserved beef,’ answered Ramsbottom. ‘Can I persuade you gentlemen to try it? My Lord?’
At least it was something new; it was like nothing Hornblower had ever tasted before – certainly not in the least like the beef preserved in brine which he had eaten for twenty years.
‘Extremely good,’ said Hornblower. ‘How is it preserved?’
Ramsbottom made a gesture to the waiting steward, who laid a square box, apparently of iron, upon the table. It weighed heavy in Hornblower’s hand.
‘Glass serves equally well,’ explained Ramsbottom, ‘but it is not as convenient on shipboard.’
The steward was now at work upon the iron box with a stout knife. He cut it open and prized back the top and offered it for inspection.
‘A tinned box,’ went on Ramsbottom, ‘sealed at a high temperature. I venture to suggest that this new method will make a noticeable difference to the food supply on shipboard. This beef can be eaten cold on removal from the box, or it can be hashed as you have it here.’
‘And the poached egg?’ asked the Governor.
‘That was the inspiration of my cook, sir.’
Discussion of this new invention – and of the excellent Burgundy served with this course – distracted attention from the troubles of Venezuela, and even from Ramsbottom’s Venezuelan mother. Conversation became general, and somewhat disjointed, as the wine flowed. Hornblower had drunk as much as he desired, and, with his habitual dislike of excess, contrived to avoid drinking more. It was noticeable that Ramsbottom remained sober as well, cool and quiet-voiced, while the other faces grew redder and redder, and the cabin echoed to the roaring toasts and the bursts of inconsequential song. Hornblower guessed that his host was now finding the evening as tedious as he himself found it. He was glad when at last His Excellency rose, supporting himself by the table, to take his leave.
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