Hornblower and the Crisis

by Forester, C. S.

  Now this — this recollection of England's desperate need — was something overwhelming, something that overshadowed every other consideration. In the calm atmosphere of this very room he had estimated the vital need for a victory at sea, and had balanced against it the trifling cost of his suggested attempt. That cost might be his own life, as it now appeared. And — and — who could he trust to keep a clear head, who could he trust to plan and to extemporize in an emergency? And already, unsought, there were forming in his mind improvements, refinements, in the rough plan which demanded his own personal action. He would have to agree; and in a moment of illumination he felt that he would never be happy again if he were to refuse. He must say yes.

  “Captain,” said Marsden. “We have not forgotten Admiral Cornwallis' recommendation that you should be made post.”

  The speech was so utterly disassociated from Hornblower's present train of thought, so unrelated to what he had been about to say, that he could not possibly say it. Barrow glanced over at Marsden and then made his contribution.

  “There would be no need to find you a ship, Captain,” he said. “You could be given a command in the Sea Fencibles which would confer post rank. Then you could be transferred for special service.”

  Indeed this was something alien intruding into the conversation. This was what Hornblower had given more than a passing thought to on his way here. Promotion to captain's rank; he would be 'made post', placed on the list of captains. He would cease to be a mere commander perennially irked by the conventional form of address of 'Captain'. He would be a real captain, he would have achieved the ambition of every naval officer down to the lowest King's Letterboy in the service; once on the list only a court martial or death could stop his eventually becoming an admiral. And he had quite forgotten about promotion; he had forgotten his decision to press for it. It was not so surprising that he had forgotten about the Sea Fencibles, who constituted a volunteer reserve navy formed of wherrymen and bargees and fishermen who could be called into active service should an actual attempt at invasion occur. England was divided into districts for the organization and elementary training of these men, and each district was a Captain's command — a Post Captain's command.

  “Well, Captain?” asked Marsden.

  “I'll do it,” said Hornblower.

  He saw glances interchanged again; he could see relief, or perhaps satisfaction, or perhaps self congratulation in those glances. They were pleased that their bribe had been effective, and he was about to burst out in an indignant denial that the offer had had any weight with him. Then he shut his mouth again, remembering the philosopher who said that he had often regretted having spoken but had never regretted remaining silent. A few seconds of silence — utterly fortuitous — had won him promotion to post rank; a few seconds of speech might imperil it. And he knew, too, that these two cynical men would not believe any such protestations for a moment. His apparent bargaining may even have won their respect; certainly they would deem a denial to be hypocritical and worthy of contempt.

  “Then I had better arrange for you to make Miranda's acquaintance, Captain,” said Marsden. “And I should be obliged if you would consider and elaborate a detailed plan for me to submit to His Lordship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Orally, if you please. Nothing may be committed to paper regarding this plan, Captain. Except possibly you final report after achieving success.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Was there the slightest hint of softening in Marsden's expression? That last sentence of his was undoubtedly meant as a joke; it was something entirely out of the ordinary. Hornblower had a sudden insight; the Secretary, in addition to all his routine work, carried a responsibility which must occasion him considerable anxiety. He had necessarily to deal (because transient First Lords and Sea Lords could not maintain the needed continuity) with all matters of this sort, the gathering of information, the dissemination on occasions of false information — with spying, in fact, to use a single and ugly word. Hornblower could see already now how difficult it must be to find reliable agents, men who could be trusted not to play a double role. Marsden was experiencing relief at this moment, to such an extent as actually to show it.

  “I will make the arrangements for your posting to be gazetted, Captain.” This was Barrow, attending to details. “You will read yourself in before the end of the week.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  When Hornblower reached the street the rain was only falling softly although with every appearance of doing so for a long time. He had no cloak, no tarpaulin, but he went out into the rain quite gladly. He felt he must walk and walk and walk. The rain on his face was pleasant, and he told himself that the soft rainwater would dissolve out the clammy sea salt with which all his clothes were impregnated. The thought only distracted him for a moment from the others that were writhing in his brain like eels in a sack. He was about to become a captain at last, and he was about to become a spy.

  * * *

  C. S. Forester died before be could finish HORNBLOWER AND THE CRISIS, but from the notes that he left behind it is possible to see how the story would have ended.

  Hornblower goes through a period of training in preparation for his spy mission. He brushes up his Spanish with a ruddy complexioned Count Miranda whom he is to accompany to Spain in the disguise of the Count's servant. 'He would have to watch every word and gesture, his life depended on doing nothing that would betray them.' Then Hornblower goes through a crisis of conscience about becoming a spy.

  As he is rowed towards the ship that will take him from Spithead to Spain Hornblower thinks: One stage farther along a hateful voyage. Each stroke of the boatman's oars was carrying him nearer to a time of frightful strain; to something close to a certainty of a shameful and hideous death . . .

  He wonders whether to turn back, but sense of duty prevails.

  Forged letters are delivered to Villeneuve which prompts the Frenchman to come out and fight. This is what Nelson wants.

  It leads to the victory at Trafalgar. The course of history is changed.