You are hereby requested and required, immediately upon receipt of these orders—
This was the moment; Hornblower savoured it for one half of one second.
—to wait upon Henry Pallender, Esq., Blue Mantle Pursuivant at Arms, at the College of Heralds—
“God bless my soul,” said Hornblower.
“What is it, sir?” asked Jones.
“I don’t know yet,” answered Hornblower.
—there to consult with him upon the arrangements to be made for the funeral Procession by water of the late Vice-Admiral Lord Viscount Nelson—
“So that’s it,” said Hornblower.
“It’s what, sir?” asked Jones, but Hornblower could not spare the time at present to enlighten him.
—You will take upon yourself, by the authority of these orders, the command of all officers, seamen, and Royal Marines to be engaged in the Procession aforesaid, likewise of all vessels, boats and barges belonging to the Cities of London and Westminster and to the City Companies. You will issue all the orders necessary for the Procession to be conducted in a seaman-like manner. You will, by your consultations with Henry Pallender, Esq., aforesaid, ascertain the requirements of Ceremonial and Precedence, but you are hereby charged, upon your peril, to pay strict attention to conditions of Tide and Weather so that not only may Ceremonial be observed, but also that no Danger or Damage may be incurred by the boats, barges, and vessels aforesaid, nor by their Crews and Passengers.
“Please, sir. Please, sir,” said Jones.
His thoughts came back into the little cabin.
“These are orders for me personally,” he said. “Oh—very well, you can read them if you wish to.”
Jones read them with moving lips and finally looked up at Hornblower with a bewildered expression.
“So the ship stays here, sir?” he asked.
“She certainly does. She is from this moment the flagship of the funeral procession,” said Hornblower. “I shall need a boat and boat’s crew at once. Oh yes, pen and paper to send a message to my wife.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“See there’s a good petty officer in the boat. She’ll be waiting a good deal ashore.”
“Aye aye, sir. We’re having men run every day.”
Of course desertion could be a very serious problem in a ship anchored here in the river, within swimming distance of shore and innumerable boats plying about, with the whole City of London close at hand into which a deserter might disappear. And there could be the question of liquor being surreptitiously sold on board from shore boats. And Hornblower had been on board for a full ten minutes and he was no wiser about the things he most wanted to know—about how Atropos was manned and officered, what she lacked, what was her material condition—than he had been yesterday. But all the problems with which he was so anxious to deal must for the moment be shelved, to be dealt with at intervals when this new strange duty permitted. The mere question of the furnishing of his cabin might demand more attention than he could spare at present. Hornblower knew from the newspaper he had read yesterday that Nelson’s body was at the Nore, awaiting a fair wind before being brought up to Greenwich. Time was pressing, and there were orders in hundreds to be written, he did not doubt.
And so the moment of transition was over. If he had been allowed a thousand guesses as to what his orders would contain, he would never have thought of this particular duty. He could laugh about it if it were not so serious. He could laugh in any case, and he did. After a moment’s glance of surprise Mr. Jones decided that he should laugh too, and did so, obsequiously.
IV
“Black breeches?” asked Hornblower, startled.
“Of course. Black breeches and stockings, and mourning bands,” said Mr. Pallender solemnly.
He was an aged man, and although the top of his head was bald he wore the remainder of his white hair long, clubbed at the nape of his neck in a thick short queue tied with black ribbon. He had pale blue eyes, rheumy with age, and a thin pointed nose which in the chill of the room bore a small drop at its reddish tip—perhaps always bore one.
Hornblower made a note on the sheet of paper before him regarding the black breeches and stockings and mourning bands. He also made a mental note that he would have to obtain these things for himself as well, and he wondered where the money was coming from to do it.
“It would be best,” went on Mr. Pallender, “if the procession were to pass through the City at midday. Then the populace will have plenty of time to assemble, and the apprentices can do a morning’s work.”
“I can’t promise that,” said Hornblower. “It depends on the tide.”
“The tide, Captain Hornblower? You must realize that this is a ceremonial in which the Court—His Majesty himself—is deeply interested.”
“But it has to depend on the tide all the same,” said Hornblower. “And even on the winds too.”
“Indeed? His Majesty will be most provoked if his ideas are scouted.”
“I see,” said Hornblower.
He thought of remarking that although His Majesty ruled the waves he had no more control over the tides than had his illustrious predecessor King Canute, but he thought better of it. Mr. Pallender was not the type to appreciate jokes about the limitations of the royal power. Instead Hornblower decided to imitate Mr. Pallender’s solemnity.
“Since the actual day of the ceremonial hasn’t yet been decided upon,” he said, “it might be possible to choose such a day as the tide serves best.”
“I suppose so,” conceded Mr. Pallender.
Hornblower made a note of the necessity of immediately consulting the tide-tables.
“The Lord Mayor,” said Mr. Pallender, “will not be present in person, but his representative will.”
“I understand.”
There would be some small relief in not being responsible for the person of the Lord Mayor, but not much, seeing that the eight most senior admirals in the Navy were going to be present, and were going to be his responsibility.
“Are you sure you won’t try a little of this brandy?” asked Mr. Pallender, giving the decanter a little push.
“No, thank you.”
Hornblower had no desire at all to drink brandy at this time of day; but now he knew what gave Mr. Pallender’s nose that reddish tip. Mr. Pallender sipped appreciatively before going on.
“Now as regards the minute guns—”
Along the processional route apparently there were fifteen points at which minute guns were to be fired, and his Majesty would be listening to see that they were properly timed. Hornblower covered more paper with notes. There would be thirty-eight boats and barges in the procession, to be assembled in the tricky tideway at Greenwich, marshalled in order, brought up to Whitehall Steps, and dispersed again after delivering over the body to a naval guard of honour assembled there which would escort it to the Admiralty to lie there for the night before the final procession to St. Paul’s.
“Can you tell me, sir,” asked Hornblower, “what kind of vessel these ceremonial barges are?”
He regretted the question as soon as he asked it; Mr. Pallender showed surprise that any man should not be familiar with ceremonial barges, but as for knowing how handy they were in choppy water, or even how many oars aside they rowed, that was of course more than could be expected of Mr. Pallender. Hornblower realized that the sooner he took one over, and rowed it over the course of the procession in the appropriate tidal conditions, timing every stage, the better. He went on adding to his pages of notes while Mr. Pallender went on with what to him was most important—the order of precedence of the boats; how the whole College of Heralds would be present, including Norroy King of Arms and himself, Blue Mantle Pursuivant; the Royal Dukes and the Admirals; the formalities to be observed at the embarkation and the landing; the Chief Mourner and the train-bearer, the pall-bearers and the Family of the Deceased.
“Thank you, sir,” said Hornblower at last, gathering up his notes. “I will begin thes
e preparations at once.”
“Greatly obliged, I’m sure, sir,” said Mr. Pallender, as Hornblower took his leave.
This was an operation as elaborate as Abercrombie’s landing on the Egyptian coast—and in the Mediterranean there were no tides to complicate arrangements. Thirty-eight boats with their crews and oarsmen; guards of honour; mourners and officials; there would be a thousand officers and men at least under Hornblower’s command. And Hornblower’s heart sank a little when he was able to take one of the barges from the hands of the workmen who were attaching the insignia to it in Deptford Yard, and conduct his own trials with it. It was a vast clumsy vessel, not much smaller and no more manageable than a cargo lighter. Forward in the open bows she pulled twelve oars; from midships aft she was covered with a vast canopy of solid construction, exposing an enormous area to the wind. The barge allotted to the conveyance of the Body (Mr. Pallender had made that capital letter quite obvious in their discussion) was being so covered with plumes that she would catch the wind like a frigate’s mainsail. There must be lusty oarsmen detailed to the task of rowing that barge along—and it would be best to have as nearly as complete a relief available as possible, hidden away under the canopy. But as she would head the procession, with the other boats taking station upon her, he must be careful not to overdo that. He must time everything exactly—up with the flood tide, arriving at Whitehall Steps precisely at slack water so that the complicated manoeuvres there could be carried out with the minimum of risk, and then back with the ebb, dispersing barges and crews along the route as convenient.
“My dear,” said Maria to him, in their bedroom at the “George” “I fear I have little of your attention at present.”
“Your pardon, dear?” said Hornblower, looking round from the table at which he was writing. He was deep in plans for issuing a solid breakfast to a thousand men who would have small chance of eating again all day.
“I was telling you that I spoke to the midwife today. She seems a worthy woman. She will hold herself free from tomorrow. As she lives only in the next street there is no need for her to take up residence here until the time comes, which is fortunate—you know how little money we have, Horatio.”
“Yes, dear,” said Hornblower. “Have those black breeches of mine been delivered yet?”
It was a perfectly natural step from Maria’s approaching confinement to Hornblower’s black breeches, via the question of money, but Maria resented her husband’s apparent heartlessness.
“Do you care more for your breeches than for your child?” she asked, “—or for me?”
“Dearest,” answered Hornblower. He had to put down his pen and rise from his chair to comfort her. “I have much on my mind. I can’t tell you how much I regret it at this moment.”
This was the very devil. The eyes not only of London but of all England would be on that procession. He would never be forgiven if there was any blunder. But he had to take Maria’s hands in his and reassure her.
“You, my dear,” he said, smiling into her eyes, “are my all in all. There is nothing in my world as important as you are.”
“I wish I could be sure,” said Maria.
He kissed the hands he held.
“What can I say to make you sure?” he asked. “That I love you?”
“That would be pleasant enough,” said Maria.
“I love you, dear,” he said, but he had not had now a smile from her as yet, and he went on, “I love you more dearly even than my new black breeches.”
“Oh!” said Maria.
He had to labour the point to make sure that she understood he was both joking and tender.
“More dearly than a thousand pair of black breeches,” he said. “Could any man say more?”
She was smiling now, and she took her hands from his and laid them on his shoulders.
“Is that a compliment for me to treasure always?” she asked.
“It will always be true, my dear,” he said.
“You are the kindest of husbands,” she said, and the break in her voice showed that she meant it.
“With the sweetest of wives,” he answered. “And now may I go on with my work?”
“Of course, darling. Of course. I fear I am selfish. But—but—darling, I love you so. I love you so!”
“There, there,” said Hornblower patting her shoulder. Perhaps he felt as strongly over this business as Maria did, but he had much else to feel strongly about. And if he mismanaged these ceremonial arrangements the child to come might go on short commons with him on half-pay for life. And Nelson’s body was at this very moment lying in state at Greenwich, and the day after tomorrow was the date fixed for the procession, with the tide beginning to flood at eleven, and there was still much to be done. He was glad to get back to the writing of his orders. He was glad to go back on board Atropos and plunge into business there.
“Mr. Jones, I’d be glad if you’d call the midshipmen and master’s mates. I need half a dozen who can write a fair round hand.”
The cabin of the Atropos took on the appearance of a schoolroom, with the midshipmen sitting on mess stools at improvised tables, with inkwells and pens, copying out Hornblower’s drafts of the orders, and Hornblower going from one to another, like a squirrel in a cage, answering questions.
“Please, sir, I can’t read this word.”
“Please, sir, do I start a new paragraph here?”
It was one way of finding out something of the junior officers, of distinguishing them as individuals out of what had been so far a formless mass of officers; there were the ones who appealed for help at every turn, and the ones who could make deductions from the context; there were the stupid ones who wrote orders that made nonsense.
“Damn it, man,” said Hornblower. “Would anyone out of Bedlam say a thing like that—far less write it?”
“That’s what it looked like, sir,” said the midshipman stubbornly.
“God help us all,” said Hornblower in despair.
But that was the man who wrote a very clear hand; Hornblower put him on to the task of writing the beginnings of each letter.
H.M.S. Atropos at Deptford
Jan 6th 1806
Sir
By virtue of the powers entrusted to me by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty—
Other men could carry on from there, with a saving of time. The ninety different written orders with their duplicates were written at last, and distributed by midnight; crews and petty officers had been found from various sources for every boat that was to take part in the procession, rations allotted to them, their place in the line clearly stated—“You will take the seventeenth position, immediately after the barge of the Commander-in-Chief at the Nore and immediately preceding that of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers.”
The final arrangements were made with Mr. Pallender at two in the morning of the day of the procession, and Hornblower, yawning, could think of nothing else to be done. Yes, there was a final change to be made.
“Mr. Horrocks, you will come with me with the Body in the first barge. Mr. Smiley, you’ll command the second with the Chief Mourner.”
Horrocks was the stupidest of the midshipmen and Smiley the brightest—it had been natural to reserve the latter for himself, but now he realized how stupid Horrocks was, and how necessary it was to keep him under his own eye.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower fancied Smiley looked pleased at thus escaping from the direct supervision of his captain, and he pricked that bubble.
“You’ll have nine admirals and four captains as passengers, Smiley,” he said. “Including Admiral of the Fleet Sir Peter Parker and Lord St Vincent.”
Smiley did not look nearly as pleased at that.
“Mr. Jones, have the longboat with the hands at Greenwich Pier at six o’clock, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And call away the gig for me now.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I’ll be at the
“George” until five. Send any messages there.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He still had a personal life; Maria was very near her time now.
On the deck there was a brisk westerly wind harping in the rigging, gusty, Hornblower noted. The barges would call for careful handling unless it dropped considerably. He stepped down into the gig.
“Make for Deptford Hard,” he ordered the coxswain, and clasped his coat close tightly round him, for the cabin of the Atropos had been hot with lamps and candles and many people. He walked up the Hard and knocked at the door of the “George”; from the window at the side there was a faint light showing and the window of their room above was illuminated. The door opened to reveal the landlady.”
“Oh, it’s you, sir. I thought it was the midwife. I’ve just sent Davie for her. Your good lady—”
“Let me by,” said Hornblower.
Maria was walking about the bedroom in her dressing-gown; two candles illuminated the room, and the shadows of the bed-tester and the other furniture moved in sinister fashion as Hornblower opened the door.
“Darling!” said Maria.
Hornblower came towards her, his hands held out.
“I hope all is well with you, dear,” he said.
“I think so. I—I hope so. It has only just begun,” said Maria.