‘Happy is the bride the sun shines on.’
They came out of the dim light into the bright sun, and the transition was moral as well as physical, for Bush had not disappointed them; he had not been found wanting after all. Hornblower heard a sharp word and a ragged clash of steel, and there were the fifty seamen in a double rank stretching away from the door, making an arch of their drawn cutlasses for the couple to walk beneath.
‘Oh, how nice!’ said Maria, in childish delight; furthermore the array of seamen at the church door had attracted a crowd of spectators, all craning forward to see the captain and his bride. Hornblower darted a professional glance first down one line of seamen and then down the other. They were all dressed in the new blue and white checked shirts with which he had stocked the slop chest of the Hotspur; their white duck trousers were mostly well worn but well washed, and long enough and baggy enough to conceal the probable deficiencies of their shoes. It was a good turnout.
Beyond the avenue of cutlasses stood a horseless post-chaise, with Bush standing behind it. Wondering a little, Hornblower led Maria towards it; Bush gallantly handed Maria up into the front seat and Hornblower climbed up beside her, finding time now to take his cocked hat from under his arm and clap it on his head. He had heard the cutlasses rasp back into their sheaths; now the guard of honour came pattering forward in a disciplined rush. There were pipe-clayed drag ropes where the traces should have been, and the fifty men seized their coils, twenty-five to a coil, and ran them out. Bush craned up towards Hornblower.
‘Let the brake off, if you please, sir. That handle there, sir.’
Hornblower obeyed, and Bush turned away and let loose a subdued bellow. The seamen took the strain in half a dozen quickening steps and then broke into a trot, the post-chaise rattling over the cobbles, while the crowd waved their hats and cheered.
‘I never thought I could be so happy – Horry – darling,’ said Maria.
The men at the drag ropes, with the usual exuberance of the seaman on land, swung round the corner into the High Street and headed at the double towards the George, and with the turn Maria was flung against him and clasped him in delicious fear. As they drew up it was obvious that there was a danger of the chaise rolling forward into the seamen, and Hornblower had to think fast and reach for the brake lever, hurriedly casting himself free from Maria’s arm. Then he sat for a moment, wondering what to do next. On this occasion there should be a group to welcome them, the host of the inn and his wife, the boots, the ostler, the drawer, and the maids, but as it was there was no one. He had to leap down from the chaise unassisted and single handed help Maria down.
‘Thank you, men,’ he said to the parting seamen, who acknowledged his thanks with a knuckling of foreheads and halting words.
Bush was in sight now round the corner, hurrying towards them; Hornblower could safely leave Bush in charge while he led Maria into the inn with a sad lack of ceremony.
But here was the host at last, bustling up with a napkin over his arm and his wife at his heels.
‘Welcome, sir, welcome, madam. This way, sir, madam.’ He flung open the door into the coffee-room to reveal the wedding breakfast laid on a snowy cloth. ‘The Admiral arrived only five minutes ago, sir, so you must excuse us, sir.’
‘Which Admiral?’
‘The Honourable Admiral Sir William Cornwallis, sir, commanding the Channel Fleet. ’Is coachman says war’s certain, sir.’
Hornblower had been convinced of this ever since, nine days ago, he had read the King’s message to Parliament, and witnessed the activities of the press gangs, and had been notified of his appointment to the command of the Hotspur – and (he remembered) had found himself betrothed to Maria. Bonaparte’s unscrupulous behaviour on the Continent meant—
‘A glass of wine, madam? A glass of wine, sir?’
Hornblower was conscious of Maria’s enquiring glance when the innkeeper asked this question. She would not venture to answer until she had ascertained what her new husband thought.
‘We’ll wait for the rest of the company,’ said Hornblower. ‘Ah—’
A heavy step on the threshold announced Bush’s arrival.
‘They’ll all be here in two minutes,’ said Bush.
‘Very good of you to arrange about the carriage and the seamen, Mr Bush,’ said Hornblower, and he thought that moment of something else that a kind and thoughtful husband would say. He slipped his hand under Maria’s arm and added – ‘Mrs Hornblower says you made her very happy.’
A delighted giggle from Maria told him that he had given pleasure by this unexpected use of her new name, as he expected.
‘Mrs Hornblower, I give you joy,’ said Bush, solemnly, and then to Hornblower, ‘By your leave, sir, I’ll return to the ship.’
‘Now, Mr Bush?’ asked Maria.
‘I fear I must, ma’am,’ replied Bush, turning back at once to Hornblower. ‘I’ll take the hands back with me, sir. There’s always the chance that the lighters with the stores may come off.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right, Mr Bush,’ said Hornblower. ‘Keep me informed, if you please.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bush, and with that he was gone.
Here came the others, pouring in, and any trace of awkwardness about the party disappeared as Mrs Mason marshalled the guests and set the wedding breakfast into its stride. Corks popped and preliminary toasts were drunk. There was the cake to be cut, and Mrs Mason insisted that Maria should make the first cut with Hornblower’s sword; Mrs Mason was sure that in this Maria would be following the example of naval brides in good society in London. Hornblower was not so sure; he had lived for ten years under a strict convention that cold steel should never be drawn under a roof or a deck. But his timid objections were swept away, and Maria, the sword in both hands, cut the cake amid general applause. Hornblower could hardly restrain his impatience to take the thing back from her, and he quickly wiped the sugar icing from the blade, wondering grimly what the assembled company would think if they knew he had once wiped human blood from it. He was still engaged on this work when he became aware of the innkeeper whispering hoarsely at his side.
‘Begging your pardon, sir. Begging your pardon.’
‘Well?’
‘The Admiral’s compliments, sir, and he would be glad to see you when you find it convenient.’
Hornblower stood sword in hand, staring at him in momentary uncomprehension.
‘The Admiral, sir. ’E’s in the first floor front, what we always calls the Admiral’s Room.’
‘You mean Sir William, of course?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well. My respects to the Admiral and – No, I’ll go up at once. Thank you.’
‘Thank’ee, sir. Begging your pardon again.’
Hornblower shot his sword back into its sheath and looked round at the company. They were watching the maid bustling round handing slices of wedding cake and had no eyes for him at present. He settled his sword at his side, twitched at his neck-cloth, and unobtrusively left the room, picking up his hat as he did so.
When he knocked at the door of the first floor front a deep voice that he well remembered said, ‘Come in.’ It was so large a room that the four-poster bed at the far end was inconspicuous; so was the secretary seated at the desk by the window. Cornwallis was standing in the middle, apparently engaged in dictation until this interruption.
‘Ah, it’s Hornblower. Good morning.’
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘The last time we met was over that unfortunate business with the Irish rebel. We had to hang him, I remember.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cornwallis, ‘Billy Blue,’ had not changed perceptibly during those four years. He was still the bulky man with the composed manner, obviously ready to deal with any emergency.
‘Please sit down. A glass of wine?’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘I expected that, seeing the ceremony you’ve just come from. My apologies fo
r interrupting your wedding, but you must blame Boney, not me.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Hornblower felt that a more eloquent speech would have been in place here, but he could not think of one.
‘I’ll detain you for as short a time as possible. You know I’ve been appointed to the command of the Channel Fleet?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You know that Hotspur is under my command?’
‘I expected that, but I didn’t know, sir.’
‘The Admiralty letter to that effect came down in my coach. You’ll find it awaiting you on board.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is Hotspur ready to sail?’
‘No, sir.’ The truth and no excuses. Nothing else would do.
‘How long?’
‘Two days, sir. More if there’s delay with the ordnance stores.’
Cornwallis was looking at him very sharply indeed, but Hornblower returned glance for glance. He had nothing with which to reproach himself; nine days ago Hotspur was still laid up in ordinary.
‘She’s been docked and breamed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘She’s manned?’
‘Yes, sir. A good crew – the cream of the press.’
‘Rigging set up?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yards crossed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Officers appointed?’
‘Yes, sir. A lieutenant and four master’s mates.’
‘You’ll need three months’ provisions and water.’
‘I can stow a hundred and eleven days at full rations, sir. The cooperage is delivering the water-butts at noon. I’ll have it all stowed by nightfall, sir.’
‘Have you warped her out?’
‘Yes, sir. She’s at anchor now in Spithead.’
‘You’ve done well,’ said Cornwallis.
Hornblower tried not to betray his relief at that speech; from Cornwallis that was more than approval – it was hearty praise.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘So what do you need now?’
‘Bos’n’s stores, sir. Cordage, canvas, spare spars.’
‘Not easy to get the dockyard to part with those at this moment. I’ll have a word with them. And then the ordnance stores, you say?’
‘Yes, sir. Ordnance are waiting for a shipment of nine-pounder shot. None to be had here at the moment.’
Ten minutes ago Hornblower had been thinking of words to please Maria. Now he was selecting words for an honest report to Cornwallis.
‘I’ll deal with that, too,’ said Cornwallis. ‘You can be certain of sailing the day after tomorrow if the wind serves.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now for your orders. You’ll get them in writing in the course of the day, but I’d better tell you now, while you can ask questions. War’s coming. It hasn’t been declared yet, but Boney may anticipate us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m going to blockade Brest as soon as I can get the fleet to sea, and you’re to go ahead of us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’re not to do anything to precipitate war. You’re not to provide Boney with an excuse.’
‘No, sir.’
‘When war’s declared you can of course take the appropriate action. Until then you have merely to observe. Keep your eye on Brest. Look in as far as you can without provoking fire. Count the ships of war – the number and rate of ships with their yards crossed, ships still in ordinary, ships in the roads, ships preparing for sea.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Boney sent the best of his ships and crews to the West Indies last year. He’ll have more trouble manning his fleet even than we have. I’ll want your report as soon as I arrive on the station. What’s the Hotspur’s draught?’
‘She’ll draw thirteen feet aft when she’s complete with stores, sir.’
‘You’ll be able to use the Goulet pretty freely, then. I don’t have to tell you not to run her aground.’
‘No, sir.’
‘But remember this. You’ll find it hard to perform your duty unless you risk your ship. There’s folly and there’s foolhardiness on one side, and there’s daring and calculation on the other. Make the right choice and I’ll see you through any trouble that may ensue.’
Cornwallis’s wide blue eyes looked straight into Hornblower’s brown ones. Hornblower was deeply interested in what Cornwallis had just said, and equally interested in what he had left unsaid. Cornwallis had made a promise of sympathetic support, but he had refrained from uttering the threat which was the obvious corollary. This was no rhetorical device, no facile trick of leadership – it was a simple expression of Cornwallis’s natural state of mind. He was a man who preferred to lead rather than to drive; most interesting.
Hornblower realised with a start that for several seconds he had been staring his commander-in-chief out of countenance while following up this train of thought; it was not the most tactful behaviour, perhaps.
‘I understand, sir,’ he said, and Cornwallis rose from his chair.
‘We’ll meet again at sea. Remember to do nothing to provoke war before war is declared,’ he said, with a smile – and the smile revealed the man of action. Hornblower could read him as someone to whom the prospect of action was stimulating and desirable, and who would never seek reasons or excuses for postponing decisions.
Cornwallis suddenly withheld his proffered hand.
‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was forgetting. This is your wedding day.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You were only married this morning?’
‘An hour ago, sir.’
‘And I’ve taken you away from your wedding breakfast.’
‘Yes, sir.’ It would be cheap rhetoric to add anything trite like ‘For King and Country,’ or even ‘Duty comes first.’
‘Your good lady will hardly be pleased.’
Nor would his mother-in-law, more especially, thought Hornblower, but again it would not be tactful to say so.
‘I’ll try to make amends, sir,’ he contented himself with saying.
‘It’s I who should make amends,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘Perhaps I could join the festivities and drink the bride’s health?’
‘That would be most kind of you, sir,’ said Hornblower.
If anything could reconcile Mrs Mason to his breach of manners, it would be the presence of Admiral the Hon. Sir William Cornwallis, K.B., at the breakfast table.
‘I’ll come, then, if you’re certain I shan’t be unwelcome. Hachett, find my sword. Where’s my hat?’
So that when Hornblower appeared again through the door of the coffee-room Mrs Mason’s instant and bitter reproaches died away on her lips, the moment she saw that Hornblower was ushering in an important guest. She saw the glittering epaulettes, and the red ribbon and the star which Cornwallis had most tactfully put on in honour of the occasion. Hornblower made the introductions.
‘Long life and much happiness,’ said Cornwallis, bowing over Maria’s hand, ‘to the wife of one of the most promising officers in the King’s service.’
Maria could only bob, overwhelmed with embarrassment in this glittering presence.
‘Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Sir William,’ said Mrs Mason.
And the parson and his wife, and the few neighbours of Mrs Mason’s who were the only other guests, were enormously gratified at being in the same room as – let alone being personally addressed by – the son of an Earl, a Knight of the Bath, and a Commander-in-Chief combined in one person.
‘A glass of wine, sir?’ asked Hornblower.
‘With pleasure.’
Cornwallis took the glass in his hand and looked round. It was significant that it was Mrs Mason whom he addressed.
‘Has the health of the happy couple been drunk yet?’
‘No, sir,’ answered Mrs Mason, in a perfect ecstasy.
‘Then may I do so? Ladies, gentlemen. I ask you all to stand and join me on this happy oc
casion. May they never know sorrow. May they always enjoy health and prosperity. May the wife always .find comfort in the knowledge that the husband is doing his duty for King and Country, and may the husband be supported in his duty by the loyalty of the wife. And let us hope that in time to come there will be a whole string of young gentlemen who will wear the King’s uniform after their father’s example, and a whole string of young ladies to be mothers of further young gentlemen. I give you the health of the bride and groom.’
The health was drunk amid acclamation, with all eyes turned on the blushing Maria, and then from her all eyes turned on Hornblower. He rose; he had realised, before Cornwallis had reached the midpoint of his speech, that the Admiral was using words he had used scores of times before, at scores of weddings of his officers. Hornblower, keyed up on the occasion, met Cornwallis’s eyes and grinned. He would give as good as he got; he would reply with a speech exactly similar to the scores that Cornwallis had listened to.
‘Sir William, ladies and gentlemen, I can only thank you in the name of’ – Hornblower reached down and took Maria’s hand – ‘my wife and myself.’
As the laughter died away – Hornblower had well known that the company would laugh at his mention of Maria as his wife, although he himself did not think it a subject for laughter – Cornwallis looked at his watch, and Hornblower hastened to thank him for his presence and to escort him to the door. Beyond the threshold Corwallis turned and thumped him on the chest with his large hand.
‘I’ll add another line to my orders for you,’ he said; Hornblower was acutely aware that Cornwallis’s friendly smile was accompanied by a searching glance.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I’ll add my written permission for you to sleep out of your ship for tonight and tomorrow night.’
Hornblower opened his mouth to reply, but no words came; for once in his life his readiness of wit had deserted him. His mind was so busy re-assessing the situation that it had nothing to spare for his organ of speech.
‘I thought you might have forgotten,’ said Cornwallis, grinning. ‘Hotspur’s part of the Channel Fleet now. Her captain is forbidden by law to sleep anywhere except on board without the permission of the Commander-in-Chief. Well, you have it.’