Hornblower and the Crisis by Forester, S. (dark academia books to read .TXT) 📗

“Very well, thank you,” he snapped; the midshipman had hardly turned his back before Hornblower was dragging out his sea chest and trying to make up his mind as to how he could get the creases out of his threadbare fulldress coat.

“HM's late sloop.” That could only mean that Hotspur was a total loss. But Meadows was alive, which implied that few, if any, lives had been lost. Certainly Meadows had wasted no time in putting Hotspur ashore. That would be the easiest thing in the world to do, as no one could say with more certainty than he who had never done it.

To shave he had to drag his sea chest under the hatchway and stand on it with his head protruding and his mirror propped up on the deck. He was not quite tall enough to dispense with the sea chest; it crossed his mind that Meadows must have been tall enough to see clear over the coaming without taking steps to add a cubit to his stature.

Baddlestone came up and actually volunteered information as Hornblower stood there balancing precariously; he was still sufficiently unaccustomed to the Princess's antics to make it difficult to use his second hand to pull his skin tight while wielding the razor with the other.

“So Hotspur's lost on the Black Rock,” said Baddlestone.

“I knew she was aground,” said Hornblower. “But I didn't know where.”

“Do you call being at the bottom of the sea aground? She touched on a falling tide. Holed herself and filled and then rolled off on the flood.”

It was remarkable how the fleet auxiliaries picked up the news.

“Any loss of life?” asked Hornblower.

“None that I've heard of,” said Baddlestone.

He would certainly have heard if any officers had been drowned. So they were all safe, including Bush. Hornblower could devote special attention to the tricky area round the left corner of his mouth.

“Giving evidence, I hear?” asked Baddlestone.

“Yes.” Hornblower had no desire at all to add to Baddlestone's store of gossip.

“If the wind backs westerly I'll sail without you. I'll put your chest ashore at Plymouth.”

“You are exceedingly kind,” said Hornblower, and then checked himself. There was nothing to be gained by a quarrel with a man of an inferior social order, and there were other considerations. Hornblower wiped off his face and his razor, pausing to meet Baddlestone's eyes.

“Not many men would have given that answer,” said Baddlestone.

“Not many men need their breakfast as much as I do at present,” answered Hornblower.

At eight o'clock the boat was alongside, and Hornblower went down into it, wearing the single epaulette on his left shoulder that indicated he had not yet been confirmed in his promotion to captain, and at his side he wore the brass hilted Langer which was all he could boast as a sword. But he was received with the appropriate ceremony as he went up Hibernia's side, following two glittering captains with epaulettes on both shoulders who were obviously going to be members of the Court. Over on the lee side of the quarterdeck he caught a glimpse of Meadows and Bush, pacing up and down deep in conversation. But the midshipman who was his guide led him away; that was proof (if any were needed) that he was being summoned as an expert witness at the request of the Court, and had to be kept away from the defendants to prevent all possibility of either collusion or prejudice.

It was twenty five minutes after the firing of the gun that indicated the opening of the Court when Hornblower was called into the great cabin, where seven captains glittered at a table under the stern windows. Over at one side sat Meadows and Bush, and Prowse the sailing master and Wise the boatswain. It was distasteful, distressing, uncomfortable, to see the anxiety on those faces.

“The Court wishes to address a few questions to you, Captain Hornblower,” said the central figure at the table. “Later you may be asked by the defendants to explain your answers.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hornblower.

“You handed over command of the sloop Hotspur in the forenoon of the seventeenth, I understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Her material condition was good?”

“Reasonably so, sir.” He had to speak the truth.

“By that do you mean in good condition or bad?”

“Good, sir.”

“The compass deviation card was accurate as far as you were aware?”

“Yes, sir.” He could not possibly admit to any carelessness on that subject.

“You have heard that HMS Hotspur went aground on the Black Rock with a falling tide. Have you any comments to make, Captain?”

Hornblower set his teeth.

“It would be an easy thing to do.”

“Perhaps you would be good enough to elaborate on that statement, Captain?”

There was plenty he could say, but he had to be careful how he said it. He must not appear to be a windbag. He must lay all necessary stress on the navigational difficulties and yet at the same time he must not rate himself over-​highly for having so long evaded them. He must do all he could for the defendants but he must not overplay his hand. At least there were certain obvious points he could make which could be instantly confirmed by a glance at the ship's logs. He talked about the steady westerly wind which had prevailed for some days earlier, and then about the brisk easterly wind which had sprung up that afternoon. In those conditions the ebbtide could be unpredictably fierce. There was likely at the same time to be a disturbing back eddy inside the rocks which could upset all calculations so that the current might reverse itself in a cable's length. From the Black Rock extended a long reef to the southeastward where, except at the very tip, breakers were only visible at low water of spring tides and the lead gave no warning of this. It would be in no way remarkable for a ship keeping close up to the Goulet to be trapped here.

“Thank you, Captain,” said the President when Hornblower had finished, and he glanced over to the defendants, “Have