“I suppose not,” said Buckland.
“He’ll have seen the prizes coming in with us — everyone in the flagship’s looking at them now and wondering about them. He’ll be expecting good news. He’ll be in no mood to ask questions this morning, sir. Except perhaps to ask you if you’ll take Madeira or sherry.”
For the life of him Bush could not guess whether Hornblower’s smile was natural or not, but he was a witness of the infusion of new spirits into Buckland.
“But later on —” said Buckland.
“Later on’s another day, sir. We can be sure of one thing, though — admirals don’t like to be kept waiting, sir.”
“I suppose I’d better go,” said Buckland.
Hornblower returned to Bush’s cabin after having supervised the departure of the gig. This time his smile was clearly not forced; it played whimsically about the corners of his mouth.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Bush.
He tried to ease his position under the sheet that covered him. Now that the ship was stationary and the nearby land interfered with the free course of the wind the ship was much warmer already; the sun was shining down mercilessly, almost vertically over the deck that lay hardly more than a yard above Bush’s upturned face.
“You’re quite right, sir,” said Hornblower, stooping over him and adjusting the sheet. “There’s nothing to laugh at.”
“Then take that damned grin off your face,” said Bush, petulantly. Excitement and the heat were working on his weakness to make his head swim again.
“Aye aye, sir. Is there anything else I can do?”
“No,” said Bush.
“Very good, sir. I’ll attend to my other duties, then.”
Alone in his cabin Bush rather regretted Hornblower’s absence. As far as his weakness would permit, he would have liked to discuss the immediate future; he lay and thought about it, muzzy-mindedly, while the sweat soaked the bandages that swathed him. But there could be no logical order in his thoughts. He swore feebly to himself. Listening, he tried to guess what was going on in the ship with hardly more success than when he had tried to guess the future. He closed his eyes to sleep, and he opened them again when he started wondering about how Buckland was progressing in his interview with Admiral Lambert.
A lob-lolly boy — sick-berth attendant — came in with a tray that bore a jug and a glass. He poured out a glassful of liquid and with an arm supporting Bush’s neck he held it to Bush’s lips. At the touch of the cool liquid, and as its refreshing scent reached his nose, Bush suddenly realised he was horribly thirsty, and he drank eagerly, draining the glass.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Lemonade, sir, with Mr Hornblower’s respects.”
“Mr Hornblower?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a bumboat alongside an’ Mr Hornblower bought some lemons an’ told me to squeeze ‘em for you.”
“My thanks to Mr Hornblower.”
“Aye aye, sir.Another glass, sir?”
“Yes.”
That was better. Later on there were a whole succession of noises which he found hard to explain to himself: the tramp of booted feet on the deck, shouted orders, oars and more oars rowing alongside. Then there were steps outside his cabin door and Clive, the surgeon, entered, ushering in a stranger, a skinny, white-haired man with twinkling blue eyes.
“I’m Sankey, surgeon of the naval hospital ashore,” he announced. “I’ve come to take you where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“I don’t want to leave the ship,” said Bush.
“In the service,” said Sankey, with professional cheerfulness, “you should have learned that it is the rule always to have to do what you don’t want to do.”
He turned back the sheet and contemplated Bush’s bandaged form.
“Pardon this liberty,” he said, still hatefully cheerful, “but I have to sign a receipt for you — I trust you’ve never signed a receipt for ship’s stores without examining into their condition, lieutenant.”
“Damn you to hell!” said Bush.
“A nasty temper,” said Sankey with a glance at Clive. “I fear you have not prescribed a sufficiency of opening medicine.”
He laid hands on Bush, and with Clive’s assistance dexterously twitched him over so that he lay face downward.
“The Dagoes seem to have done a crude job of carving; you, sir,” went on Sankey, addressing Bush’s defenceless back. “Nine wounds, I understand.”
“And fifty-three stitches,” added Clive.
“That will look well in the Gazette,” said Sankey with giggle; and proceeded to extemporise a quotation: “Lieutenant — ah — Bush received no fewer than nine wounds in the course of his heroic defence, but I am happy to state that he is rapidly recovering from them.”
Bush tried to turn his head so as to snarl out an appropriate reply, but his neck was one of the sorest parts of him and he could only growl unintelligibly, and he was not turned on to his back again until his growls had died down.
“And now we’ll whisk our little cupid away,” said Sankey. “Come in, you stretcher men.”
Carried out on to the maindeck Bush found the sunlight blinding, and Sankey stooped to draw the sheet over his eyes.
“Belay that!” said Bush, as he realised his intention, and there was enough of the old bellow in his voice to cause Sankey to pause. “I want to see!”
The explanation of the trampling and bustle on the deck was plain now. Across the waist was drawn up a guard of one of the West Indian regiments, bayonets fixed and every man at attention. The Spanish prisoners were being brought up through the hatchways for despatch to the shore in the lighters alongside. Bush recognised Ortega, limping along with a man on either side to support him; one trouser leg had been cut off and his thigh was bandaged, and the bandage and the other trouser leg were black with dried blood.
“A cut-throat crew, to be sure,” said Sankey. “And now, if you have feasted your eyes on them long enough, we can sway you down into the boat.”
Hornblower came hurrying down from the quarterdeck and went down on his knee beside the stretcher.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, thank’ee,” said Bush.
“I’ll have your gear packed and sent ashore after you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Careful with those slings,” snapped Hornblower, as the tackles were being attached to the stretcher.
“Sir!Sir!” Midshipman James was dancing about at Hornblower elbow, anxious for his attention. “Boat’s heading for us with a captain aboard.”
That was news demanding instant consideration.
“Goodbye, sir,” said Hornblower. “Best of luck, sir. See you soon.”
He turned away and Bush felt no ill will at this brief farewell, for a captain coming on board had to be received with the correct compliments. Moreover, Bush himself was desperately anxious to know the business that brought this captain on board.
“Hoist away!” ordered Sankey.
“Avast!” said Bush; and in reply to Sankey’s look of inquiry, “Let’s wait a minute.”
“I have no objection myself to knowing what’s going on,” said Sankey.
The calls of the bosun’s mates shrilled along the deck. The sideboys came running; the military guard wheeled to face the entry port; the marines formed up beside them. Up through the entry port came the captain, his gold lace flaming in the sunshine. Hornblower touched his hat.
“You are Mr Hornblower, at present the senior lieutenant on board this ship?”
“Yes, sir.Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, at your service.”
“My name is Cogshill,” said the captain, and he produced a paper which he proceeded to unfold and read aloud. “Orders from Sir Richard Lambert, Vice Admiral of the Blue, Knight of the Bath, Commanding His Majesty’s ships and vessels on the Jamaica station, to Captain James Edward Cogshill, of His Majesty’s ship Buckler. You are hereby requested and required to repair immediately on board of His Majesty’s ship Renown now lying in Port Royal bay and to take command pro tempore of the aforesaid ship Renown.”