That provoked a technical discussion which Hornblower encouraged until it was time for him to leave.
Chapter XVI
The court of inquiry was not nearly as awe-inspiring as a court-martial. There was no gun fired, no court-martial flag hoisted; the captains who constituted the board wore their everyday uniforms, and the witnesses were not required to give their evidence under oath; Bush had forgotten about this last fact until he was called into the court.
“Please take a seat, Mr Bush,” said the president. “I understand you are still weak from your wounds.”
Bush hobbled across to the chair indicated and was just able to reach it in time to sit down. The great cabin of the Renown — here, where Captain Sawyer had lain quivering and weeping with fear — was sweltering hot. The president had the logbook and journal in front of him, and he held in his hand what Bush recognised to be his own report regarding the attack on Samaná, which he had addressed to Buckland.
“This report of yours does you credit, Mr Bush,” said the president. “It appears that you stormed this fort with no more than six casualties, although it was constructed with a ditch, parapets, and ramparts in regular style, and defended by a garrison of seventy men, and armed with twenty-four-pounders.”
“We took them by surprise, sir,” said Bush.
“It is that which is to your credit.”
The surprise of the garrison of Samaná could not have been greater than Bush’s own surprise at this reception; he was expecting something far more unpleasant and inquisitorial. A glance across at Buckland, who had been called in before him, was not quite so reassuring; Buckland was pale and unhappy. But there was something he must say before the thought of Buckland should distract him.
“The credit should be given to Lieutenant Hornblower, sir,” he said. “It was his plan.”
“So you very handsomely say in your report. I may as well say at once that it is the opinion of this court that all the circumstances regarding the attack on Samaná and the subsequent capitulation are in accordance with the best traditions of the service.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now we come to the next matter. The attempt of the prisoners to capture the Renown. You were by this time acting as first lieutenant of the ship, Mr Bush?”
“Yes, sir.”
Step by step Bush was taken through the events of that night. He was responsible under Buckland for the arrangements made for guarding and feeding the prisoners. There were fifty women, wives of the prisoners, under guard in the midshipmen’s berth. Yes, it was difficult to supervise them as closely as the men. Yes, he had gone his rounds after pipedown. Yes, he had heard a disturbance. And so on. “And you were found lying among the dead, unconscious from your wounds?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Bush.”
A fresh-faced young captain at the end of the table asked a question.
“And all this time Captain Sawyer was confined to his cabin, until he was murdered?”
The president interposed.
“Captain Hibbert, Mr Buckland has already enlightened us regarding Captain Sawyer’s indisposition.”
There was annoyance in the glance that the president of the court turned upon Captain Hibbert, and light suddenly dawned upon Bush. Sawyer had a wife, children, friends, who would not desire that any attention should be called to the fact that he had died insane. The president of the court was probably acting under explicit orders to hush that part of the business up. He would welcome questions about it no more than Bush himself would, now that Sawyer was dead in his country’s cause. Buckland could not have been very closely examined about it either. His unhappy look must be due to having to describe his inglorious part in the attempt on the Renown.
“I don’t expect any of you gentlemen wish to ask Mr Bush any more questions?” asked the president of the court in such a way that questions could not possibly have been asked. “Call Lieutenant Hornblower.”
Hornblower made his bow to the court; he was wearing that impassive expression which Bush knew by now to conceal an internal turbulence. He was asked as few questions on Samaná as Bush had been.
“It has been suggested,” said the president, “that this attack on the fort, and the hoisting up of the gun to search the bay, were on your initiative?”
“I can’t think why that suggestion was made, sir. Mr Buckland bore the entire responsibility.”
“I won’t press you further about that Mr Hornblower, then. I think we all understand. Now, let us hear about your recapture of the Renown. What first attracted your attention?”
It called for steady questioning to get the story out of Hornblower. He had heard a couple of musket shots, which had worried him, and then he saw the Renown come up into the wind, which made him certain something was seriously wrong. So he had collected his prize crews together and laid the Renown on board.
“Were you not afraid of losing the prizes, Mr Hornblower?”
“Better to lose the prizes than the ship, sir. Besides —”
“Besides what, Mr Hornblower?”
“I had every sheet and halliard cut in the prizes before we left them, sir. It took them some time to reeve new ones, so it was easy to recapture them.”
“You seem to have thought of everything, Mr Hornblower,” said the president, and there was a buzz of approval through the court. “And you seem to have made a very prompt counter-attack on the Renown. You did not wait to ascertain the extent of the danger? Yet for all you knew the attempt to take the ship might have already failed.”
“In that case no harm was done except the disabling of the rigging of the prizes, sir. But if the ship had actually fallen into the hands of the prisoners it was essential that an attack should be directed on her before any defence could be organized.”
“We understand. Thank you, Mr Hornblower.”
The inquiry was nearly over. Carberry was still too ill with his wounds to be able to give evidence; Whiting of the marines was dead. The court conferred only a moment before announcing its findings.
“It is the opinion of this court,” announced the president, “that strict inquiry should be made among the Spanish prisoners to determine who it was that murdered Captain Sawyer, and that the murderer, if still alive, should be brought to justice. And as the result of our examination of the surviving officers of HMS Renown it is our opinion that no further action is necessary.”
That meant there would be no court-martial. Bush found himself grinning with relief as he sought to meet Hornblower’s eye, but when he succeeded his smile met with a cold reception. Bush tried to shut off his smile and look like a man of such clear conscience that it was no relief to be told that he would not be court-martialled. And a glance at Buckland changed his elation to a feeling of pity. The man was desperately unhappy; his professional ambitions had come to an abrupt end. After the capitulation of Samaná he must have cherished hope, for with that considerable achievement to his credit, and his captain unfit for service, there was every possibility that he would receive the vital promotion to commander at least, possibly even to captain. The fact that he had been surprised in bed meant an end to all that. He would always be remembered for it, and the fact would remain in people’s minds when the circumstances were forgotten. He was doomed to remain an ageing lieutenant.
Bush remembered guiltily that it was only by good fortune that he himself had awakened in time. His wounds might be painful, but they had served an invaluable purpose in diverting attention from his own responsibility; he had fought until he had fallen unconscious, and perhaps that was to his credit, but Buckland would have done the same had the opportunity been granted him. But Buckland was damned, while he himself had come through the ordeal at least no worse off than he had been before. Bush felt the illogicality of it all, although he would have been hard pressed if he had to put it into words. And in any case logical thinking on the subject of reputation and promotion was not easy, because during all these years Bush had become more and more imbued with the knowledge that the service was a hard and ungrateful one, in which fortune was even more capricious than in other walks of life. Good luck came and went in the navy as unpredictably as death chose its victims when a broadside swept a crowded deck. Bush was fatalistic and resigned about that, and it was not a state of mind conducive to penetrating thought.