“Aren’t you going to stay for the hangings?” asked Hooper in surprise.
“I fear not,” answered Hornblower, and added an unnecessary explanation. “Hangings don’t agree with me, Your Excellency.”
It was not merely an unnecessary explanation; it was a foolish one, as he knew as soon as he saw the open astonishment in Hooper’s face. Hooper could hardly have been more surprised at hearing that hangings did not agree with Hornblower than he would have been if he had heard that Hornblower did not agree with hangings — and that was very nearly as correct.
THE GUNS OF CARABOBO
She was exactly like a British ship of war; naturally, perhaps, since she had been one most of her life until she was sold out of the service. Now, as she came up into the harbour, she could pass without question for a man-o’-war brig except that she flew the Royal Yacht Squadron burgee instead of a commission pendant. Hornblower put down the telescope through which he had been watching, curiously, her progress into Kingston harbour, and referred again to Barbara’s letter, two months old now, which had arrived a fortnight ago.
My dearest husband (wrote Barbara. She sometimes misused her superlatives; that ‘dearest’, strictly, implied that she had at least three husbands, even though it also implied that Hornblower rated highest of the three).
You are shortly going to have a visitor, a Mr Charles Ramsbottom, a millionaire, who has purchased an old ship of the Navy to use as a yacht, which he has named the Bride of Abydos, and in which he proposes to visit the West Indies. He has only lately made his appearance in society, having inherited his father’s fortune — Bradford wool and army clothing contracts! Yet despite this obscure origin he has succeeded in entering into society, perhaps because he is very young, very charming, unmarried, mildly eccentric, and, as I said, a millionaire. I have met him frequently of late, in very good houses, and I recommend him to you, dearest, if for no other reason than that he has won some small portion of my heart by a delightful mixture of deference and interest which I might have found irresistible were I not married to the most irresistible man in the world. He has, indeed, won golden opinions in society, both on the Government side and with the opposition, and he might become an important factor in politics should he decide to enter into them. I have no doubt that he will bring you introductions from personages even more influential than your loving wife… .
Hornblower had to read the letter through to the end, although it contained no further reference to Mr Charles Ramsbottom, but he returned again to the opening paragraph. It was the first time he had ever seen this new word ‘millionaire’, which occurred twice. He disliked it on sight. It was inconceivable that a man should have a million pounds, and presumably not in broad estates but in factories and in stocks and shares, probably with a huge holding in Consols and an immense balance at the bank as well. The existence of millionaires, whether in Society or not, was something as distasteful as the word itself now called into existence. And this one had been charming to Barbara — he was not too sure if that really constituted a recommendation. He picked up the telescope again and watched the brig come to an anchor. The rapidity with which she took in sail showed that she carried a large crew. Hornblower, as a Commander-in-Chief of a squadron and accountable to the niggardly Lords of the Admiralty for every penny expended, knew perfectly well what this sort of thing cost. This Mr Ramsbottom, to indulge himself in his naval toy, was expending enough money to maintain a thousand families in bread and beer and bacon.
The brig rounded-to and anchored very neatly indeed; if she had been a vessel included in his command he would have grunted with grudging satisfaction. As it was he grunted with a mixture of envy and derision and turned away to await the inevitable call in the seclusion of Admiralty House.
When it came he fingered the visiting card with its plain ‘Mr Charles Ramsbottom’ and found some small satisfaction in deciding that he had at last come across a name more unlovely than his own. But the owner of the name, when he was ushered in, made a better impression. In his very early twenties, he was small and slight and — for what it was worth — strikingly handsome, with black hair and eyes and what could only be described as ‘chiselled features’ deeply tanned after weeks at sea; not at all what might be expected of a Bradford wool manufacturer, while his dark-green coat and formal white breeches were in quiet good taste.
“My wife wrote to me about you, Mr Ramsbottom,” said Hornblower.
“That was very kind of Lady Hornblower. But of course she is kindness personified. May I present my letters of introduction from Lord Liverpool and Bishop Wilberforce, My Lord?”
Barbara was perfectly right, then, in predicting that Ramsbottom would win favour with both political parties — here were letters from the Prime Minister himself and a prominent member of the Opposition. Hornblower glanced through them, and was conscious of an undernote of cordiality despite their formal wording.
“Excellent, Mr Ramsbottom,” said Hornblower. He tried to adopt the tone which he presumed would be adopted by a man who had just read a letter of introduction from the Prime Minister. “Is there any way in which I can be of service to you?”
“None that I am aware of at present, My Lord. I must complete with water and stores, naturally, but my purser is a capable man. I intend to continue my voyage through these charming islands.”
“Of course,” said Hornblower, soothingly. He could not imagine why anyone should voluntarily spend any time in these waters where piracy was still smouldering, nor why anyone should wish to visit countries where malaria and yellow fever were endemic, and where civil war, revolution, and massacre claimed even heavier toll.
“You find the Bride of Abydos a comfortable ship?” asked Hornblower.
Those eighteen-gun brigs of the Royal Navy were notoriously unpleasant craft, crowded and crank.
“Comfortable enough, My Lord, thank you,” answered Ramsbottom. “I lightened her by changing the armament; she mounts only twelve guns now — two long sixes and ten carronades, twenty-four-pounders instead of thirty-two-pounders.”
“So you could still deal with a pirate?”
“Oh, yes indeed, My Lord. And with the reduction in weight on deck — a full ten tons — and modifications in her sail plan I have made a seaworthy craft of her, I believe and hope.”
“I’m sure you have, Mr Ramsbottom,” said Hornblower. It was likely enough; the brigs-of-war were naturally crammed with guns and warlike stores to the limit of stability and human endurance, so that a moderate reduction in dead weight might bring profound results in comfort and handiness.
“It would give me the greatest pleasure,” went on Mr Ramsbottom, “if I could induce Your Lordship to visit me on board. It would indeed be an honour, and would gratify my crew. Perhaps I could even persuade Your Lordship to dine on board?”
“We can discuss that after you have dined with me, Mr Ramsbottom,” replied Hornblower, remembering his manners and his obligation to invite to dinner any bearer of a reasonable introduction.
“You are most kind, My Lord,” said Mr Ramsbottom. “I must, of course, present my introductions to His Excellency at the earliest opportunity.”
There was something quite winning about Mr Ramsbottom’s smile as he said this, an awareness and a tolerance of the rules of social etiquette. A visitor to Jamaica would normally be bound to pay his respects first to the Governor, but Ramsbottom was no ordinary visitor; as captain of a ship his first call was due to the Naval authorities, to Hornblower, in fact. A trivial point, as his smile implied, but, etiquette being etiquette, trivial points demanded strict attention.