From the rapidity with which you reached the rendezvous, it appears that your passage was even quicker than ours, said Bolton, and the conversation lapsed into technicalities, which endured even after dinner was served.
And clearly Bolton had little idea of what kind of dinner to offer in this scorching heat. There was pea soup, excellent, but heavy. Red mulleta last minute purchase in Port Mahon at the moment of sailing. A saddle of mutton. Boiled cabbage. A Stilton cheese, now a little past its best. A syrupy port which was not to Hornblowers taste. No salad, no fruit, not one of the more desirable products of the Minorca Bolton had just left.
Minorquin mutton, I fear, said Bolton, carvers in hand. My last English sheep died mysteriously at Gibraltar and provided dinner for the gunroom. But you will take a little more, sir?
Thank you, no, said Hornblower. He had eaten manfully through a vast helping, and, gorged with mutton fat, was sitting sweating now in the sweltering cabin. Bolton pushed the wine back to him, and Hornblower poured a few drops into his half empty glass. A lifetime of practice had made him adept at appearing to drink level with his host while actually drinking one glass to three. Bolton emptied his own glass and refilled it.
And now, said Bolton, we must await in idleness the arrival of SirMucho Pomposo, Rear Admiral of the Red.
Hornblower looked at Bolton quite startled. He himself would never have risked speaking of his superior officer as Mucho Pomposo to anyone. Moreover, it had not occurred to him to think of Sir Percy Leighton in that fashion. Criticism of a superior who had yet to demonstrate to him his capacity one way or the other was not Hornblowers habit; and possibly he was specially slow to criticise a superior who was Lady Barbaras husband.
Mucho Pomposo, I said, repeated Bolton. He had drunk one glass more of port than was quite wise, and was pouring himself out another one. We can sit and polish our backsides while he works that old tub of a Pluto round from Lisbon. Winds soueasterly. So it was yesterday, too. If he didnt pass the Straits two days back itll be a week or more before he appears. And if he doesnt leave all the navigation to Elliott hell never arrive at all.
Hornblower looked up anxiously at the skylight. If any report of his conversation were to reach higher quarters it would do Bolton no good. The latter interpreted the gesture correctly.
Oh, never fear, he said. I can trust my officers. They dont respect an admiral whos no seaman any more than I do. Well, what have you to say?
Hornblower proffered the suggestion that one of the two ships might push to the northward and begin the task of harassing the French and Spanish coast while the other stayed on the rendezvous awaiting the admiral.
Thats
a worthy suggestion, said Bolton.
Hornblower shook off the lassitude occasioned by the heat and the vast meal inside him. He wanted the Sutherland to be despatched on this duty. The prospect of immediate action was stimulating. He could feel his pulse quickening at the thought, and the more he considered it the more anxious he was that the choice should fall on him. Days of dreary beating about on and off the rendezvous made no appeal to him at all. He could bear it if necessarytwenty years in the navy would harden anyone to waitingbut he did not want to have to. He did not want to.
Who shall it be? said Bolton. You or me? Hornblower took a grip of his eagerness.
You are the senior officer on the station, sir, he said. It is for you to say.
Yes, said Bolton, meditatively. Yes.
He looked at Hornblower with a considering eye.
Youd give three fingers to go, he said suddenly, and you know it. Youre the same restless devil that you were in the Indefatigable. I remember beating you for it, in 93, or was it 94?
Hornblower flushed hotly at the reminder. The bitter humiliation of being bent over a gun and beaten by the lieutenant of the midshipmans berth rankled to this day when it was recalled to him. But he swallowed his resentment; he had no wish to quarrel with Bolton, especially at this juncture, and he knew he was exceptional in regarding a beating as an outrage.
93, sir, he said. Id just joined.
And now youre a post captain, and most noteworthy one in the bottom half of the list, said Bolton. God, how time flies. Id let you go, Hornblower, for old times sake, if I didnt want to go myself.
Oh, said Hornblower. His evident disappointment made his expression ludicrous. Bolton laughed.
Fairs fair, he said. Ill spin a coin for it. Agreed?
Yes, sir, said Hornblower, eagerly. Better an even chance than no chance at all.
Youll bear me no malice if I win?
No, sir. None.
With maddening slowness Bolton reached into his fob and brought out his purse. He took out a guinea and laid it on the table, and then, with the same deliberation, while Hornblower wrestled with his eagerness, he replaced the purse. Then he took up the guinea, and poised it on his gnarled thumb and forefinger.
King or spade? he asked, looking across at Hornblower.