10 - Lord Hornblower by C. S. Forester

Author:C. S. Forester
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780140015362
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd (UK)
Published: 2011-04-26T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII

The fact that he had not taken off his clothes told Brown and Dobbs and Howard at dawn that Hornblower had not been as composed and self-confident as he had tried to appear, but not one of them was foolish enough to comment on the fact. Brown merely opened the curtain and made his report.

“Day just breaking, sir. Cold morning with a bit o’ fog. The last o’ the ebb, sir, and no news as yet of Captain Bush an’ the flotilla.”

“Right,” said Hornblower, getting stiffly to his feet. He yawned and felt his bristling cheeks. He wished he knew how Bush had succeeded. He wished he did not feel so unwashed and unclean. He wanted his breakfast, but he wanted news of Bush even more. He was still deadly tired despite his hours of unbroken sleep. Then he fought down his weariness in a direct personal struggle like that of Christian with Apollyon.

“Get me a bath, Brown. Make it ready while I shave.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Hornblower stripped off his clothes and proceeded to shave himself at the wash-hand-stand in the corner of the room. He kept his eyes from his naked body reflected in the mirror, from his skinny, hairy legs and slightly protuberant belly, as resolutely as he kept his mind from his fatigue and from his anxiety about Bush. Brown and a marine private came in carrying the bath and put it on the floor near him; Hornblower, shaving carefully round the corners of his lips, heard the hot water being poured into it from buckets. It took a little while to compound the mixture in the right proportion so as to get the temperature suitable; Hornblower stepped into it and sank down with a sigh of satisfaction — an immense amount of water poured over the sides, displaced by his body, but he did not care. He thought about soaping himself, but flinched from the effort and the physical contortions necessary, and instead he lay back and allowed himself to soak and relax. He closed his eyes.

“Sir!”

Howard’s voice caused him to reopen them.

“Two boats are in sight coming down the estuary, sir. Only two.”

Bush bad taken seven boats with him to Caudebec. Hornblower could only wait for Howard to finish his report.

“One of ‘em’s Camilla‘s launch, sir, I can recognise her through the glass. I don’t think the other is from Nonsuch, but I can’t be sure.”

“Very good, Captain. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Ruin and destruction; five boats lost out of seven — and Bush lost too, seemingly. The destruction of the French siege-train — if it were destroyed — would be well worth the loss of the whole flotilla, to someone who could coldly balance profit and loss. But Bush gone! Hornblower could not bear the thought of it. He sprang from his bath and looked round for a towel. He saw none, and with exasperation tore a sheet from the bed on which to dry himself. Only when he was dry and seeking his clean shirt did he find the towels by the dressing-table where they should have been.

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