Hornblower & the Hotspur by C. S. Forester

Author:C. S. Forester [Forester, C. S.]
Format: epub
Tags: War stories, Historical fiction, Action & Adventure, Hornblower; Horatio (Fictitious character), Fiction, Napoleonic Wars; 1800-1815, Great Britain, Sea stories, Historical, Great Britain - History; Naval - 19th century, Classics, Historical fiction; English
ISBN: 9780316290463
Publisher: Boston : Little, Brown, 1990.
Published: 1998-11-01T08:00:00+00:00

It was a wild dash, slipping and sliding, down the path to the jetty, with the French yelling in pursuit. But here was the covering party, as Hornblower had ordered so carefully the day before;Hotspur 's own thirteen marines, under their own sergeant. They had built a breastwork across the jetty, again as Hornblower had ordered when he had visualized this hurried retreat. It was lower than waist-high, hurriedly put together with rocks and fish-barrels full of stones. The hurrying mob poured over it. Hornblower, last of all, gathered himself together and leaping over it, arms and legs flying, to stumble on the far side and regain his footing by a miracle.

"Hotspur's marines! Line the barricade. Get into the boats, you others!"

Twelve marines knelt at the barricade; twelve muskets levelled themselves over it. At the sight of them the pursuing French hesitated, tried to halt.

"Aim low!" shouted the marine lieutenant hoarsely.

"Go back and get the men into the boats, Mr What's-your-name," snapped Hornblower. "Have the launch ready to cast off, while you shove off in the yawl and get away."

The French were coming forward again; Hornblower looked back and saw the lieutenant drop off the jetty on the heels of the last marine.

"Now sergeant. Let 'em have it."

"Fire!" said the sergeant.

That was a good volley, but there was not a moment to admire it.

"Come on!" yelled Hornblower. "Over to the launch!"

With the weight ofHotspur 's marines leaping into it the launch was drifting away by the time he was at the edge; there was a yard of black water for Hornblower to leap over, but his feet reached the gunnel and he pitched forward among the men clustered there; he luckily remembered to drop Côtard's sword so that he fell harmlessly into the bottom of the boat without wounding anyone. Oars and boat-books thrust against the jetty and the launch surged away while Hornblower scrambled into the stern sheets. He almost stepped on Côtard's face; Côtard was lying apparently unconscious on the bottom boards.

Now the oars were grinding in the rowlocks. They were twenty yards away, thirty yards away, before the first Frenchmen came yelling along the jetty, to stand dancing with rage and excitement on the very edge of the masonry. For an invaluable second or two they even forgot the muskets in their hands. In the launch the huddled men raised their voices in a yell of derision that excited Hornblower's cold rage.

"Silence! Silence, all of you!"

The stillness that fell on the launch was more unpleasant than the noise. One or two muskets banged off on the jetty, and Hornblower, looking over his shoulder, saw a French soldier drop on one knee and take deliberate aim, saw him choose a target, saw the musket barrel fore-shorten until the muzzle was pointed directly at him. He was wildly contemplating throwing himself down into the bottom of the boat when the musket went off. He felt a violent jar through his body, and realized with relief that the bullet had burried itself in the solid oak transom of the launch against which he was sitting.

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