"Forester, C S - Hornblower One More Time 03 - Hornblower and His Majesty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forester C S)

HORNBLOWER AND HIS MAJESTY
C.S. Forester
"Mind you, Sir Horatio," said Dr Manifold, "I think this treatment of His Majesty is unwise, very unwise."
"Indeed, Doctor?" said Hornblower politely.
"At the last consultation of His Majesty's physicians," said Dr Manifold, "those of my opinion were just outvoted, but I venture to say, Sir Horatio, that although mere numbers were against me - and it was only a trifling majority, you must remember- all that are most distinguished in the world of medical science were on my side."
"Naturally," said Captain Hornblower.
"In the matter of accumulated knowledge we were overwhelmingly superior. But the question of His Majesty's health was left to a mere counting of heads. Mark my words, Sir Horatio, this business of voting by numbers, without regard to position in the world, will be the curse of humanity for centuries to come, unless something is done about it."
"That seems only too likely," said Hornblower. One of his guiltiest secrets was the fact that he fancied himself a democrat and radical, but in the exalted circles in which he moved nowadays he had little difficulty in concealing it, because everyone he met took it for granted that he was the opposite.
"A sea voyage for His Majesty!" exclaimed Dr Manifold contemptuously. "Build up his strength! Distract him from his troubles! Fiddlesticks! A patient in His Majesty's unfortunate condition of mind should be kept low. It stands to reason. Bleeding, Sir Horatio - some ounces twice a week. A thorough course of purgatives with a low diet. Gentle confinement in the dark. That would give His Majesty's unhappy brain a chance to clear itself of its humours and to start again anew - with a tabula rasa, a clean sheet, sir."
"There is much in what you say, Doctor."
Hornblower was not lying when he said that; it seemed quite a logical treatment of insanity in the year 1812. But at the same time he was moved with pity at the thought of his poor mad King exposed to that sort of brutality. His instincts revolted against it, and his reason told him that as the treatment had been tried unsuccessfully for two years now, it might be as well to experiment with the reverse.
What he was more concerned with, if the truth must be told, was the responsibility of his own position. This was his first command since his triumphant escape from captivity in France, and since he had received the accolade of the Bath at the hands of the prince regent. The command of the royal yacht during His Majesty's madness might have been a sinecure had not this decision been taken to give His Majesty a course of fresh air and change of scene. Sailing about the Channel with His Majesty on board while the sea swarmed with French and American privateers meant a grave responsibility for the captain - for him.
Hornblower looked round the decks of the Augusta, at the four stumpy six-pounders, and the two long nine-pounders fore and aft. He would not be able to make much of a defence against one of those heavily sparred, heavily gunned New England privateers. Dr Manifold seemed to be echoing his thoughts.
"Of course," he was saying, "there is no need for me to point out to you, Captain, the need for the utmost precautions against any shock to His Majesty. You have received orders, I fancy, against firing any salute?"
Hornblower nodded.
"And there must be no bustle and no excitement. Everything must be done more quietly than is usually the case on shipboard. And you must be careful not to run into any storms."
"I shall do my best, Doctor," said Hornblower.
A midshipman who had been perched up at the main-topmast crosstrees came sliding down the backstay, touched his hat to the captain and moved hastily forward. The crew assumed an attitude of expectancy.
"Here comes the King!" exclaimed Dr Manifold suddenly.
Hornblower merely nodded.
A little group of men on foot came slowly down the slope to the jetty against which lay the Augusta; it was not until they were no more than 50 yards away that Hornblower blew a single short note on his whistle and woke the ship to life. The side boys, in spotless white gloves and frocks, ran to their positions at the gilded gangplank. The pipes of the boatswain's mates twittered loudly. The six men and the sergeant of the marine detachment appeared miraculously upon the quarterdeck, pipe clay and buttons gleaming, the two drummers with their sticks poised beneath their noses. The crew fell in by divisions, the officers in their cocked hats and silk stockings, sword hilts and epaulettes shining in the sun, in front of them. The whole of the little ship was ready and welcoming at the moment when the party reached the shore end of the gangplank, not a moment too early, not a moment too late - it was a neat piece of work.
There was a brief delay at the gangplank. His Majesty was reluctant to come on board. Hornblower saw the hesitation; he saw the plump, white hands cling to the handrails, and saw them forced free again, unobtrusively, by two of the attendants. There was a burly lord-in-waiting, immediately behind His Majesty, wearing a fine plum-coloured coat with a laced waistcoat in a contrasting shade, crossed by the narrow ribbon of the Thistle - the bearer, presumably, of some historic name from beyond the border. He closed up behind His Majesty, closer and closer. The hands caught and clung again, and again were forced free, and the lord-in-waiting's ponderous stomach was planted firmly in His Majesty's back and propelled him almost unnoticeably but irresistibly along the gangplank, so that His Majesty arrived on the deck with just a shade of haste.
Every officer's hand came to the salute; the boatswain's mates set their pipes twittering loudly the drums of the marines beat a long roll. Up to the main truck soared the royal standard, where its opulent folds flapped slowly open in the gentle wind. His Majesty had come aboard.
"Chickens and chimes. What? What?" said His Majesty. His clouded blue eyes caught sight of a seagull wheeling against the sky, and followed it in its flight. "What? What? Ducks and Dutchmen. What? What? What?"
The little group of courtiers and attendants pressing along the gangplank gradually edged him further on to the deck. Then his wandering glance caught sight of Hornblower standing at attention before him.
"Hillo!" said the King. A kindly smile illuminated his face. "Lessons going all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Your Majesty," said Hornblower.
The King reached up and took off Hornblower's cocked hat with its gold lace and buttons, and with his other hand he ruffled Hornblower's sparse hair.
"Don't let 'em beat you too hard," he said. "What? Don't let 'em. What? Good boys get guineas."
Dr Manifold had approached, and was standing behind Hornblower's shoulder. The King saw him, and cowered away suddenly in fear.
"Your Majesty!" said the doctor, bowing low, but his humble tone and demeanour did nothing to reassure the frightened being before him. The little court closed up round the King and herded him slowly away as before. Hornblower caught up his cocked hat from the deck where it had fallen from the King's trembling hand, and turned away to his duties.
"Fore- and maintops'ls, there!" he called. "Cast off those warps, Mr White!"
He felt he needed distraction after seeing the abject terror that had convulsed the face of his King at sight of the doctor who had tormented him. The air of the sea would feel cleaner than that he was breathing now.
With the royal standard at the main and the white ensign at the peak, the Augusta nosed her way out of Newhaven harbour to where her escort, the twenty-gun corvette Cormorant, awaited her coming. Hornblower, looking through his glass at her, thought what a vivid comment it was on the strain to which the British navy was being subjected, that His Majesty, King George III, King of Great Britain and Ireland, could be escorted to sea only by a twenty-gun corvette at a time when 120 ships-of-the-line and 200 frigates flew his flag.
Times were changing. The royal standard at the main no longer sported the lilies of France - they had been quietly dropped a little while ago in favour of the harp of Ireland. And in the past six months the British navy had suffered a succession of minor reverses such as could not be paralleled in the history of the last fifty years. The reverses could hardly continue; now that England had learned the fighting power of the United States navy, she would certainly smother the infant sea power with a relentless blockade. But blockade could never prevent the escape of raiders and commerce destroyers - nineteen years of war with France had shown that. England would have to grin and bear her losses while the slow process of strangulation went on. What he was concerned about was that the Augusta should not be one of those losses.
"Signal midshipman!" he snapped. "Augusta to Cormorant. Take station one mile to windward."
The gay flags soared up and were acknowledged by the Cormorant. In her station a mile to windward she was interposed between the Augusta and any stray raider who might try to swoop down upon her.
The Augusta crept out from the shore, and turned down-channel on her cruise. Behind her stretched the cliffs of England the Seven Sisters and the towering height of Beachy Head. Hornblower looked over at the King and his courtiers. He watched the pathetic, white-haired figure making its way here and there with uncertain steps while the short-sighted blue eyes examined everything, and he came to the conclusion that undoubtedly Manifold was wrong in his notion of the correct treatment. Surely this life, this clean air and these simple distractions were better for a diseased mind than the bleedings and purgatives and solitary confinement which Manifold desired to inflict.
The King's course had brought him close to Hornblower, and the vague blue eyes were studying Hornblower's face again.
"Little Sophia likes the sea," he said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Hornblower knew that Sophia was the King's favourite daughter, dead these twenty years and more; he had heard of the happy little holidays on the Dorset coast which the King had once enjoyed with his young family. The King's brow wrinkled as he struggled with his memory.
"Little Sophia!" he said. "Where is she now? She was with me a little while ago."
"Her Royal Highness is on a journey, sir," interposed the lord-in-waiting - there was a perceptible Scotch accent in his voice to match the ribbon of the Thistle which he wore.
"But why? She didn't tell me anything about it," said the King.
"She left the message with me, sir. Her humblest duty and respects, sir, but she did not have time to await Your Majesty's return to say goodby in person. Her Royal Highness will be back again on Tuesday, and meanwhile hopes that Your Majesty will remember to be as quiet and good as if she were here."
"Tuesday," said the King. "Tuesday. It is a long time to wait for little Sophia, but I suppose I must. I will."
Hornblower's eyes met the lord-in-waiting's, and Hornblower felt his heart warming suddenly to him. The kindly little deception, the dextrous hint of the need for quiet, showed that this Scottish lord had the sense and tact necessary for his position, and his smile showed that he cherished the same kindly feelings towards the mad King as Hornblower did. Hornblower suddenly ceased to remember how much higher the Order of the Thistle ranked above the Order of the Bath which ornamented his own breast.
"His Majesty," said the lord-in-waiting, "wishes to command your presence at dinner."
"That gives me great pleasure, sir," said Hornblower.