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

That was hardly a correct statement, Hornblower found. Not that the dinner was not quite excellent, despite the fact that the royal cooks were flustered and unhandy in their unwonted situation. The food was good, and the service, allowing for the cramped space of the great cabin, efficient. But it did Hornblower's appetite no good to see the King, his table cutlery limited to a spoon, seated with a watchful attendant at each side, and eating as clumsily as a child and daubing his cheeks with bread and milk. So it was almost a relief, despite the foreboding of trouble which it brought him, when a midshipman slipped into the Great Cabin and whispered in his ear:
"Mr White's respects, sir, and it's getting thick outside."
Hornblower laid aside his napkin, nodded apologetically to the lord-in-waiting, and hastened out; it was only when his foot was on the companion that he realized that he had completely forgotten about making his bow to the King.
Outside, as Mr White had reported, it was undoubtedly getting thick. Long, narrow bands of haze were drifting over the surface of the sea, the surest indication of an approaching dense fog. The Cormorant to windward was already nearly invisible. With night approaching, visibility would soon be negligible. Hornblower pulled at his chin and debated what he should do. Shoreham harbour lay to starboard, but the tide did not serve and the wind was falling; it would be risky to venture into shoal water in a fog. As with every captain in difficulties, his first instinct was to get out to sea away from the dangerous land. To seaward lay added dangers from raiders, but the chance of meeting a privateer was easily preferable to the certainty of shoal water. Hornblower gave his orders to the helmsman and called the signal midshipman.
"Augusta to Cormorant," he said. "Course south. Keep closer."
It was a distinct relief to see through the thickening haze the acknowledgement mount to the Cormorant's masthead while the corvette turned obediently and shook out her mainsail to take up her new station; a quarter of an hour later it was too thick to see across the deck, and Hornblower thanked his stars he had decided to get out to sea instead of trying for Shoreham harbour.
"Get that bell ringing, Mr White," he ordered sharply.
"Aye aye, sir," said an invisible Mr White.
The loud rattle of the fog bell echoed dully in the heavy atmosphere, and the silence that ensued hung heavy as the Augusta crept slowly over the invisible water. It seemed a very long two minutes before it rang again. Seemingly close at hand the bell was answered by another on the port quarter.
"That's Cormorant, sir," said White at Hornblower's side - Hornblower did not condescend to reply to a remark futile in its obviousness. The next time the other bell sounded it seemed to be well to starboard.
"What the hell?" said White.
The direction of sound in a fog was always misleading - fog banks sometimes echoed back sound as effectively as a cliff face. The Augusta's own bell rang long and harshly, and the Cormorant's reply could only just be heard. Hornblower tried to remember all he knew about Melville of the Cormorant. Young, dashing, ambitious, he had been posted as captain after a bold cutting-out affair somewhere on the Biscay coast. But it was doubtful if his qualities were such as to enable him to perform the difficult task of keeping touch with a consort in a fog. Again the Augusta's bell rang, and this time he could hear no reply at all.
Dr Manifold was on deck now, and approaching the sacred presence of the captain - the command of the royal yacht exposed him to these plagues, and Hornblower felt he would gladly exchange it for that of the crankiest ship-of-the-line in the Channel fleet.
"That noise disturbs my patient, sir," said Manifold.
"I am sorry, but it is a necessary noise," answered Hornblower.
"I insist on its stopping."
"There is only one man on board here," answered Hornblower, his exasperation boiling over, "who can insist on anything. And he insists that you go below, sir."
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"If I have to repeat myself, sir," said Hornblower, "I will call a couple of hands to carry out what I say."
"You are a boor, sir. I have the ear of a cabinet minister, and by George, sir, I'll-"
Dr Manifold cut his speech short as Hornblower turned to the midshipman at the quarterdeck with the evident intention of carrying out his threat. He bolted down the companion as nearly like a rabbit as his portly dignity permitted.
"Pass the word for my steward," said Hornblower as he had intended doing and, when the man came on deck, "Bring me a chair and a pea jacket."
Hornblower spent the night in the hammock chair, wrapped up in the thick coat - he was unwilling to leave the deck while this fog persisted. It was a weary vigil, and whenever he dozed off, he was awakened with a start by the clamour of the fog bell. At the end of the night, White was standing beside him.
"It must be dawn by now, sir," said White. "But I can't say it looks any different."
The fog was as thick as ever - the main yard was invisible from the deck.
"Listen!" said Hornblower, sitting up tensely. His ear had caught the faintest sounds somewhere astern - its acute analysis told him of the wash of water, the creaking of timber, the rattle of cordage, all blended and reduced in volume so as to tell him of the presence of a ship somewhere in the near distance. Then they both heard, plainly and distinctly, a voice in the fog say, "Call the watch."
"They're speaking English," said White. "That's Cormorant, then, thank God."
"Go and stop the fog bell, quick," snapped Hornblower, and White was impressed enough by the urgency of his tone to run to do his queer bidding without question, while Hornblower still listened.
"Keep the hands quiet!" said Hornblower on White's return. "I don't want a sound on board."
There had been something odd about the pronunciation of that word "watch". The vowel was broadened in a fashion no English officer would employ. Hornblower did not believe that it was the Cormorant that lay astern there.
"Send a hand to the chains with the lead," said the voice in the fog.
"Queer," whispered White; the explanation still had not dawned upon him - he was not as quick-witted as his captain.
Hornblower walked aft and stared through the mist over the taffrail. There was just the faintest thickening there, the merest, most inconsiderable nucleus in the fog - a ship was crossing their wake from starboard to port not 20 yards away, and unsuspecting. Hornblower watched until the nucleus had lost itself again in the fog over the port quarter.
"Mr White," he said, "I'm going to haul my wind. Port your helm quartermaster."
The Augusta swung round and headed on a course exactly opposite to that of the other ship. Hornblower could be confident that the distance between the two was widening steadily, though slowly; there was only the faintest of breaths of air to push the Augusta through the water.
Here came the King, up bright and early on this misty morning, attendants with him. Hornblower grudged the moments of distraction from his duty of staring into the fog. King George straddled on the slightly heaving deck like an old sailor - one way and another he must have spent a great deal of time at sea.
"Morning," said the King.
"Good morning sir," said Hornblower.
"Foggy day, what? Thick weather, what? What?"
There was a lucidity about his manner that had been totally wanting yesterday; perhaps his day at sea had really done him good. A gleam of light came through the fog, and suddenly there was sky to be seen overhead.
"There's Cormorant, sir," said White. "No, by gad, she's not. "
A mile astern a ship was to be seen, headed on an opposite course; with every second her outline became clearer and sharper. As they watched she wove around in pursuit of them, revealing herself as heavily sparred and well-armed, with twelve gunports a side. she was hastily setting all sail - the white pyramids of canvas grew as if by magic in a fashion that would have been creditable in a King's ship.
"Set all sail, Mr White. Smartly now, men."
"Pretty, pretty," said the King, smiling in the sunshine; whether he was alluding to the ordered bustle of setting sail or to the appearance of the pursuing ship was not apparent.
The Augusta had all sail set as soon as the other ship, and Mr White was paying careful attention to their trim as she ate her way close-hauled to windward. It was some time before he could spare a moment to stare through his glass at the other vessel.
"A Yankee, by gad!" he exclaimed, as the red and white bars of the flag she hoisted danced into the field of his glass.
"Hoist our colours, Mr White. But not the royal standard."
There was no purpose in telling the American what a prize was being dangled under his nose. Hornblower peered through his glass at her. If she managed to work up within close range there was no hope for it - he would have to surrender, as the Augusta's six-pounder pop-guns would stand no chance against the other's heavy metal. And then? Hornblower's imagination boggled at the thought of what would happen next. What would the Americans do with a captive King - the King against whom they had fought for so many weary years a generation ago? He tried to picture the effect of the news in New York or Boston.
He was so interested in the idea that he quite forgot that he, himself, and his career were in jeopardy. American boats would swarm out to the Narrows to meet them; there would be jubilation and excitement. And then - and then - there was a tradition of hospitality and kindliness across the ocean. Faults on both sides had brought about this war, faults that might easily be forgotten when America tried - as she surely would to make the poor old King as comfortable as possible. The unnecessary war might end in a wholly desirable peace.
For one insane moment Hornblower was almost tempted to risk it, and he was positively shocked with himself when he realized the depths of the treason with which he was dallying. It was his duty to escape with the Augusta if he could; for that matter she would be a captive by now if his quick brain had not steered her towards safety the moment he had first heard that American voice through the fog. There was a bank of fog up there to windward; once let the Augusta bury herself therein and she stood a chance of safety. That fool Melville in the Cormorant was apparently quite lost.