Author's Note: This picks up approximately one year after the previous chapters.
Also: I apologize for all the 'New Chapter' things you must be getting. I did some re-structuring of the chapters, so parts of Chapter 5 are now in Chapter 4, and what was to have been Chapter 6 is now part of Chapter 5. So there is about four pages worth of new stuff in Chapter 5. Sorry for the confusion!
Chapter 4: Neutrality
Hornblower was on watch when the jolly boat came into view. A red and yellow flag fluttered grandly from its stern, framing an officer wearing an impressive hat. Hornblower brought out his glass to better ascertain the officer's rank. Bracegirdle stood to one side, awaiting his report.
"Visitors, sir. Spanish colors," Hornblower told him. "A captain among them."
Bracegirdle sent Hornblower to inform the captain. He was too tall to stand upright in his position just inside of Pellew's cabin, so he was forced into a sort of half-bow while the captain interrogated him swiftly.
"A captain, you say?" Pellew asked, shrugging on his coat with the help of his valet. He snatched his hat from the table.
"Yes, sir," Hornblower replied, "In full dress uniform."
Pellew paused on his way out the door. "Then I fear the worst, Mr. Hornblower."
Hornblower frowned and followed the captain as he swept out the door. The worst, he'd said. But the Spanish were their allies. Surely they would not be so fickle as to change sides simply because, for the moment, the French appeared to be winning. Such circumstances were sure to pass. The English would triumph in the end, and anyone who did not know it was a consummate fool.
The Spanish Captain came aboard a short while later to the customary rolling of drums and blowing of whistles. Hornblower stood at Pellew's elbow. Riley stood nearby among the other officers, carefully positioned to hear all that was said. Hornblower, it seemed, was to act as translator between the two captains. The French lessons Riley had been giving him before the Duel would finally prove their usefulness.
The Spanish Capitan faced the English Captain and inquired, politely, "Capitan Pellew?"
Pellew responded by saying, "Oui," but swiftly corrected himself. "Sí."
The Spanish Capitan withdrew a letter from his coat and presented it grandly to Pellew. Pellew accepted it matter-of-factly and glanced at the address.
"How's your Spanish, Hornblower?"
"Not good, sir," Hornblower admitted.
Another gap in his education. Riley itched to correct it, but he'd given up the ability to do so one year ago.
Pellew cleared his throat. "Well, they'll surely understand French. Ask him below for a glass of wine."
Hornblower thought about it for a moment, phrasing the invitation in his mind before saying, "Le capitaine sera honoré par votre compagnie dans un verre du vin comme un expression d'amitié."
The captain would be honored by your company in a glass of wine as an expression of friendship, Riley translated automatically. Well done.
The Capitan replied, politely, "Informez, s'il vous plait, votre honorable capitaine que je dois décline son amiable invitation. J'agis en qualité de envoyé de Duc de Belchite et je dois insister que la letter soit ouverte immediatemente."
Please inform the honorable captain that I must decline his cordial invitation. I come as the envoy of the Duke of Belchite, and I must insist that the letter be opened immediately.
"He declines the offer, sir, and says that the letter is from the Duke of Belchite," Hornblower said, "He insists that you open it immediately."
Pellew shot a glance at the Capitan. "Oh, does he?" he said, opening the letter. "Does he indeed?"
He looked at the letter, making incoherent mumbling noises to give the impression that he was reading it. Riley wondered if the Captain wouldn't have pretended not to speak French or Spanish even if he could. Setting aside the possibility of miscommunication, it seemed to be a distinct advantage.
"I suppose this means that the Spanish have made peace with France?" Pellew handed the letter to Hornblower to read aloud.
Hornblower perused it himself for a moment and began. "His Excellency, the Duke of Belchite, Grandee of the First Class, Commander-in-Chief of His Catholic Majesty's forces by land and by sea, Knight of the Most Sacred Order of the Golden Fleece."
He paused as though finished with the titles, but no such luck. The Capitan stood proudly as Hornblower continued to read.
"First Minister of His Most Catholic Majesty, Captain-General of Andalusia…"
"Yes, all right, Mr. Hornblower. I think we've quite established our friend the duke's eminence, now what else does it say?" Pellew requisitioned the letter, for what purpose Riley had no idea since he claimed not to know any French beyond, "Yes."
The Capitan took this to mean that they were finished and said, checking his pocket watch, "D'ici… six heures si vous êtes toujours á la portée des batteries lá-bas á Puntalees il sera donner l'ordre dóuvrir le feu."
"What?" Pellew said quickly, "What is he saying?"
Hornblower was still puzzling through the announcement. To buy himself more time he tacked on a phrase that seemed to correspond with the general idea of the sentence. "Um, according to the rules of neutrality-" he stopped. Now that he'd deduced what the Capitan had actually been saying, the implications of it finally hit him. He continued more slowly, "We have six hours before the Spanish start firing on us, sir."
In six hours, if you are still within range of the batteries at Puntalees, I will give the order to fire. A fair rendering, but there was nothing there about the rules of- He will give the order to fire?
Pellew was livid. "You tell him, sir…" he growled. He cut himself off sharply and barked, "Damned I I'll let him see he's made me angry! You tell him, sir…" Pellew sniffed and his voice resumed its normal tones. "You know the sort of things I want to say, don't you, Hornblower."
"Yes, sir," Hornblower said, thinking quickly, "We, ah… Le capitaine regréte beaucoup les circumstances qui vou sépare de lui et il… espére toujours avoir le plaisir du votre amitié personnel quelque soit le relation de nos de pays."
The captain very much regrets the circumstances which separate you from he, and he still hopes to maintain the pleasure of your personal friendship whatever the relations between our countries. Oh, well done, Hornblower.
The Capitan smiled and bowed, doffing his hat and in the process revealing a rather large bald spot. Captain Pellew made a similarly magnanimous gesture and said in a friendly, polite voice, "Get him over the side. With dignity," he added, and as the whistles and drums set to once more, he turned on his heel and marched to the quarterdeck, shouting to Mr. Bowles that he wanted to be underway within the hour.
Spanish neutrality instantly became a hot topic of discussion belowdecks. Several of the midshipmen, Hornblower among them, contended that the Spanish were cowards and fools, but that the British Empire would win the day despite their disloyalty. But their ranks were divided by the question of whether or not the Spanish would remain neutral or switch sides entirely and fight on the side of the French. Riley thought it likely that they would. That was why he had left, though it had ostensibly been for a breath of fresh air. While his opinions on the matter were hardly subversive, he found it was better to err on the side of caution in such matters. Especially when talking to the midshipmen. They could be dreadfully impressionable. Riley wandered over to the prow and leaned on the rail, thinking.
"Mr. Riley."
It was the Captain's voice. Riley turned and saluted.
"Yes, sir?"
"As you were."
Riley relaxed. Pellew stood at the railing next to him and they both looked out on the water.
"Well, what do you make of it, Mr. Riley?" the Captain asked.
"The Spanish, sir?"
The Captain nodded.
"I think their neutrality will be short-lived," Riley confessed.
"Really?" Pellew said. He seemed amused, or pleased. It was difficult to say which. "So you think they will side with the French?"
"Yes, sir," Riley said. "And I can't say that I blame them."
There were very few occasions on which he considered it acceptable to lie to his Captain. His past came to mind, and a few others. But this was not one of them. Besides, he had nothing to lie about.
This announcement surprised Pellew. "Why is that?"
"They don't really have the capacity to resist either us or the French sir, so their survival as a nation basically depends on supporting whoever's winning," explained Riley. "We can hardly expect them to value our preservation over their own. If and when we are once again the dominant party, I am sure they will return."
"That may be so" Pellew said, "But it is still faithlessness. If Spain and England were men instead of nations such an act would be treachery of the first order."
Riley thought carefully. "With respect, sir," he said, "I think perhaps that one cannot judge a country as one does a man. After all, much more is at stake when a nation speaks than when a man does."
Pellew looked at the young Lieutenant measuringly. Riley did his best not to wilt under his intense scrutiny. Finally, the Captain nodded.
"Well put," he said. A small half-smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Mr. Riley; that will be all."
The Captain walked away, leaving Riley saluting with the impression that he had just passed a test he hadn't known he was taking, and with an even greater feeling of respect. It was most disconcerting.
"Wreckage in the water to larboard, sir!"
Riley was on the quarterdeck with Bracegirdle, Cleveland, and Hornblower. Bracegirdle sent Cleveland below to inform the Captain. Hornblower looked through his glass. The ship had once been one of theirs.
"Supply ship, sir," Hornblower reported after seeing the number of barrels and drowned cows floating among the debris.
"Must have been returning to Gibraltar," asserted Bracegirdle.
Captain Pellew came up behind them. "The work of a neutral party, Mr. Hornblower," he said.
Ah, so he'd spoken with Hornblower, too. Riley wondered if the Captain had had similar discussions with all his officers, and if not, why he and Hornblower had been so favored.
"The Spanish, sir?" Hornblower said, alarmed. "That would be an act of war."
Pellew nodded. "I expected nothing less."
Was it just him, or had the Captain glanced at Riley when he said that? There was a sound of shouting from the vicinity of the wreck, and Hornblower's glass flew up once more.
"Over there, sir," he said, not bothering to point, "Survivors."
The other officers followed the line of his spyglass but saw nothing.
"Let me see," Pellew commanded. Hornblower handed him the glass. Pellew raised it and looked through.
"Goodness gracious," he said amusedly, "Unless my eye deceives me… Yes, we have an honored guest."
"Sir?" Hornblower inquired.
"Captain Foster, I believe."
Hornblower looked eagerly at the water. "Dreadnought Foster, sir?"
Pellew snapped the glass shut. "I do not care for such overblown titles, Mr. Hornblower," he said curtly. "Mr. Bowles, bring us up to windward of them."
"Aye-aye, Captain."
They sent out boats to collect the remains of the crew and brought them aboard. The first aboard was a sopping wet officer lacking coat, hat, and shoes. He shook his extremities in an attempt to fling away some of the water and accepted a thick, gray blanket put over his shoulders by an obliging seaman.
Captain Pellew stood on the quarterdeck, legs apart, hands on hips.
"Captain Foster," he greeted the officer.
Foster looked up. "Captain Pellew."
"Welcome aboard, sir."
The exchange was conducted with the utmost of civility, which was clearly meant to hide a general lack of regard.
"I congratulate you on your impeccable timing, sir." Captain Foster spoke with a broad but penetrable Scottish brogue
"An honor to be of service, as ever."
Hornblower seemed oblivious to the false politeness. He was far too concerned with his hero-worship of Captain Foster. The object of his admiration moved closer, so as not to be forced to speak quite so loudly.
"Forgive me if I, ah, forego the usual pleasantries, Captain, 'till I've discovered the use of my limbs?"
It was not a question, but even if it was Pellew could, in politeness say nothing more or less than a generous, "Of course."
Following the general tendency of the pair to meet halfway on all matters of courtesy, Pellew descended from the quarterdeck, followed closely by Hornblower.
"Mr. Hornblower," Pellew said, "have guest quarters prepared for the Captain here. And pass word on to my servant to find some old clothing of mine."
Hornblower nodded in what he clearly hoped was an efficient-looking manner. "Aye-aye, sir."
Captain Pellew returned his attention to Captain Foster. "I would welcome your presence at dinner, Captain."
"I shall be honored to attend, sir."
Riley sincerely doubted the validity of either statement, however cordial the delivery.
Pellew instructed Hornblower to pass the word on to the other officers and exited. Hornblower indicated that Foster should precede him below decks. A crewman offered Foster another blanket, which he waved off.
"Oh, get that off me man; take me to the rum."
As it was intended to, this comment elicited good-natured laughter from all who heard it. Hornblower grinned as he followed Foster down the stairs.
Riley leaned over the railing and commented to him, "I fear the Captain is not among our guest's admirers, Mr. Hornblower."
Hornblower found the idea absurd. "But the man is a legend!" he protested.
"Indeed," Riley said dryly, "But there are some who might consider his methods reckless."
He put a special emphasis on the word 'some,' just to see if Hornblower would pick up on the fact that Riley shared this opinion. If he did, he didn't show it. Hornblower shrugged and continued his descent.
They heard how Foster came to be wrecked that evening at dinner. It was, inevitably, one of the first subjects to be brought up, which turned out to be rather unfortunate for the good Captain Pellew. The table was arranged with Pellew at the head, to his left Mr. Bowles, the Major of Marines, and Captain Foster, and to his right were Mr. Bracegirdle and Riley. As the lowest ranking man present, Hornblower occupied the seat at the end of the table.
"Well," Foster said. He was clearly proud of the tale, as though being blown out of the water was the greatest piece of daring-do ever to be brought to the ears of Captain or Lieutenant. The amount of alcohol he had imbibed might have had something to do with the attitude, but Riley was willing to bet that he would have been like this anyway. "I was merely a passenger on the schooner on my way to Gibraltar to assume command of the Dreadnought when this, this Spanish frigate blocked our path. We were outmanned and outgunned, and should we have run we should certainly have been out-paced."
He somehow managed to make himself seem the superior party, despite that fact that he had been in a much smaller vessel.
Bracegirdle took a sip of wine and inquired, "Did they fire without warning, sir?"
He was probably trying to find some justification for the schooner's destruction; if there had been no warning shot, there would have been less of a chance for surrender.
"They had the decency to fire a warning shot," Foster contemptuously. "The audacity of them; three," he held up three fingers, "supply ships taken by the French in as many weeks and now the Spanish think they can do the same? Well, this was one ship they would never take."
The part about the supply ships was all too true. The fleet had been counting on the supplies that the schooner had been carrying. Knowing Foster's reputation, Riley had been fully prepared to blame him for their loss, but upon hearing that they had been set upon by a frigate, he was forced to admit that there was not much that Captain Foster could have done. Though he strongly suspected that there was a bit more chance of escape than Dreadnought Foster cared to admit.
"So," the Captain was saying, "I assumed command of the schooner, gave the order that we should attempt to rake her."
Riley almost choked on his bite of potato. The man was mad! A two-gun schooner taking on a frigate! To precipitate such a confrontation was nothing short of suicide and murder.
"Now, of course, I knew our chances were slim," Foster added before anyone could speak.
That's a mild understatement, Riley thought sardonically.
"…but I took comfort in the fact that they would be forced to destroy their prize, and that had I not acted, the schooner and her supplies would at this moment be in the hands of the Spanish."
It was outrageous, utterly irresponsible, and abhorrent. Hornblower thought it was wonderful. He glanced at Riley victoriously and looked to Captain Pellew, waiting for him to contest it, if he dared, or perhaps to praise Captain Foster for his boldness. Riley looked to the Captain as well. As a mere second Lieutenant, it was not for him to directly question a Captain of Foster's preeminence unless his opinion was called for, but if Captain Pellew opened the subject, he might be able to slip his tuppence in on the side. Pellew was leaning thoughtfully on the arm of his chair, a handkerchief held to his lips. He rubbed his upper lip with it, strategizing how best to approach the situation.
"What of the crew?" he said shortly.
"You have a question, Captain?" Foster responded. His tone reminded Riley of nothing so much as a schoolteacher calling on a pupil, but it was just subtle enough so as not to be blatantly offensive.
"I was merely wondering;" Pellew said, more loudly, "How many of the crew did the Spanish take from the sea?"
Riley raised an eyebrow back at Hornblower, who ran his tongue between his teeth and his lip. Obviously the casualties had not occurred to him. They both looked at Foster, along with the other Lieutenants, Mr. Bowles, and the Major.
"I have no idea," Foster returned, "At the time, my mind was engaged in more important matters than arithmetic."
Hornblower's face broke into a wide smile at this, which he directed at Riley. Riley glared. Captain Foster's blithe dismissal had only served to further damn the man.
Pellew had seen the entire interchange from the head of the table and was examining Hornblower from across the table. Hornblower saw his Captain's scrutiny, and his grin began to fade.
"Am I to assume, Captain Pellew, that you would have surrendered?" Foster said.
Pellew had just been privy to an example of the dissension his differences with Foster could cause. He had no desire to aggravate the situation further.
"This is neither the time, nor the place, sir, to discuss tactics," he replied diplomatically.
"Nonsense; we are all men of the sea here." He looked at Hornblower. "You."
"Yes, sir."
"How would you have reacted to such circumstances?"
No doubt this was supposed to be a random selection of an outside opinion, but Riley refused to believe that Foster had been oblivious to Hornblower's preferences in the case. It was a credit to Hornblower that he looked appealingly at his Captain to get him out of this impolitic test of loyalty.
"I think perhaps-" Pellew began.
Foster cut him off, demanding loudly, "Come on, man! Out with it!"
Hornblower shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was engaged in the same internal debate with which Riley had recently been confronted; the choice between honesty and discretion. But being Hornblower, it really wasn't much of a decision.
"I am…" he began, then thought better of it. "I am pleased the Spanish have been deprived of out supplies, sir."
If he had thought this was a diplomatically vague answer, his impressions were short-lived. Foster let out a triumphant, "Ah!" and held out his hand in a gesture which indicated that he thought this pronouncement a complete and total vindication of his actions.
Hornblower looked at Pellew. The Captain radiated disappointment. Riley could see Hornblower's conscience fall down his face and into his belly, where no doubt it would shortly begin to gnaw at his innards. Good.
"I take my leave." Pellew said abruptly. He rose and exited, the others standing politely. Foster toasted his opponent's retreat with a swig of wine.
"As do I," Riley said, and followed the Captain out. Behind him, he heard Foster address Hornblower.
"I fancy you shall go far, young man," he said, "I fancy you shall."
Riley stomped up to the quarterdeck, fuming. "At the time, my mind was occupied with more important matters than arithmetic." Oh, and what was it occupied with then, since your duty to your crew had been forsaken? What was your mind occupied with while you floated in the sea for hours with the remainder of that crew? Let's do the arithmetic, shall we? By the size of the wreck, the schooner would have needed at least a dozen, perhaps more, plus the Captain, the two mates, and the cook, and of that only two had survived the wreck with that… that… Here Riley mentally shouted a number of highly uncivilized things. Now in raw numbers that's not all that bad, but the percentile? 87.5 casualties. For one schooner of supplies - no, worse that that – to deprive the enemy of that one schooner, which given their current abundance of food would not have made a significant difference! And Hornblower! Siding with him! Of all the-
Someone cleared his throat. Riley turned sheepishly in the direction of the sound. He had been making rather a lot of noise, what with the pacing.
"I take it by the growling that something has upset you, Mr. Riley?"
It was the Captain.
"Yes, sir," Riley said. "Captain Foster, sir, and Mr. Hornblower."
"Ah, yes," said Pellew. He walked over to the rail, indicated that Riley should do so as well. Riley followed suit.
"Captain Foster can be a very trying man," Pellew began.
"He's a braggart and a bloody fool, sir!" Riley said hotly, "He gets good men killed and is lauded as a hero for it! One of these days he'll be one of his own casualties and then…!" Riley wisely decided not to finish that sentence.
Pellew chose to ignore the near impropriety. "He is certainly very bold."
"I should say so!"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Riley."
Riley forced himself to take deep breaths.
Once he deemed Riley sufficiently subdued, Pellew continued.
"Captain Foster is a man who takes many risks, and he is lucky enough to get away with it," Pellew said, "And for that he has become renowned. We may disagree with his methods, but we should not waste our energy by allowing ourselves to become agitated by them."
"Yes, sir."
Pellew looked at him. "I saw your little exchange with Mr. Hornblower," he prompted.
"Ah… yes, sir," said Riley. He had wondered if this would be brought up. "We spoke briefly, earlier. Hornblower was very much… fascinated by Captain Foster, and I… implied that I considered the Captain's practices to be somewhat rash." He glanced guiltily at Pellew. "I fear I also suggested that you shared this opinion, sir."
"You were correct."
"Yes, sir." What else could he say? It was an odd response, if rather characteristically Pellew.
The Captain spoke again. "Mr. Hornblower is not the first young man to fall victim to Captain Foster's reputation," he said, "And it would be unfair to censure him for it." He gave Riley one of his keen, piercing looks. "The matter should not be discussed unless be brings it up himself.
"Understood." Riley thought it would be intensely fair to censure the boy.
The memory of Hornblower's face as Pellew left the room wavered unbidden before Riley's eyes. Guilt and its companion, self-loathing, were written all over it. After all, was his part in the affair really so earth-shattering? Hornblower had behaved poorly. Young men did that. No doubt he would have reprimanded himself enough by morning to equal any three blistering lectures Riley could sum up, though it would not have been Riley's place to deliver them in any case.
"Very good, sir." Riley reaffirmed, "Now, with your permission, I think I'll turn in." He saluted.
Pellew returned the salute.
"Good night, Mr. Riley."
"Good night, sir."
The commanding officer of a ship's company of Marines was referred to as 'Major,' whatever his actual rank.