Chapter 6: Whist, Waiting, and Blame

"This is my fault," said Hornblower. They were seated once again around the table in the Lieutenant's mess, playing three-handed whist with Bracegirdle.

"I should say so, Hornblower," Riley said, examining his hand and the two cards that lay before him on the table, "Did you miss my third-trick discard entirely?"

Bracegirdle glanced at him and stifled a chuckle.

Hornblower clarified. "No, I mean Bunting."

"Oh, that," Riley played a card and watched as Bracegirdle merrily took the trick. He turned his attention to Hornblower. "You are not responsible for what goes on in the man's head, Hornblower."

Hornblower had apparently been mulling this over for some time, because he had an answer ready almost before Riley had finished speaking.

"But I am responsible for the actions of my men, am I not?"

"To an extent," Riley conceded warily. He thought he could see where Hornblower was going with this.

"And isn't it true that what a man does stems from what he thinks?"

"Naturally," countered Riley, "But a man may think whatever he likes and remain blameless, as long as he does not act upon it."

"I think the parson would disagree," Hornblower commented.

"Blameless in the eyes of the Navy. Unless you are suggesting that the King and his Navy are responsible for their men's souls."

Bracegirdle interjected himself before Hornblower could respond.

"Ask yourself this," he said. Both Hornblower and Riley turned to listen carefully; Bracegirdle was always an excellent source of general wisdom.

"Could you have done otherwise?"

Hornblower looked thoughtful.

"No," he concluded, "I don't think I could."

"Then you cannot condemn yourself for not doing so."

Hornblower's brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

Bracegirdle opened with the jack of spades. Hornblower continued to sit there, thinking.

"It's your turn," Riley prompted.

"Oh," Hornblower tossed his card absently out on the table. Riley stared at it.

"What? Why are you…"

"Just play."

Riley did, and Bracegirdle took the trick.

"And the rest are mine," Hornblower informed them, laying his cards out on the table. Riley frowned.

"I'm not sure I see that," he said.

Hornblower grinned. "It is a mathematical certainty."

He proceeded to explain exactly how they had won to a flabbergasted Riley and an amused, if somewhat poorer, Bracegirdle.

They arrived at Oran a short time later. Riley was almost as excited as Carleton, the youngest midshipman; besides the anticipated provender, reaching Oran meant that his interminable relationship with Mr. Tapling was halfway towards its close. The man had but half the right of a sailor to complain, and yet he did so at least twice as much. It was maddening. Riley had been plagued with grievances ever since the diplomat came aboard, firstly, and almost immediately, about the food.

"How dare you serve – serve! It barely merits the word – how dare you give me such measly portions of such revolting… you call this food?" Tapling threw up his hands in disgust, apparently frustrated by his inability to find proper words with which to describe his meal. "I am accustomed to roughing it, Mr. Riley, but this is completely unacceptable."

Riley did his best not to eye Tapling's enormous gut with skepticism at this pronouncement.

"Mr. Tapling," he said, in what he hoped was a polite manner, "The fleet is in dire need of provisions. If you'll recall, that is why you were sent to Oran in the first place."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Tapling, "The sustenance of His Majesty's Navy in the Mediterranean rests entirely on my shoulders. If you do not give me sufficient food, I…" he leaned on his chair and held a trembling hand to his forehead.

"…I may not have the strength to complete my assignment," he concluded weakly.

"I am terribly sorry to hear that, sir," Riley informed him coolly, "And when we reach Oran and find that our travel and hope has been in vain, I am positive that the Captain and crew will be most understanding of your delicacy, and that upon our return to Gibraltar the Admiralty will be similarly considerate." Riley paused to let that sink in. "As much as I would like to prevent such a disappointment, however, I am afraid that there is nothing I can do. What you have been given, Mr. Tapling, is what we have. If you desire better, you may take it up with the Mohammedans."

From then on there were no more direct protests about cuisine, but Tapling continued to mutter darkly whenever his dinner was brought to him. The respite was sadly brief. Accommodations quickly supplanted dining on Tapling's list of dislikes. It began with the bed and spread to the entire room, which he then insisted be changed despite, or perhaps because of, Riley's claim that there were no other rooms available. Rather than be proved a liar, Riley was forced to rebuff all of Tapling's assaults, which occurred more or less every day. If this continued on the return journey, Riley was not sure he could hold himself responsible for his own actions.

After making anchor at Oran, Hornblower had volunteered to command the shore boat. Riley was only too happy to concede the position; as much as he would have liked to see an Oranian fortress-city up close, he did not think it worth extended proximity to Mr. Tapling. They had been gone for three hours now and had spent most of that time sitting on the pier waiting to be approached. Everyone not on watch, except Carleton, had grown tired of watching them and retreated to the mess, where it was comparatively cooler. Those less fortunate were busily drenching their uniforms with sweat. Riley loosened his collar and gazed longingly down at the water.

"Something's happening!"

It was Carleton. He was pointing excitedly at the shore, glass pressed to his eye. Riley whipped his own out and put it to his face, ignoring the burn of hot metal against his skin.

The gates of the city had opened and a man was riding out on a donkey, surrounded by a small retinue of lackeys. A rotund, red-brown figure and a slimmer, blue figure –Tapling and Hornblower – moved forward to meet them. There was some conference, and the gates of the city opened once more. Big, beautiful brown cattle poured out and onto the waiting barge. Riley held his breath as if by moving he could make it all disappear, like some desert mirage. But the cattle remained decidedly corporeal, and were quickly followed by a gang of slaves. They carried bags filled with what could only be some sort of grain.

"They've done it," breathed Carleton. "They've done it!"

Riley snapped his glass shut again and put it in its pouch. Thank God. He knew he shouldn't feel this relieved; after all, there was no reason why the Mohammedans would have refused to trade. But still, he felt a great weight lifting from the ship. Carleton asked Bracegirdle for permission to inform the rest of the crew, and Bracegirdle granted it heartily.

Riley's good humor melted abruptly. Something was wrong. There was next to no logic to support his conclusion, and yet... Something was very wrong indeed. This was altogether too much like the night they had first seen a Spanish fire ship.

They had only been on half rations for about a week when it happened. It was late at night, Riley wasn't sure exactly what time. Someone spotted a supplies brig on the horizon. The word had been spread, men had rushed on deck, shouting and cheering. But then, out of nowhere, a flickering orange light appeared on the horizon. It was a fire ship. The use of fire ships had been pioneered by the British, who would light a ship on fire and maneuver it into a crowded harbor, where it would wreck havoc on the helpless ships at anchor. Such a danger was heading for their desperately needed provisions. The escort was too far away, there was nothing to be done. They could only watch as the brig went up in flames.

The current moment of promise was frighteningly similar, and Riley was unable to stave off an irrational sense of foreboding. He stared unhappily after Carleton.

"You may regret allowing him to do that, sir," he told Bracegirdle.

"Why?" asked Bracegirdle light-heartedly, "Do you know something we don't?"

Riley shook his head. "No, sir."

Bracegirdle shrugged and moved off. Riley looked pensively back at the shore.

The heretofore-placid crowd of slaves and on-lookers had suddenly transformed into a broiling mob. Riley looked around to see if any of the others had noticed. None of them had. They were watching the men gather on deck to celebrate, waiting for a favorable opportunity to put them back to work. They would let them have their fun first, though. He looked to the shore. The marines who had gone with Hornblower had formed into a column and appeared to be pointing their bayonets into the crowd.

Somebody had to be told. Riley approached Bracegirdle quietly and touched his elbow.

"Yes, Mr. Riley, what is it?" asked Bracegirdle.

"Try not to seem alarmed, sir," Riley told him, "But look to the shore."

He did. Riley heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Tell no one," Bracegirdle instructed, after beat, "It could be nothing, and there's no need to alarm the crew. If anyone else notices, keep them quiet."

"But, sir, if it is something..." Riley began.

"Then we'll find out soon enough," interrupted Bracegirdle. "Inform the Captain, if you please, Mr. Riley."

"Aye-aye, sir."

He made his way to the Captain's door and knocked.

"Enter," came the voice from within.

Pellew was sitting at his desk, writing. He looked up as Riley came in.

"Mr. Riley," he greeted his second Lieutenant.

"Sir," Riley said, "Mr. Bracegirdle wishes me to inform you of some... potential problems ashore, sir."

"What sort of problems?"

The Captain listened intently had Riley described what he had seen.

"Mr. Bracegirdle believes it may be nothing, sir," he concluded.

"But?" prompted Pellew.

"But," repeated Riley, "The whole affair seems too easy. It's nothing I can explain, really, sir, but I've been worried since before the trouble began, and now..."

"You can't help but feel that the axe you have been waiting for has fallen," Pellew finished quietly.

"Exactly, sir."

Pellew looked down at his papers, shuffled them.

"Very well, Mr. Riley, I believe you," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Let us hope that for once your instincts are proved wrong."

"Indeed, sir," he replied. Was that a compliment?

"Is the crew aware of the situation?"

"They weren't when I was last on deck, sir. Mr. Bracegirdle has given orders that any who become aware be kept quiet."

Pellew nodded. "Very good. Thank you, Mr. Riley."

Riley was dismissed. He saluted and left.

The deck was quiet, but it was a cheerful quiet. Riley guessed that Bracegirdle must have sent the men back to work.

Not long after, the longboat was spotted returning to the Indefatigable, manned only by Hornblower and a rowing crew. Tapling, the Marines, and the rest of Hornblower's men had remained behind and were making no move to bring the loaded barge out to the Caroline. Bowles was the nearest to the longboat when it came in earshot, so Hornblower addressed him first.

"Mr. Bowles!" he shouted. Riley heard him from starboard and came over to listen.

Bowles gave Hornblower an odd look. He must have been wondering why Hornblower was not pulling alongside.

"What is it?" he shouted back.

"I must speak to the Captain!"

"Come aboard and speak to him then," replied Bowles, "What's going on?"

Pellew had apparently heard the noise, and was coming up to the quarterdeck where Bowles and Riley were standing. Bracegirdle followed close behind.

"Please tell the Captain I must speak with him!" said Hornblower, which answered nothing.

The Captain stepped into view. "Mr. Hornblower?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid, sir," said Hornblower. Riley nodded grimly and glanced at Bracegirdle. The corner of the first Lieutenant's mouth twitched downwards.

"The plague is at Oran," Hornblower continued, "It could only have struck today, sir."

Various exclamations of dismay sounded among the four of them. Riley could feel the blood rushing from his face. The plague. It was the last thing on earth he'd expected. Pellew said nothing, but his breaths became shorter and he looked briefly at the floor.

"Then they are already dead, sir," murmured Bracegirdle.

"Enough of that!" Pellew snapped.

But Bracegirdle was only too right. If even one of them became ill, it was unlikely that any would survive, or any who came in contact with them. They would therefore have to serve three weeks of quarantine – three weeks since the last case – before it would be safe to rejoin the fleet. Which meant that the supplies would have to stay, as well. Could cows catch the plague? Riley wasn't sure. Irregardless, it would be too dangerous to send any more men ashore to collect them.

"Keep to leeward, Mr. Hornblower," ordered Pellew.

Riley glanced at him. The Captain was quite distracted and, as always, his distraction manifested itself in a manner of speech that was clipped and hesitant by turns.

"Aye-aye, sir," acknowledged Hornblower. "I have a suggestion."

Pellew blinked. "Yes? What is it?"

"The fleet needs these supplies, sir," said Hornblower. "We could serve our three weeks at sea on the Caroline to preserve them."

Riley wanted to applaud. It was the only way they had a chance at getting the supplies. Admittedly, it was a bit of a gamble, but considering how desperately the fleet needed the supplies, it was well worth it.

"It's a waste of time, sir," said Bracegirdle.

Riley tensed.

"One moment, Mr. Hornblower," shouted Pellew. He turned to Bracegirdle and asked, "Do you have something to say?"

"Like as not they'll all be dead in a week, and then you'll lose the Caroline."

Pellew considered it. "True," he admitted, "But I must weigh that fact against the chance of supplies, Mr. Bracegirdle, and… at… this… moment, that is of far great importance to this fleet."

Bracegirdle nodded. Pellew was right.

"Very well," the Captain addressed Hornblower, "I appoint you in command of the Caroline."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Where is Mr. Tapling?"

"He's ashore, sir," responded Hornblower, "With the Marines."

"Good," said Pellew. "He may continue as your passenger."

Riley looked sharply at his Captain. There had been no need to say any of that. It had all been perfectly obvious. Was Pellew merely trying to delay Hornblower's moment of departure? Riley hadn't known he was so attached to the boy.

"Very good, sir," said Hornblower. If he saw anything odd in the exchange, he didn't show it. "Oh, and sir?"

"Hmm? What now?"

"My books, sir?"

"Books?" Pellew seemed to have forgotten what the word meant.

"For my examination, sir."

It was extraordinary.

"Yes…" said Pellew, "Right. Um…"

"I'll see to it, sir," volunteered Riley. He practically ran belowdecks to Hornblower's cabin, where he began collecting the lieutenant's notes. He picked up a book and a handful of pages fell out. Riley knelt and shoved them back in, then grabbed another book, knocking a third book off the table and scattering loose paper everywhere. He cursed and began to gather those, but in doing so he managed to drop both of the books under his arm.

"Damn!" he muttered. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!" He shouldn't be this upset. He shouldn't be this clumsy, either. What was the matter with him?

Why was he bothering to pretend he didn't know?

Riley gritted his teeth and forced himself to concentrate on the mundane. Did he have everything picked up? Was there anything in the mess? Take a deck of cards, as well. Don't trip on the stairs. When he returned to the quarterdeck, Pellew and the others had left.

Riley leaned over the port side and called, "Come a bit closer, so I can toss them to you."

Hornblower looked at him oddly, but complied. It was strange, Riley realized, to ask plague victims to come closer.

They aren't plague victims yet.

Riley dropped the books down into the longboat.

"There's some playing cards in there, as well," he told Hornblower, "You'd better keep in practice; you're going to have to win back all the money I'll lose to Mr. Bracegirdle while you're gone."

Hornblower grinned. "Yes, sir." He began an order to his men.

"And remember," Riley added. Hornblower stopped talking and looked up at him.

"If Tapling gives you any trouble, just heave him over the side. You can always say he became ill and had to be sacrificed for the good of the ship."

"I shall bear that in mind, sir."

Riley was merely trying to delay Hornblower's moment of departure. He hadn't known he was so attached to the boy.

As soon as the longboat had come about he turned and paced to starboard. He came off watch in three bells. It seemed to take forever.

The Indefatigable stayed only long enough to see Hornblower's men begin loading the Caroline. Riley retreated to his cabin as soon as they were underway. He knew he couldn't stay in there forever, that he would have to put up a good front for the mids. Once he got things sorted out he would return and face the world.

Morale would be at its lowest, that much was certain. Some would have mates among those in quarantine, but for most of the officers and men this would be an unfortunate fact of life; what would hit them the hardest, and it would hit them hard, were the lost supplies. They'd been afraid before, but now it could only be worse. For Riley – and he suspected for the Captain as well – the opposite was true. As an officer, Lieutenant Riley could cope with losing men and the dwindling supply of foodstuffs, though with some difficulty. It was a different thing entirely for George Riley to accept that Horatio Hornblower would most likely die of plague. He'd thought he'd put an end to all that last year. He was wrong.

Why, oh why did I allow Hornblower to take my place in the longboat?

Selfishness. He had wanted to avoid Tapling, so he'd jumped at the first chance to unload the civil servant on someone else. If he hadn't, he would have gone shore, been exposed, and it would be him in quarantine instead of Hornblower. Hornblower, who was going to die a slow and horrible death because Riley had been so selfish.

There was a knock at the door. It was Bracegirdle.

"I had thought we were going to play whist," he said. "Have the plans changed?"

Riley shook his head and walked past Bracegirdle and into the mess. He sat down and began to shuffle.

"No," he attempted a smile, "Hornblower has agreed to win back whatever I lose to you, so I have no reason to withdraw."

Bracegirdle smiled back, but Riley could feel the first Lieutenant watching him closely. "Did he really?"

"Well, I promised for him," amended Riley, "But he never actually refused."

Bracegirdle chuckled. Riley presented him with the deck, which he cut.

"How do you play whist with only two people?" asked Riley. "We've never been able to before."

"I learnt it from a fellow in Gibraltar," explained Bracegirdle. "He called it Honeymoon whist. It's very simple."

"You'd better deal." Riley handed Bracegirdle with the deck.

He a tidy sum in the first rubber. Riley wasn't really paying much attention to the game, and it was costing him.

"I wouldn't worry about Hornblower, if I were you," remarked Bracegirdle.

Riley continued to look blandly at his cards. "I thought they would all be dead in a week."

He couldn't keep a note of acidity out of his voice, even if it wasn't strictly fair to Bracegirdle. It was a first Lieutenant's duty to point those things out, whatever his personal opinions, and he was probably right anyway. One week, maybe two, was all the time those poor souls had to live.

"Yes, that's probably so," Bracegirdle admitted. "Its just that recently, I've noticed that Hornblower lives like he plays whist."

Riley looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the game we played a few days ago, the one where Hornblower said he blamed himself for one of his men, ah… Bunting, stealing from the hold?"

Riley nodded.

"'You remember that the only way he could win that round was if diamonds split the way they did?"

Again, Riley nodded.

"If they didn't split that way, he would've been sunk anyway, so he assumed that it was so."

"I think I catch your drift, sir," Riley said quietly. "When you play whist, you determine how things must be so that you may win, and assume that this is how they actually are, which is what Hornblower has done with the Caroline. You're telling me that because Hornblower usually wins at whist, and because he is treating exposure to the plague like a game of whist, he'll probably some out on top. Is that it?"

"Something like that."

"That's rather scant hope, isn't it?"

"It's better than no hope at all."

"Only if it pays off!"

Bracegirdle raised an eyebrow. Riley sighed.

"My apologies, sir; I spoke in haste. But you will forgive me if I do not use false hopes to soften the fact that I have indirectly caused the death of yet another fine young man and officer."

"Another…" Bracegirdle was frowning.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bracegirdle, but I am afraid I am very good company this evening," he stood and bowed, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in."

He shouldn't have let that slip. Riley could feel the man's eyes on his back as he returned to his cabin. This wasn't over. Bracegirdle would be sure to bring it up again, and Riley would have to say something.