csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第15章

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in　a　quiet　steady　voice。　Hornblower　took　the　tiller…the　feel　of　that　solid　bar　of　wood　was　reassuring；　and　it　was　old　habit　now　to　sit　in　the　stern　sheets　with　hand　and　elbow　upon　it；　and　the　men　began　to　pull　slowly　aver　the　dark　shapes　of　the　four　big　boats；　there　was　plenty　of　time；　and　the　flowing　tide　would　take　them　up　the　estuary。　That　was　just　as　well；　for　on　one　side　of　them　lay　the　batteries　of　St　Dye；　and　inside　the　estuary　on　the　other　side　was　the　fortress　of　Blaye；　forty　big　guns　trained　to　sweep　the　channel；　and　none　of　the　five　boats…certainly　not　the　jolly　boat…could　withstand　a　single　shot　from　one　of　them。
　He　kept　his　eyes　attentively　on　the　cutter　ahead　of　him。　Soames　had　the　dreadful　responsibility　of　taking　the　boats　up　the　channel；　while　all　he　had　to　do　was　to　follow　in　her　wake…all；　except　to　loose　that　maintopsail。　Hornblower　found　himself　shivering　again。
　Hales；　the　man　who　had　said　he　felt　queer；　was　pulling　stroke　oar；　Hornblower　could　just　see　his　dark　form　moving　rhythmically　back　and　forward　at　each　slow　stroke。　After　a　single　glance　Hornblower　paid　him　no　more　attention；　and　was　staring　after　the　cutter　when　a　sudden　motion　brought　his　mind　back　into　the　boat。　Someone　had　missed　his　stroke；　someone　had　thrown　all　six　oars　into　confusion　as　a　result。　There　was　even　a　slight　clatter。
　'Mind　what　you're　doing；　blast　you；　Hales；'　whispered　Jackson；　the　coxswain；　with　desperate　urgency。
　For　answer　there　was　a　sudden　cry　from　Hales；　loud　but　fortunately　not　too　loud；　and　Hales　pitched　forward　against　Hornblower's　and　Jackson's　legs；　kicking　and　writhing。
　'The　bastard's　having　a　fit；'　growled　Jackson。
　The　kicking　and　writhing　went　on。　Across　the　water　through　the　darkness　came　a　sharp　scornful　whisper。
　'Mr　Hornblower；'　said　the　voice…it　was　Eccles　putting　a　world　of　exasperation　into　his　sotto　voce　question…'cannot　you　keep　your　men　quiet　？'
　Eccles　had　brought　the　launch　round　almost　alongside　the　oily　boat　to　say　this　to　him；　and　the　desperate　need　for　silence　was　dramatically　demonstrated　by　the　absence　of　any　of　the　usual　blasphemy；　Hornblower　could　picture　the　cutting　reprimand　that　would　be　administered　to　him　to…morrow　publicly　on　the　quarterdeck。　He　opened　his　mouth　to　make　an　explanation；　but　he　fortunately　realized　that　raiders　in　open　boats　did　not　make　explanations　when　under　the　guns　of　the　fortress　of　Blaye。
　'Aye　aye；　sir；'　was　all　he　whispered　back；　and　the　launch　continued　on　its　mission　of　shepherding　the　flotilla　in　the　tracks　of　the　cutter；
　'Take　his　oar；　Jackson；'　he　whispered　furiously　to　the　coxswain；　and　he　stooped　and　with　his　own　hands　dragged　the　writhing　figure　towards　him　and　out　of　Jackson's　way。
　'You　might　try　pouring　water　on　'im；　sir；'　suggested　Jackson　hoarsely；　as　he　moved　to　the　afterthwart。　'There's　the　baler　'andy。'
　Seawater　was　the　seaman's　cure　for　every　ill；　his　panacea；　seeing　how　often　sailors　had　not　merely　wet　jackets　but　wet　bedding　as　well　they　should　never　have　a　day's　illness。　But　Hornblower　let　the　sick　man　lie。　His　struggles　were　ing　to　an　end；　and　Hornblower　wished　to　make　no　noise　with　the　baler。　The　lives　of　more　than　a　hundred　men　depended　on　silence。　Now　that　they　were　well　into　the　actual　estuary　they　were　within　easy　reach　of　cannon　shot　from　the　shore…and　a　single　cannon　shot　would　rouse　the　crew　of　the　Papillon；　ready　to　man　the　bulwarks　to　beat　off　the　attack；　ready　to　drop　cannon　balls　into　the　boats　alongside；　ready　to　shatter　approaching　boats　with　a　tempest　of　grape。
　Silently　the　boats　glided　up　the　estuary；　Soames　in　the　cutter　was　setting　a　slow　pace；　with　only　an　occasional　stroke　at　the　oars　to　maintain　steerage　way。　Presumably　he　knew　very　well　what　he　was　doing；　the　channel　he　had　selected　was　an　obscure　one　between　mudbanks；　impracticable　for　anything　except　small　boats；　and　he　had　a　twenty…foot　pole　with　him　with　which　to　take　the　soundings…quicker　and　much　more　silent　than　using　the　lead。　Minutes　were　passing　fast；　and　yet　the　night　was　still　utterly　dark；　with　no　hint　of　approaching　dawn。　Strain　his　eyes　as　he　would　Hornblower　could　not　be　sure　that　he　could　see　the　flat　shores　on　either　side　of　him。　It　would　call　for　sharp　eyes　on　the　land　to　detect　the　little　boats　being　carried　up　by　the　tide。
　Hales　at　his　feet　stirred　and　then　stirred　again。　His　hand；　feeling　round　in　the　darkness；　found　Hornblower's　ankle　and　apparently　examined　it　with　curiosity。　He　muttered　something；　the　words　dragging　out　into　a　moan。
　'Shut　up！'　whispered　Hornblower；　trying；　like　the　saint　of　old；　to　make　a　tongue　of　his　whole　body；　that　he　might　express　the　urgency　of　the　occasion　without　making　a　sound　audible　at　any　distance。　Hales　set　his　elbow　on　Hornblower's　knee　and　levered　himself　up　into　a　sitting　position；　and　then　levered　himself　further　until　he　was　standing；　swaying　with　bent　knees　and　supporting　himself　against　Hornblower。
　'Sit　down；　damn　your'　whispered　Hornblower；　shaking　with　fury　and　anxiety。
　'Where's　Mary？'　asked　Hales　in　a　conversational　tone。
　'Shut　up！'
　'Mary！'　said　Hales；　lurching　against　him。　'Mary！'
　Each　successive　word　was　louder。　Hornblower　felt　instinctively　that　Hales　would　soon　be　speaking　in　a　loud　voice；　that　he　might　even　soon　be　shouting。　Old　recollections　of　conversations　with　his　doctor　father　stirred　at　the　back　of　his　mind；　he　remembered　that　persons　emerging　from　epileptic　kits　were　not　responsible　for　their　actions；　and　might　be；　and　often　were；　dangerous。
　'Mary！'　said　Hales　again。
　Victory　and　the　lives　of　a　hundred　men　depended　on　silencing　Hales；　and　silencing　him　instantly。　Hornblower　thought　of　the　pistol　in　his　belt；　and　of　using　the　butt；　but　there　was　another　weapon　more　conveniently　to　his　hand。　He　unshipped　the　tiller；　a　three…foot　bar　of　solid　oak；　and　he　swung　it　with　all　the　venom　and　fury　of　despair。　The　tiller　crashed　down　on　Hales'　head；　and　Hales；　an　unuttered　word　cut　short　in　his　throat；　fell　silent　in　the　bottom　of　the　boat。　There　was　no　sound　from　the　boat's　crew；　save　for　something　like　a　sigh　from　Jackson；　whether　approving　or　disapproving　Hornblower　neither　knew　nor　cared。　He　had　done　his　duty；　and　he　was　certain　of　it。　He　had　struck　down　a　helpless　idiot；　most　probably　he　had　killed　him；　but　the　surprise　upon　which　the　success　of　the　expedition　depended　had　not　been　imperilled。　He　reshipped　the　tiller　and　resumed　the　silent　task　of　keeping　in　the　wake　of　the　gigs。
　Far　away　ahead…in　the　darkness　it　was　impossible　to　estimate　the　distance…there　was　a　nucleus　of　greater　darkness；　close　on　the　surface　of　the　black　water。　It　might　be　the　corvette。　A　dozen　more　silent　strokes；　and　Hornblower　was　sure　of　it。　Soames　had　done　a　magnificent　job　of　pilotage；　leading　the　boats　straight　to　that　objective。　The　cutter　and　launch　were　diverging　now　from　the　two　gigs。　The　four　boats　were　separating　in　readiness　to　launch　their　simultaneous　converging　attack。
　'Easy！'　whispered　Hornblower；　and　the　jolly　boat's　crew　ceased　to　pull。
　Hornblower　had　his　orders。　He　had　to　wait　until　the　attack　had　gained　a　foothold　on　the　deck。　His　hand　clenched　convulsively　on　the　tiller；　the　excitement　of　dealing　with　Hales　had　driven　the　thought　of　having　to　ascend　strange　rigging　in　the　darkness　clear　out　of　his　head；　and　now　it　recurred　with　redoubled　urgency。　Hornblower　was　afraid。
　Although　he　could　see　the　corvette；　the　boats　had　vanished　from　his　sight；　had　passed　out　of　his　field　of　vision。　The　corvette　rode　to　her　anchor；　her　spars　just　visible　against　the　night　sky…that　was　where　he　had　to　climb！　She　seemed　to　tower　up　hugely。　Close　by　the　corvette　he　saw　a　splash　in　the　dark　water…the　boats　were　closing　in　fast　and　someone's　stroke　had　been　a　little　careless。　At　the　same　moment　came　a　shout　from　the　corvette's　deck；　and　when　the　shout　was　repeated　it　was　echoed　a　hundred　fold　from　the　boats　rushing　alongside。　The　yelling　was　lusty　and　prolonged；　of　set　purpose。　A　sleeping　enemy　would　be　bewildered　by　the　din；　and　the　progress　of　the　shouting　would　tell　each　boat's　crew　of　the　extent　of　the　success　of　the　others。　The　British　seamen　were　yelling　like　madmen。　A　flash　and　a　bang　from　the　corvette's　deck　told　of　the　firing　of　the　first　shot；　soon　pistols　were　popping　and　muskets　banging　from　several　points　of　the　deck。
　'Give　way！'　said　Hornblower。　He　uttered　the　order　as　if　it　had　been　torn　from　him　by　the　rack。
　The　jolly　boat　moved　forward；　while　Hornblower　fought　down　his　feelings　and　tried　to　make　out　what　was　going　on　on　board。　He　could　see　no　reason　for　choosing　either　side　of　the　corvette　in　preference　to　the　other；　and　the　larboard　side　was　the　nearer；　and　so　he　steered　the　boat　to　the　larboard　main　chains。　So　interested　was　he　in　what　he　was　doing　that　he　only　remembered　in　the　nick　of　time　to　give　the　order；　'In　oars。'　He　put　the　tiller　over　and　the　boat　swirled　round　and　the　bowman　hooked　on。　From　the　deck　just　above　came　a　noise　exactly　like　a　tinker　hammering　on　a　cooking…pot…Hornblower　noted　the　curious　noise　as　he　stood　up　in　the　stern　sheets。　He　felt　the　cutlass　at　his　side　and　the　pistol　in　his　belt；　and　then　he　sprang　for　the　chains。　With　a　mad　leap　he　reached　them　and　hauled　himself　up。　The　shrouds　came　into　his　hands；　his　feet　found　the　ratlines　beneath　them；　and　he　began　to　climb。　As　his　head　cleared　the　bulwark　and　he　could　see　the　deck　the　flash　of　a　pistol　shot　illuminated　the　scene　momentarily；　fixing　the　struggle　on　the　deck　in　a　static　moment；　like　a　picture。　Before　and　below　him　a　British　seaman　was　fighting　a　furious　cutlass　duel　with　a　French　officer；　and　he　realized　with　vague　astonishment　that　the　kettle…mending　noise　he　had　heard　was　the　sound　of　cutlass　against　cutlass…that　clash　of　steel　against　steel　that　poets　wrote　about。　So　much　for　romance。
　The　realization　carried　him　far　up　the　shrouds。　At　his　elbow　he　felt　the　futtock　shrouds　and　he　transferred　himself　to　them；　hanging　back　downward　with　his　toes　hooked　into　the　ratlines　and　his　hands　clinging　like　death。　That　only　lasted　for　two　or　three　desperate　seconds；　and　then　he　hauled　himself　onto　the　topmast　shrouds　and　began　the　final　ascent；　his　lungs　bursting　with　the　effort。　Here　was　the　topsail　yard；　and　Hornblower　flung　himself　across　it　and　felt　with　his　feet　for　the　footrope。　Merciful　God！　There　was　no　footrope…his　feet　searching　in　the　darkness　met　only　unresisting　air。　A　hundred　feet　above　the　deck　he　hung；　squirming　and　kicking　like　a　baby　held　up　at　arm's　length　in　its　father's　hands。　There　was　no　footrope；　it　may　have　been　with　this　very　situation　in　mind　that　the　Frenchmen　had　removed　it。　There　was　no　footrope；　so　that　he　could　not　make　his　way　out　to　the　yardarm。　Yet　the　gaskets　must　be　cast　off　and　the　sail　loosed…everything　depended　on　that。　Hornblower　had　seen　daredevil　seamen　run　out　along　the　yards　standing　upright；　as　though　walking　a　tightrope。　That　was　the　only　way　to　reach　the　yardarm　now。
　For　a　moment　he　could　not　breathe　as　his　weak　flesh　revolted　against　the　thought　of　walking　along　that　yard　above　the　black　abyss。　This　was　fear；　the　fear　that　stripped　a　man　of　his　manhood；　turning　his　bowels　to　water　and　his　limbs　to　paper。　Yet　his　furiously　active　mind　continued　to　work。　He　had　been　resolute　enough　in　dealing　with　Hales。　Where　he　personally　was　no