csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第10节

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　During　the　year　before　he　joined　the　Navy　Hornblower　had　attended　classes　given　by　a　penniless　French　émigré　in　French；　music；　and　dancing。　Early　enough　the　wretched　émigré　had　found　that　Hornblower　had　no　ear　for　music　whatever；　which　made　it　almost　impossible　to　teach　him　to　dance；　and　so　he　had　endeavoured　to　earn　his　fee　by　concentrating　on　French。　A　good　deal　of　what　he　had　taught　Hornblower　had　found　a　permanent　resting　place　in　Hornblower's　tenacious　memory。　He　had　never　thought　it　would　be　of　much　use　to　him；　but　he　discovered　the　contrary　when　the　French　captain　at　dawn　insisted　on　an　interview　with　him。　The　Frenchman　had　a　little　English；　but　it　was　a　pleasant　surprise　to　Hornblower　to　find　that　they　actually　could　get　along　better　in　French；　as　soon　as　he　could　fight　down　his　shyness　sufficiently　to　produce　the　halting　words。
　The　captain　drank　thirstily　from　the　scuttlebut；　his　cheeks　were　of　course　unshaven　and　he　wore　a　bleary　look　after　twelve　hours　in　a　crowded　forecastle；　where　he　had　been　battened　down　three　parts　drunk。
　'My　men　are　hungry；'　said　the　captain；　he　did　not　look　hungry　himself。
　'Mine　also；'　said　Hornblower。　'I　also。'
　It　was　natural　when　one　spoke　French　to　gesticulate；　to　indicate　his　men　with　a　wave　of　the　hand　and　himself　with　a　tap　on　the　chest。
　'I　have　a　cook；'　said　the　captain。
　It　took　some　time　to　arrange　the　terms　of　a　truce。　The　Frenchmen　were　to　be　allowed　on　deck；　the　cook　was　to　provide　food　for　everyone　on　board；　and　while　these　amenities　were　permitted；　until　noon；　the　French　would　make　no　attempt　to　take　the　ship。
　'Good；'　said　the　captain　at　length；　and　when　Hornblower　had　given　the　necessary　orders　permitting　the　release　of　the　crew　he　shouted　for　the　cook　and　entered　into　an　urgent　discussion　regarding　dinner。　Soon　smoke　was　issuing　satisfactorily　from　the　galley　chimney。
　Then　the　captain　looked　up　at　the　grey　sky；　at　the　close　reefed　topsails；　and　glanced　into　the　binnacle　at　the　pass。
　'A　foul　wind　for　England；'　he　remarked。
　'Yes；'　said　Hornblower　shortly。　He　did　not　want　this　Frenchman　to　guess　at　his　trepidation　and　bitterness。
　The　captain　seemed　to　be　feeling　the　motion　of　the　brig　under　his　feet　with　attention。
　'She　rides　a　little　heavily；　does　she　not？'　he　said。
　'Perhaps；'　said　Hornblower。　He　was　not　familiar　with　the　Marie　Galante；　nor　with　ships　at　all；　and　he　had　no　opinion　on　the　subject；　but　he　was　not　going　to　reveal　his　ignorance。
　'Does　she　leak？'　asked　the　captain。
　'There　is　no　water　in　her；'　said　Hornblower。
　'Ah！'　said　the　captain。　'But　you　would　find　none　in　the　well。　We　are　carrying　a　cargo　of　rice；　you　must　remember。'
　'Yes；'　said　Hornblower。
　He　found　it　very　hard　at　that　moment　to　remain　outwardly　unperturbed；　as　his　mind　grasped　the　implications　of　what　was　being　said　to　him。　Rice　would　absorb　every　drop　of　water　taken　in　by　the　ship；　so　that　no　leak　would　be　apparent　on　rounding　the　well…and　yet　every　drop　of　water　taken　in　would　deprive　her　of　that　much　buoyancy；　all　the　same。
　'One　shot　from　your　cursed　frigate　struck　us　in　the　hull；'　said　the　captain。　'Of　course　you　have　investigated　the　damage？'
　'Of　course；'　said　Hornblower；　lying　bravely。
　But　as　soon　as　he　could　he　had　a　private　conversation　with　Matthews　on　the　point；　and　Matthews　instantly　looked　grave。
　'Where　did　the　shot　hit　her；　sir？'　he　asked。
　'Somewhere　on　the　port　side；　forrard；　I　should　judge。'
　He　and　Matthews　craned　their　necks　over　the　ship's　side。
　'Can't　see　nothin'；　sir；'　said　Matthews。　'Lower　me　over　the　side　in　a　bowline　and　I'll　see　what　I　can　find；　sir。'
　Hornblower　was　about　to　agree　and　then　changed　his　mind。
　'I'll　go　over　the　side　myself；'　he　said。
　He　could　not　analyse　the　motives　which　impelled　him　to　say　that。　Partly　he　wanted　to　see　things　with　his　own　eyes；　partly　he　was　influenced　by　the　doctrine　that　he　should　never　give　an　order　he　was　not　prepared　to　carry　out　himself…but　mostly　it　must　have　been　the　desire　to　impose　a　penance　on　himself　for　his　negligence。
　Matthews　and　Carson　put　a　bowline　round　him　and　lowered　him　over。　He　found　himself　dangling　against　the　ship's　side；　with　the　sea　bubbling　just　below　him；　as　the　ship　pitched　the　sea　came　up　to　meet　him；　and　he　was　wet　to　the　waist　in　the　first　five　seconds；　and　as　the　ship　rolled　he　was　alternately　swung　away　from　the　side　and　bumped　against　it。　The　men　with　the　line　walked　steadily　aft；　giving　him　the　chance　to　examine　the　whole　side　of　the　brig　above　water；　and　there　was　not　a　shot　hole　to　be　seen。　He　said　as　much　to　Matthews　when　they　hauled　him　on　deck。
　'Then　it's　below　the　waterline；　sir；'　said　Matthews；　saying　just　what　was　in　Hornblower's　mind。　'You're　sure　the　shot　hit　her；　sir？'
　'Yes；　I'm　sure；'　snapped　Hornblower。
　Lack　of　sleep　and　worry　and　a　sense　of　guilt　were　all　shortening　his　temper；　and　he　had　to　speak　sharply　or　break　down　in　tears。　But　he　had　already　decided　on　the　next　move…he　had　made　up　his　mind　about　that　while　they　were　hauling　him　up。
　'We'll　heave　her　to　on　the　other　tack　and　try　again；'　he　said。
　On　the　other　tack　the　ship　would　incline　over　to　the　other　side；　and　the　shot…hole；　if　there　was　one；　would　not　be　so　deeply　submerged。　Hornblower　stood　with　the　water　dripping　from　his　clothes　as　they　wore　the　brig　round；　the　wind　was　keen　and　cold；　but　he　was　shivering　with　expectancy　rather　than　cold。　The　heeling　of　the　brig　laid　him　much　more　definitely　against　the　side；　and　they　lowered　him　until　his　legs　were　scraping　over　the　marine　growths　which　she　carried　there　between　wind　and　water。　They　then　walked　aft　with　him；　dragging　him　along　the　side　of　the　ship；　and　just　abaft　the　foremast　he　found　what　he　was　seeking。
　'Avast；　there！'　he　yelled　up　to　the　deck；　mastering　the　sick　despair　that　he　felt。　The　motion　of　the　bowline　along　the　ship　ceased。　'Lower　away！　Another　two　feet！'
　Now　he　was　waist…deep　in　the　water；　and　when　the　brig　swayed　the　water　closed　briefly　over　his　head；　like　a　momentary　death。　Here　it　was；　two　feet　below　the　waterline　even　with　the　brig　hove　to　on　this　tack…a　splintered；　jagged　hole；　square　rather　than　round；　and　a　foot　across。　As　the　sea　boiled　round　him　Hornblower　even　fancied　he　could　hear　it　bubbling　into　the　ship；　but　that　might　be　pure　fancy。
　He　hailed　the　deck　for　them　to　haul　him　up　again；　and　they　stood　eagerly　listening　for　what　he　had　to　say。
　'Two　feet　below　the　waterline；　sir？'　said　Matthews。　'She　was　close　hauled　and　heeling　right　over；　of　course；　when　we　hit　her。　But　her　bows　must　have　lifted　just　as　we　fired。　And　of　course　she's　lower　in　the　water　now。'
　That　was　the　point。　Whatever　they　did　now；　however　much　they　heeled　her；　that　hole　would　be　under　water。　And　on　the　other　tack　it　would　be　far　under　water；　with　much　additional　pressure；　yet　on　the　present　tack　they　were　headed　for　France。　And　the　more　water　they　took　in；　the　lower　the　brig　would　settle；　and　the　greater　would　be　the　pressure　forcing　water　in　through　the　hole。　Something　must　be　done　to　plug　the　leak；　and　Hornblower's　reading　of　the　manuals　of　seamanship　told　him　what　it　was。
　'We　must　fother　a　sail　and　get　it　over　that　hole；'　he　announced。　'Call　those　Frenchmen　over。'
　To　fother　a　sail　was　to　make　something　like　a　vast　hairy　doormat　out　of　it；　by　threading　innumerable　lengths　of　half…unravelled　line　through　it。　When　this　was　done　the　sail　would　be　lowered　below　the　ship's　bottom　and　placed　against　the　hole。　The　inward　pressure　would　then　force　the　hairy　mass　so　tightly　against　the　hole　that　the　entrance　of　water　would　be　made　at　least　much　more　difficult。
　The　Frenchmen　were　not　quick　to　help　in　the　task；　it　was　no　longer　their　ship；　and　they　were　heading　for　an　English　prison；　so　that　even　with　their　lives　at　stake　they　were　somewhat　apathetic。　It　took　time　to　get　out　a　new　topgallant　sail…Hornblower　felt　that　the　stouter　the　canvas　the　better…and　to　set　a　party　to　work　cutting　lengths　of　line；　threading　them　through；　and　unravelling　them。　The　French　captain　looked　at　them　squatting　on　the　deck　all　at　work。
　'Five　years　I　spent　in　a　prison　hulk　in　Portsmouth　during　the　last　war；'　he　said。　'Five　years。'
　'Yes；'　said　Hornblower。
　He　might　have　felt　sympathy；　but　he　was　not　only　preoccupied　with　his　own　problems　but　he　was　numb　with　cold。　He　not　only　had　every　intention　if　possible　of　escorting　the　French　captain　to　England　and　to　prison　again　but　he　also　at　that　very　moment　intended　to　go　below　and　appropriate　some　of　his　spare　clothing。
　Down　below　it　seemed　to　Hornblower　as　if　the　noises　all　about　him…the　creaks　and　groans　of　a　wooden　ship　at　sea…were　more　pronounced　than　usual。　The　brig　was　riding　easily　enough　hove…to；　and　yet　the　bulkheads　down　below　were　cracking　and　creaking　as　if　the　brig　were　racking　herself　to　pieces　in　a　storm。　He　dismissed　the　notion　as　a　product　of　his　over…stimulated　imagination　but　by　the　time　he　had　towelled　himself　into　something　like　warmth　and　put　on　the　captain's　best　suit　it　recurred　to　him；　the　brig　was　groaning　as　if　in　stress。
　He　came　on　deck　again　to　see　how　the　working　party　was　progressing。　He　had　hardly　been　on　deck　two　minutes　when　one　of　the　Frenchmen；　reaching　back　for　another　length　of　line；　stopped　in　his　movement　to　stare　at　the