csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第20节

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　Hornblower　looked　up　at　the　maintopsail　yard　high　above　his　head；　and　remembered　how　he　had　walked　along　that　slender　stick　of　timber　out　to　the　yardarm　in　the　dark。　At　the　recollection　of　it；　even　here　with　the　solid　deck　under　his　feet；　he　shuddered　a　little。
　'Sorry；　sir。　Didn't　mean　to　'urt　you；'　said　Jackson；　tying　the　knot。　'There；　that's　done；　as　good　as　I　can　do　it；　sir。'
　'Thank　you；　Jackson；'　said　Hornblower。
　'We　got　to　report　the　jolly　boat　as　lost；　sir；'　went　on　Jackson。
　'Lost？'
　'She　ain't　towing　alongside；　sir。　You　see；　we　didn't　leave　no　boatkeeper　in　'er。　Wells；　'e　was　to　be　boatkeeper；　you　remember；　sir。　But　I　sent　'im　up　the　rigging　a'head　o'　me；　seeing　that　'Ales　couldn't　go。　We　wasn't　too　many　for　the　job。　So　the　jolly　boat　must　'a　e　adrift；　sir；　when　the　ship　went　about。'
　'What　about　Hales；　then？'　asked　Hornblower。
　''E　was　still　in　the　boat；　sir。'
　Hornblower　looked　back　up　the　estuary　of　the　Gironde。　Somewhere　up　there　the　jolly　boat　was　drifting　about；　and　lying　in　it　was　Hales；　probably　dead；　possibly　alive。　In　either　case　the　French　would　find　him；　surely　enough；　but　a　cold　wave　of　regret　extinguished　the　warm　feeling　of　triumph　in　Hornblower's　bosom　when　he　thought　about　Hales　back　there。　If　it　had　not　been　for　Hales　he　would　never　have　nerved　himself　（so　at　least　he　thought）　to　run　out　to　the　maintopsail　yardarm；　he　would　at　this　moment　be　ruined　and　branded　as　a　coward　instead　of　basking　in　the　satisfaction　of　having　capably　done　his　duty。
　Jackson　saw　the　bleak　look　in　his　face。
　'Don't　you　take　on　so；　sir；'　he　said。　'They　won't　'old　the　loss　of　the　jolly　boat　agin　you；　not　the　captain　and　Mr　Eccles；　they　won't。'
　'I　wasn't　thinking　about　the　jolly　boat；'　said　Hornblower。　'I　was　thinking　about　Hales。'
　'Oh；　'im？'　said　Jackson。　'Don't　you　fret　about　'im；　sir。　'E　wouldn't　never　'ave　made　no　seaman；　not　no　'ow。'
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　FIVE　…　THE　MAN　WHO　SAW　GOD
　Winter　had　e　to　the　Bay　of　Biscay。　With　the　passing　of　the　Equinox　the　gales　began　to　increase　in　violence；　adding　infinitely　to　the　labours　and　dangers　of　the　British　Navy　watching　over　the　coast　of　France；　easterly　gales；　bitter　cold；　which　the　storm…tossed　ships　had　to　endure　as　best　they　could；　when　the　spray　froze　on　the　rigging　and　the　labouring　hulls　leaked　like　baskets；　westerly　gales；　when　the　ships　had　to　claw　their　way　to　safety　from　a　lee　shore　and　make　a　risky　promise　between　gaining　sufficient　sea…room　and　maintaining　a　position　from　which　they　could　pounce　on　any　French　vessel　venturing　out　of　harbour。　The　storm…tossed　ships；　we　speak　about。　But　those　ships　were　full　of　storm…tossed　men；　who　week　by　week　and　month　by　month　had　to　endure　the　continual　cold　and　the　continual　wet；　the　salt　provisions；　the　endless　toil；　the　boredom　and　misery　of　life　in　the　blockading　fleet。　Even　in　the　frigates；　the　eyes　and　claws　of　the　blockaders；　boredom　had　to　be　endured；　the　boredom　of　long　periods　with　the　hatches　battened　down；　with　the　deck　seams　above　dripping　water　on　the　men　below；　long　nights　and　short　days；　broken　sleep　and　yet　not　enough　to　do。
　Even　in　the　Indefatigable　there　was　a　feeling　of　restlessness　in　the　air；　and　even　a　mere　midshipman　like　Hornblower　could　be　aware　of　it　as　he　was　looking　over　the　men　of　his　division　before　the　captain's　regular　weekly　inspection。
　'What's　the　matter　with　your　face；　Styles？'　he　asked。
　'Boils；　sir。　Awful　bad。'
　On　Styles'　cheeks　and　lips　there　were　half　a　dozen　dabs　of　sticking　plaster。
　'Have　you　done　anything　about　them？'
　'Surgeon's　mate；　sir；　'e　give　me　plaister　for　'em；　an'　'e　says　they'll　soon　e　right；　sir。'
　'Very　well。'
　Now　was　there；　or　was　there　not；　something　strained　about　the　expressions　on　the　faces　of　the　men　on　either　side　of　Styles？　Did　they　look　like　men　smiling　secretly　to　themselves？　Laughing　up　their　sleeves？　Hornblower　did　not　want　to　be　an　object　of　derision；　it　was　bad　for　discipline…and　it　was　worse　for　discipline　if　the　men　shared　some　secret　unknown　to　their　officers。　He　glanced　sharply　along　the　line　again。　Styles　was　standing　like　a　block　of　wood；　with　no　expression　at　all　on　his　swarthy　face；　the　black　ringlets　over　his　ears　were　properly　bed；　and　no　fault　could　be　found　with　him。　But　Hornblower　sensed　that　the　recent　conversation　was　a　source　of　amusement　to　the　rest　of　his　division；　and　he　did　not　like　it。
　After　divisions　he　tackled　Mr　Low　the　surgeon；　in　the　gunroom。
　'Boils？'　said　Low。　'Of　course　the　men　have　boils。　Salt　pork　and　split　peas　for　nine　weeks　on　end…what　d'you　expect　but　boils？　Boils…gurry　sores…blains…all　the　plagues　of　Egypt。'
　'On　their　faces？'
　'That's　one　locality　for　boils。　You'll　find　out　others　from　your　own　personal　experience。'
　'Does　your　mate　attend　to　them？'　persisted　Hornblower。
　'Of　course。'
　'What's　he　like？'
　'Muggridge？'
　'Is　that　his　name？'
　'He's　a　good　surgeon's　mate。　Get　him　to　pound　a　black　draught　for　you　and　you'll　see。　In　fact；　I'd　prescribe　one　for　you…you　seem　in　a　mighty　bad　temper；　young　man。'
　Mr　Low　finished　his　glass　of　rum　and　pounded　on　the　table　for　the　steward。　Hornblower　realized　that　he　was　lucky　to　have　found　Low　sober　enough　to　give　him　even　this　much　information；　and　turned　away　to　go　aloft　so　as　to　brood　over　the　question　in　the　solitude　of　the　mizzen…top。　This　was　his　new　station　in　action；　when　the　men　were　not　at　their　quarters　a　man　might　find　a　little　blessed　solitude　there…something　hard　to　kind　in　the　crowded　Indefatigable。　Bundled　up　in　his　peajacket；　Hornblower　sat　in　the　mizzen…top；　over　his　head　the　mizzen…topmast　drew　erratic　circles　against　the　grey　sky；　beside　him　the　topmast　shrouds　sang　their　high…pitched　note　in　the　blustering　gale；　and　below　him　the　life　of　the　ship　went　on　as　she　rolled　and　pitched；　standing　to　the　northward　under　close　reefed　topsails。　At　eight　bells　she　would　wear　to　the　southward　again　on　her　incessant　patrol。　Until　that　time　Hornblower　was　free　to　meditate　on　the　boils　on　Styles'　face　and　the　covert　grins　on　the　faces　of　the　other　men　of　the　division。
　Two　hands　appeared　on　the　stout　wooden　barricade　surrounding　the　top；　and　as　Hornblower　looked　up　with　annoyance　at　having　his　meditations　interrupted　a　head　appeared　above　them。　It　was　Finch；　another　man　in　Hornblower's　division；　who　also　had　his　station　in　action　here　in　the　mizzen…top。　He　was　a　frail　little　man　with　wispy　hair　and　pale　blue　eyes　and　a　foolish　smile；　which　lit　up　his　face　when；　after　betraying　some　disappointment　at　finding　the　mizzen…top　already　occupied；　he　recognized　Hornblower。
　'Beg　pardon；　sir；'　he　said。　'I　didn't　know　as　how　you　was　up　here。'
　Finch　was　hanging　on　unfortably；　back　downwards；　in　the　act　of　transferring　himself　from　the　futtock　shrouds　to　the　top；　and　each　roll　threatened　to　shake　him　loose。
　'Oh　e　here　if　you　want　to；'　said　Hornblower；　cursing　himself　for　his　soft　heartedness。　A　taut　officer；　he　felt；　would　have　told　Finch　to　go　back　whence　he　came　and　not　bother　him。
　'Thank　'ee；　sir。　Thank　'ee；'　said　Finch；　bringing　his　leg　over　the　barricade　and　allowing　the　ship's　roll　to　drop　him　into　the　top。
　He　crouched　down　to　peer　under　the　foot　of　the　mizzen…topsail　forward　to　the　mainmast　head；　and　then　turned　back　to　smile　disarmingly　at　Hornblower　like　a　child　caught　in　moderate　mischief。　Hornblower　knew　that　Finch　was　a　little　weak　in　the　head…the　all　embracing　press　swept　up　idiots　and　landsmen　to　help　man　the　fleet…although　he　was　a　trained　seaman　who　could　hand；　reef　and　steer。　That　smile　betrayed　him。
　'It's　better　up　here　than　down　below；　sir；'　said　Finch；　apologetically。
　'You're　right；'　said　Hornblower；　with　a　disinterested　intonation　which　would　discourage　conversation。
　He　turned　away　to　ignore　Finch；　settled　his　bark　again　fortably；　and　allowed　the　steady　swing　of　the　top　to　mesmerize　him　into　dreamy　thought　that　might　deal　with　his　problem。　Yet　it　was　not　easy；　for　Finch　was　as　restless　almost　as　a　squirrel　in　a　cage；　peering　forward；　changing　his　position；　and　so　continually　breaking　in　on　Hornblower's　train　of　thought；　wasting　the　minutes　of　his　precious　half…hour　of　freedom。
　'What　the　devil's　the　matter　with　you；　Finch？'　he　rasped　at　last；　patience　quite　exhausted。
　'The　Devil；　sir？'　said　Finch。　'It　isn't　the　Devil。　He's　not　up　here；　begging　your　pardon；　sir。'
　That　weak　mysterious　grin　again；　like　a　mischievous　child。　A　great　depth　of　secrets　lay　in　those　strange　blue　eyes。　Finch　peered　under　the　topsail　again；　it　was　a　gesture　like　a　baby's　playing　peep…bo。
　'There！'　said　Finch。　'I　saw　him　that　time；　sir。　God's　e　back　to　the　maintop；　sir。'
　'God？'
　'Aye　indeed；　sir。　Sometimes　He's　in　the　maintop。　More　often　than　not；　sir。　I　saw　Him　that　time；　with　His　beard　all　a…blowing　in　the　wind。　'Tis　only　from　here　that　you　can　see　Him；　sir。'
　What　could　be　said　to　a　man　with　that　sort　of　delusion？　Hornblower　racked　his　brains　for　an　answer；　and　found　none。　Finch　seemed　to　have　forgotten　his　presence；　and　was　playing　peep…bo　again　under　the　foot　of　the　mizzen…topsail。
　'There　He　is！'　said　Finch　to　himself。　'There　He　is　again！　God's　in　the　maintop；　and　the　Devil's　in　the　cable　tier。'
　'Very　appropriate；'　said　Hornblower　cynically；　but　to　himself。　He　had　no　thought　of　laughi