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There was no answer from anybody； only deep silence； during which it seemed to Hornblower that the frantic beating of his heart must be clearly audible。 The silence was broken by an exclamation from Hether。
'We haven't settled who's to give the word！' he said。 'Who's going to？'
'Let's ask Mr Masters to give it；' said Danvers。
Hornblower did not look round。 He was looking steadfastly at the grey sky past Simpson's right ear…somehow he could not look him in the face； and he had no idea where Simpson was looking。 The end of the world as he knew it was close to him…soon there might be a bullet through his heart。
'I will do it if you are agreed； gentlemen；' he heard Masters say。
The grey sky was featureless； for this last look on the world he might as well have been blindfolded。 Masters raised his voice again。
'I will say 〃one； two； three； fire〃；' he announced； 'with those intervals。 At the last word； gentlemen； you can fire as you will。 Are you ready？'
'Yes；' came Simpson's voice； almost in Hornblower's ear； it seemed。
'Yes；' said Hornblower。 He could hear the strain in his own voice。
'One；' said Masters； and Hornblower felt at that moment the muzzle of Simpson's pistol against his left ribs； and he raised his own。
It was in that second that he decided he could not kill Simpson even if it were in his power； and he went on lifting his pistol； forcing himself to look to see that it was pressed against the point of Simpson's shoulder。 A slight wound would suffice。
'Two；' said Masters。 'Three。 Firel'
Hornblower pulled his trigger。 There was a click and a spurt of smoke from the lock of his pistol。 The priming had gone off but no more…his was the unloaded weapon； and he knew what it was to die。 A tenth of a second later there was a click and spurt of smoke from Simpson's pistol against his heart。 Stiff and still they both stood； slow to realize what had happened。
'A miss…fire； by God！' said Danvers。
The seconds crowded round them。
'Give me those pistols！' said Masters； taking them from the weak hands that held them。 'The loaded one might be hanging fire； and we don't want it to go off now。'
'Which was the loaded one？' asked Hether； consumed with curiosity。
'That is something it is better not to know；' answered Masters； changing the two pistols rapidly from hand to hand so as to confuse everyone。
'What about a second shot？' asked Danvers； and Masters looked up straight and inflexibly at him。
'There will be no second shot；' he said。 'Honour is pletely satisfied。 These two gentlemen have e through this ordeal extremely well。 No one can now think little of Mr Simpson if he expresses his regret for the occurrence； and no one can think little of Mr Hornblower if he accepts that statement in reparation。'
Hepplewhite burst into a roar of laughter。
'Your faces！' he boomed； slapping his thigh。 'You ought to see how you all look！ Solemn as cows！'
'Mr Hepplewhite；' said Masters； 'your behaviour is indecorous。 Gentlemen； our coaches are waiting on the road； the cutter is at the jetty。 And I think all of us would be the better for some breakfast； including Mr Hepplewhite。
That should have been the end of the incident。 The excited talk which had gone round the anchored squadron about the unusual duel died away in time； although everyone knew Hornblower's name now； and not as the midshipman who was seasick in Spithead but as the man who was willing to take an even chance in cold blood。 But in the Justinian herself there was other talk； whispers which were circulated forward and aft。
'Mr Hornblower has requested permission to speak to you； sir；' said Mr Clay； the first lieutenant； one morning while making his report to the captain。
'Oh； send him in when you go out；' said Keene； and sighed。
Ten minutes later a knock on his cabin door ushered in a very angry young man。
'Sir！' began Hornblower。
'I can guess what you're going to say；' said Keene。
'Those pistols in the duel I fought with Simpson were not loaded！'
'Hepplewhite blabbed； I suppose；' said Keene。
'And it was by your orders； I understand； sir。'
'You are quite correct。 I gave those orders to Mr Masters。'
'It was an unwarrantable liberty； sir！'
That was what Hornblower meant to say； but he stumbled without dignity over the polysyllables。
'Possibly it was；' said Keene patiently； rearranging； as always； the papers on his desk。
The calmness of the admission disconcerted Hornblower； who could only splutter for the next few moments。
'I saved a life for the King's service；' went on Keene； when the spluttering died away。 'A young life。 No one has suffered any harm。 On the other hand； both you and Simpson have had your courage amply proved。 You both know you can stand fire now； and so does every one else。'
'You have touched my personal honour； sir；' said Hornblower； bringing out one of his rehearsed speeches； 'for that there can only be one remedy。'
'Restrain yourself； please； Mr Hornblower。' Keene shifted himself in his chair with a wince of pain as he prepared to make a speech。 'I must remind you of one salutary regulation of the Navy； to the effect that no junior officer can challenge his superior to a duel。 The reasons for it are obvious…otherwise promotion would be too easy。 The mere issuing of a challenge by a junior to a senior is a court…martial offence； Mr Hornblower。'
'Oh！' said Hornblower feebly。
'Now here is some gratuitous advice；' went on Keene。 'You have fought one duel and emerged with honour。 That is good。 Never fight another…that is better。 Some people； oddly enough； acquire a taste for duelling； as a tiger acquires a taste for blood。 They are never good officers； and never popular ones either。'
It was then that Hornblower realized that a great part of the keen excitement with which he had entered the captain's cabin was due to anticipation of the giving of the challenge。 There could be a morbid desire for danger…and a morbid desire to occupy momentarily the centre of the stage。 Keene was waiting for him to speak； and it was hard to say anything。
'I understand； sir；' he said at last。
Keene shifted in his chair again。
'There is another matter I wanted to take up with you； Mr Hornblower。 Captain Pellew of the Indefatigable has room for another midshipman。 Captain Pellew is partial to a game of whist； and has no good fourth on board。 He and I have agreed to consider favourably your application for a transfer should you care to make one。 I don't have to point out that any ambitious young officer would jump at the chance of serving in a frigate。'
'A frigate！' said Hornblower。
Everybody knew of Pellew's reputation and success。 Distinction； promotion； prize money…an officer under Pellew's mand could hope for all these。 petition for nomination to the Indefatigable must be intense； and this was the chance of a lifetime。 Hornblower was on the point of making a glad acceptance； when further considerations restrained him。
'That is very good of you； sir；' he said 'I do not know how to thank you。 But you accepted me as a midshipman here； and of course I must stay with you。'
The drawn； apprehensive face relaxed into a smile。
'Not many men would have said that；' said Keene。 'But I am going to insist on your accepting the offer。 I shall not live very much longer to appreciate your loyalty。 And this ship is not the place for you…this ship with her useless captain…don't interrupt me…and her worn…out first lieutenant and her old midshipmen。 You should be where there may be speedy opportunities of advancement。 I have the good of the service in mind； Mr Hornblower； when I suggest you accept Captain Pellew's invitation…and it might be less disturbing for me if you did。'
'Aye aye； sir；' said Hornblower。
CHAPTER TWO … THE CARGO OF RICE
The wolf was in among the sheep。 The tossing grey water of the Bay of Biscay was dotted with white sails as far as the eye could see； and although a strong breeze was blowing every vessel was under perilously heavy canvas。 Every ship but one was trying to escape； the exception was His Majesty's frigate Indefatigable； Captain Sir Edward Pellew。 Farther out in the Atlantic； hundreds of miles away； a great battle was being fought； where the ships of the line were thrashing out the question as to whether England or France should wield the weapon of sea power； here in the Bay the convoy which the French ships were intended to escort was exposed to the attack of a ship of prey at liberty to capture any ship she could overhaul。 She had e surging up from leeward； cutting off all chance of escape in that direction； and the clumsy merchant ships were forced to beat to windward； they were all filled with the food which revolutionary France （her economy disordered by the convulsion through which she was passing） was awaiting so anxiously； and their crews were all anxious to escape confinement in an English prison。 Ship after ship was overhauled； a shot or two； and the newfangled tricolour came fluttering down from the gaff； and a prize…crew was hurriedly sent on board to conduct the captive to an English port while the frigate dashed after fresh prey。
On the quarterdeck of the Indefatigable Pellew fumed over each necessary delay。 The convoy； each ship as close to the wind as she would lie； and under all the sail she could carry； was slowly scattering； spreading farther and farther with the passing minutes； and some of these would find safety in mere dispersion if any time was wasted。 Pellew did not wait to pick up his boat； at each surrender he merely ordered away an officer and an armed guard； and the moment the prize…crew was on its way he filled his main…topsail again and hurried of after the next victim。 The brig they were pursuing at the moment was slow to surrender。 The long nine…pounders in the Indefatigable's bows bellowed out more than once； on that heaving sea it was not so easy to aim accurately and the brig continued on her course hoping for some miracle to save her。
'Very well；' snapped Pellew。 'He has asked for it。 Let him have it。'
The gunlayers at the bow chasers changed their point of aim； firing at the ship instead of across her bows。
'Not into the hull； damn it；' shouted Pellew…one shot had struck the brig perilously close to her waterline。 'Cripple her。'
The next shot by luck or by judgement was given better elevation。 The slings of the foretopsail yard were shot away； the reefed sail came down； the yard hanging lopsidedly； and the brig came up into the wind for the Indefatigable to heave to close beside her； her broadside ready to fire into her。 Under that threat her flag came down。
'What brig's that？' shouted Pellew through his megaphone。
'Marie Galante of Bordeaux；' translated the officer beside Pellew as the French captain made reply。 'Twenty…four days out from New Orleans with rice。'
'Rice！' said Pellew。 'That'll sell for a pretty penny when we get her home。 Two hundred tons； I should say。 Twelve of a crew at most。 She'll need a prize…crew of four； a midshipman's mand。'
He looked round him as though for inspiration before giving his next order。
'Mr Hornblower！'
'Sir！'
'Take four men of the cutter's crew and board that brig。 Mr Soames will give you our position。 Take her into any English port you can make； and report there for orders。'
'Aye aye； sir。'
Hornblower was at his station at the starboard quarterdeck carronades…which was perhaps how he had caught Pellew's eye … his dirk at his side and a pistol in his belt。 It was a moment for fast thinking； for anyone could see Pellew's impatience。 With the Indefatigable cleared for action； his sea chest would be part of the surgeon's operating table down below； so that there was no chance of getting anything out of it。 He would have to leave just as he was。 The cutter was even now clawing up to a position on the Indefatigable's quarter； so he ran to the ship's side and hailed her； trying to make his voice sound as big and as manly as he could； and at the word of the lieutenant in mand she turned her bows in towards the frigate。
'Here's our latitude and longitude； Mr Hornblower；' said Soames； the master； handing a scrap of paper to him。
'Thank you；' said Hornblower； shoving it into his pocket。
He scrambled awkwardly into the mizze