Hornblower made his appearance on the quarterdeck and made his way towards Bush.
“You’re not my relief,” said Bush.
“Yes I am. Captain’s orders.”
Hornblower spoke without any expression—Bush was used to the ship’s officers by now being as guarded as that, and he knew why it was. But his curiosity made him ask the question.
“Why?”
“I’m on watch and watch,” said Hornblower stolidly. “Until further orders.”
He looked at the horizon as he spoke, showing no sign of emotion.
“Hard luck,” said Bush, and for a moment felt a twinge of doubt as to whether he had not ventured to far in offering such an expression of sympathy. But no one was within earshot.
“No wardroom liquor for me,” went on Hornblower, “until further orders either. Neither my own nor anyone else’s.”
For some officers that would be a worse punishment than being put on watch and watch—four hours on duty and four hours off day and night—but Bush did not know enough about Hornblower’s habits to judge whether this was the case with him. He was about to say ‘hard luck’ again, when at that moment a wild cry of pain reached their ears, cutting its way through the whistling wind. A moment later it was repeated, with even greater intensity. Hornblower was looking out at the horizon and his expression did not change. Bush watched his face and decided not to pay attention to the cries.