It was some sort of gratification to Bush, who had endured so much of Sankey’s chatter, to see him almost subdued in his manner when addressing someone as eminent as a captain.
“Very well, then,” said Cogshill. He bowed to Bush. “I wish you the quickest of recoveries.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Bush.
Even lying on his back he could not check the instinctive attempt to return the bow, but his wounds hurt him when he started to double up in the middle and prevented him from appearing ridiculous. With Cogshill gone Bush had time to worry about the future; the fear of it haunted him a little even while he ate his dinner, but the loblolly boy who came to take away the remains ushered in another visitor, the sight of whom drove away the black thoughts. It was Hornblower, standing at the door with a basket in his hand, and Bush’s face lit up at the sight of him.
“How are you, sir?” asked Homblower.
They shook hands, each reflecting the pleasure of the others greeting.
“All the better for seeing you,” said Bush, and meant it.
“This is my first chance of coming ashore,” said Hornblower. “You can guess that I’ve been kept busy.”
Bush could guess easily enough; it was no trouble to him to visualise all the duties that had been heaped on Hornblower, the necessity to complete Renown again with powder and shot, food and water, to clean up the ship after the prisoners had been removed, to eradicate the traces of the recent fighting, to attend to the formalities connected with the disposal of the prizes, the wounded, the sick, and the effects of the dead. And Bush was eager to hear the details, as a housewife might be when illness had removed her from the supervision of her household. He plied Hornblower with questions, and the technical discussion that ensued prevented Hornblower for some time from indicating the basket he had brought.
“Pawpaws,” he said. “Mangoes. A pineapple. That’s only the second pineapple I’ve ever seen.”