“Here’s Wellard, sir.”
“Oh yes. He’ll do.”
“Mr. Wellard,” said Hornblower, “go down with a lantern and see if you can find the other pistol. Bring it to the first lieutenant on the quarterdeck.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Wellard had recovered from most of his agitation; he had not taken his eyes from Hornblower for some time. Now he picked up the lantern and went down the ladder with it. What Hornblower had said about the quarterdeck penetrated into Buckland’s mind, and he began to move off with the others following him. On the lower gundeck Captain Whiting saluted him.
“Any orders, sir?”
No doubt the word that the captain was incapacitated and that Buckland was in command had sped through the ship like wildfire. It took Buckland’s numbed brain a second or two to function.
“No, captain,” he said at length; and then, “Dismiss your men.”
When they reached the quarterdeck the trade wind was still blowing briskly from over the starboard quarter, and the Renown was soaring along over the magic sea. Over their heads the great pyramids of sails were reaching up—up—up towards the uncounted stars; with the easy motion of the ship the mastheads were sweeping out great circles against the sky. On the port quarter a halfmoon had just lifted itself out of the sea and hung, miraculously, above the horizon, sending a long glittering trail of silver towards the ship. The dark figures of the men on deck stood out plainly against the whitened planks.
Smith was officer of the watch. He came eagerly up to them as they came up the companionway. For the last hour and more he had been pacing about in a fever, hearing the noise and bustle down below, hearing the rumours which had coursed through the ship, and yet unable to leave his post to find out what was really going on.