The captain of the waist set about obeying the strange order after a glance at the receding figure. Hornblower was as good as his word; it was only two minutes before he returned, but now he was naked except for a towel draped sketchily round him. This was all very strange.
“Give way,” he said to the men at the pump handles.
They were dubious about all this, but they obeyed the order, and in alternate pairs they threw their weight upon the handles. Up—down, up—down; clank—clank. The seaman holding the hose felt it stir in his hands as the water from far overside came surging up along it; and next moment a clear stream of water came gushing out of it.
“Turn it on me,” said Hornblower, casting his towel aside and standing naked in the sunshine. The hoseman hesitated.
“Hurry up, now!”
As dubiously as ever the hoseman obeyed orders, turning the jet upon his officer, who rotated first this way and then that as it splashed upon him; an amused crowd was gathering to watch.
“Pump, you sons of seacooks!” said Hornblower; and obediently the men at the pump handles, now grinning broadly, threw all their weight on the handles, with such enthusiasm that their feet left the deck as they hauled down upon them and the clear water came hurtling out through the hose with considerable force. Hornblower twirled round and round under the stinging impact, his face screwed up in painful ecstasy.
Buckland had been standing aft at the taffrail, lost in thought and gazing down at the ship’s wake, but the clanking of the pump attracted his attention and he strolled forward to join Roberts and Bush and to look at the strange spectacle.
“Hornblower has some odd fancies,” he remarked, but he smiled as he said it—a rather pathetic smile, for his face bore the marks of the anxieties he was going through.
“He seems to be enjoying himself, sir,” said Bush.