“Mr. Buckland, sir. Mr. Buckland passing the word for Mr. Roberts.”
“Very well,” said Roberts, hurrying down the companion.
The others exchanged glances. This might be the moment of decision. Yet on the other hand it might be only a routine matter. Hornblower took advantage of the distraction to turn away from the group and continue his walk on the weather side of the ship; he walked with his chin nearly down on his breast, his drooping head balanced by the hands behind his back. Bush thought he looked weary.
Now there came a fresh cry from below, repeated by the sentry at the hatchway.
“Mr. Clive! Passing the word for Mr. Clive. Mr. Buckland passing the word for Mr. Clive!”
“Ohho!” said Lomax in significant tones, as the surgeon hurried down.
“Something happens,” said Carberry, the master.
Time went on without either the second lieutenant or the surgeon reappearing. Smith, under his arm the telescope that was the badge of his temporary office, touched his hat to Hornblower and prepared to relieve him as officer of the watch as the second dogwatch was called. In the east the sky was turning dark, and the sun was setting over the starboard quarter in a magnificent display of red and gold; from the ship towards the sun the surface of the sea was gilded and glittering, but close overside it was the richest purple. A flying fish broke the surface and went skimming along, leaving a transient, momentary furrow behind it like a grove in enamel.
“Look at that!” exclaimed Hornblower to Bush.
“A flying fish,” said Bush, indifferently.