An explanation was necessary to Buckland on the quarterdeck, he saw the force of the argument. The unfortunate man, who was watching the failure of his first venture in independent command, and whose ship was in such deadly peril, was gripping at the rail and wringing it with his two hands as if he would twist it like a corkscrew. In the midst of all this there was a piece of desperately important news that Smith had to give.
“Roberts is dead,” he said, out of the corner of his mouth.
“No!”
“He’s dead. A shot cut him in two in the launch.”
“Good God!”
It was to Bush’s credit that he felt sorrow at the death of Roberts before his mind recorded the fact that he was now first lieutenant of a ship of the line. But there was no time now to think of either sorrow or rejoicing, not with the Renown aground and under fire. Bush hailed down the hatchway.
“Below, there! Mr. Hornblower!”
“Sir!”
“Are your guns ready?”
“Another minute, sir.”