“Conspiracy!” replied the captain. “You two are in collusion!”
In the face of such an impossible statement Hornblower could only stand still, his white face turned towards the captain.
“You go below, Mr. Wellard,” roared the captain, when it was apparent that no reply would be forthcoming, “and you too, Mr. Hornblower. I’ll deal with you in a few minutes. You hear me? Go below! I’ll teach you to conspire.”
It was a direct order, and had to be obeyed. Hornblower and Wellard walked slowly aft: it was obvious that Hornblower was rigidly refraining from exchanging a glance with the midshipman, lest a fresh accusation of conspiracy should be hurled at him. They went below while the captain watched them. As they disappeared down the companion the captain raised his big nose again.
“Send a hand to clear that reef tackle!” he ordered, in a tone as nearly normal as the wind permitted. “Haul away!”
The topsails had their second reef, and the men began to lay in off the yards. The captain stood by the poop rail looking over the ship as normal as any man could be expected to be.
“Wind’s coming aft,” he said to Buckland. “Aloft there! Send a hand to bear those backstays abreast the topbrim. Hands to the weatherbraces. After guard! Haul in the weather main brace! Haul together, men! Well with the fore-yard! Well with the main yard! Belay every inch of that!”
The orders were given sensibly and sanely, and the hands stood waiting for the watch below to be dismissed.
“Bosun’s mate! My compliments to Mr. Lomax and I’ll be glad to see him on deck.”
Mr. Lomax was the purser, and the officers on the quarterdeck could hardly refrain from exchanging glances; it was hard to imagine any reason why the purser should be wanted on deck at this moment.