“I remember, sir,” prompted Bush.
“We talked. The infernal little whippersnapper said just what you were saying—I don’t remember how it started. But then it was a question of going to Antigua. Hornblower said that it would be better if we had the chance to achieve something before we faced an inquiry about the captain. He said it was my opportunity. So it was, I suppose. My great chance. But with Hornblower talking you’d think I was going to be posted captain tomorrow. And now—”
Buckland’s gesture indicated how much chance he thought he had of ever being posted captain now.
Bush thought about the report Buckland would have to make: nine killed and twenty wounded; the Renown ’s attack ignominiously beaten off; Samaná Bay as safe a refuge for privateers as ever. He was glad he was not Buckland, but at the same time he realised that there was grave danger of his being tarred with the same brush. He was first lieutenant now, he was one of the officers who had acquiesced, if nothing more, in the displacement of Sawyer from command, and it would take a victory to invest him with any virtue at all in the eyes of his superiors.
“Damn it,” said Buckland in pathetic selfdefence, “we did our best. Anyone could run aground in that channel. It wasn’t our fault that the helmsman was killed. Nothing could get up the bay under that crossfire.”
“Hornblower was suggesting a landing on the seaward side. In Scotchman’s Bay, sir.” Bush was speaking as cautiously as he could.
“Another of Hornblower’s suggestions?” said Buckland.
“I think that’s what he had in mind from the start, sirs A landing and a surprise attack.”
Probably it was because the attempt had failed, but Bush now could see the unreason of taking a wooden ship into a situation where redhot cannon balls could be fired into her.
“What do you think?”