csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第15部分

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　'Do　not　look　so　noble；'　said　Neuville；　smiling　with　thin　lips。　'I　could　undoubtedly　induce　you　to　give　me　the　information。　I　know　of　ways。　But　it　is　unnecessary；　fortunately　for　you。　There　is　no　ship　on　earth…especially　none　of　His　Britannic　Majesty's　clumsy　frigates…that　can　outsail　the　Pique　running　before　the　wind。　You　will　soon　see　that。'
　He　strolled　to　the　taffrail　and　looked　aft　long　and　earnestly　through　his　glass；　but　no　more　earnestly　than　did　Hornblower　with　his　naked　eye。
　'You　see？'　said　Neuville；　proffering　the　glass。
　Hornblower　took　it；　but　more　to　catch　a　closer　glimpse　of　his　ship　than　to　confirm　his　observations。　He　was　homesick；　desperately　homesick；　at　that　moment；　for　the　Indefatigable。　But　there　could　be　no　denying　that　she　was　being　left　fast　behind。　Her　topgallants　were　out　of　sight　again　now；　and　only　her　royals　were　visible。
　'Two　hours　and　we　shall　have　run　her　mastheads　under；'　said　Neuville；　taking　back　the　telescope　and　shutting　it　with　a　snap。
　He　left　Hornblower　standing　sorrowful　at　the　taffrail　while　he　turned　to　berate　the　helmsman　for　not　steering　a　steadier　course；　Hornblower　heard　the　explosive　words　without　listening　to　them；　the　wind　blowing　into　his　face　and　ruffling　his　hair　over　his　ears；　and　the　wake　of　the　ship's　passage　boiling　below　him。　So　might　Adam　have　looked　back　at　Eden；　Hornblower　remembered　the　stuffy　dark　midshipsmen's　berth；　the　smells　and　the　creakings；　the　bitter　cold　nights；　turning　out　in　response　to　the　call　for　all　hands；　the　weevilly　bread　and　the　wooden　beef；　and　he　yearned　for　them　all；　with　the　sick　feeling　of　hopeless　longing。　Liberty　was　vanishing　over　the　horizon。　Yet　it　was　not　these　personal　feelings　that　drove　him　below　in　search　of　action。　They　may　have　quickened　his　wits；　but　it　was　a　sense　of　duty　which　inspired　him。
　The　slave…deck　was　deserted；　as　usual；　with　all　hands　at　quarters。　Beyond　the　bulkhead　stood　his　cot　with　the　books　upon　it　and　the　slush　lamp　swaying　above　it。　There　was　nothing　there　to　give　him　any　inspiration。　There　was　another　locked　door　in　the　after　bulkhead。　That　opened　into　some　kind　of　boatswain's　store；　twice　he　had　seen　it　unlocked　and　paint　and　similar　supplies　brought　out　from　it。　Paint！　That　gave　him　an　idea；　he　looked　from　the　door　up　to　the　slush　lamp　and　back　again；　and　as　he　stepped　forward　he　took　his　claspknife　out　of　his　pocket。　But　before　very　long　he　recoiled　again；　sneering　at　himself。　The　door　was　not　panelled；　but　was　made　of　two　solid　slabs　of　wood；　with　the　cross…beams　on　the　inside。　There　was　the　keyhole　of　the　lock；　but　it　presented　no　point　of　attack。　It　would　take　him　hours　and　hours　to　cut　through　that　door　with　his　knife；　at　a　time　when　minutes　were　precious。
　His　heart　was　beating　feverishly…but　no　more　feverishly　than　his　mind　was　working…as　he　looked　round　again。　He　reached　up　to　the　lamp　and　shook　it；　nearly　full。　There　was　a　moment　when　he　stood　hesitating；　nerving　himself；　and　then　he　threw　himself　into　action。　With　a　ruthless　hand　he　tore　the　pages　out　of　Grandjean's　Principes　de　la　Navigation；　crumpling　them　up　in　small　quantities　into　little　loose　balls　which　he　laid　at　the　foot　of　the　door。　He　threw　off　his　uniform　coat　and　dragged　his　blue　woollen　jersey　over　his　head；　his　long　powerful　fingers　tore　it　across　and　plucked　eagerly　at　it　to　unravel　it。　After　starting　some　loose　threads　he　would　not　waste　more　time　on　it；　and　dropped　the　garment　onto　the　paper　and　looked　round　again。　The　mattress　of　the　cot！　It　was　stuffed　with　straw；　by　God！　A　slash　of　his　knife　tore　open　the　ticking；　and　he　scooped　the　stuff　out　by　the　armful；　constant　pressure　had　almost　solidified　it；　but　he　shook　it　and　handled　it　so　that　it　bulked　out　far　larger　in　a　mass　on　the　deck　nearly　up　to　his　waist。　That　would　give　him　the　intense　blaze　he　wanted。　He　stood　still；　pelling　himself　to　think　clearly　and　logically…it　was　impetuosity　and　lack　of　thought　which　had　occasioned　the　loss　of　the　Marie　Galante；　and　now　he　had　wasted　time　on　his　jersey。　He　worked　out　the　successive　steps　to　take。　He　made　a　long　spill　out　of　a　page　of　the　Manuel　de　Matelotage；　and　lighted　it　at　the　lamp。　Then　he　poured　out　the　grease…the　lamp　was　hot　and　the　grease　liquid…over　his　balls　of　paper；　over　the　deck；　over　the　base　of　the　door。　A　touch　from　his　taper　lighted　one　ball；　the　flame　travelled　quickly。　He　was　mitted　now。　He　piled　the　straw　upon　the　flames；　and　in　a　sudden　access　of　insane　strength　he　tore　the　cot　from　its　fastenings；　smashing　it　as　he　did　so；　and　piled　the　fragments　on　the　straw。　Already　the　flames　were　racing　through　the　straw。　He　dropped　the　lamp　upon　the　pile　grabbed　his　coat　and　walked　out。　He　thought　of　closing　the　door；　but　decided　against　it…the　more　air　the　better。　He　wriggled　into　his　coat　and　ran　up　the　ladder。
　On　deck　he　forced　himself　to　lounge　nonchalantly　against　the　rail；　putting　his　shaking　hands　into　his　pockets。　His　excitement　made　him　weak；　nor　was　it　lessened　as　he　waited。　Every　minute　before　the　fire　could　be　discovered　was　important。　A　French　officer　said　something　to　him　with　a　triumphant　laugh　and　pointed　aft　over　the　taffrail；　presumably　speaking　about　leaving　the　Indefatigable　behind。　Hornblower　smiled　bleakly　at　him；　that　was　the　first　gesture　that　occurred　to　him；　and　then　he　thought　that　a　smile　was　out　of　place；　and　he　tried　to　assume　a　sullen　scowl。　The　wind　was　blowing　briskly；　so　that　the　Pique　could　only　just　carry　all　plain　sail；　Hornblower　felt　it　on　his　cheeks；　which　were　burning。　Everyone　on　deck　seemed　unnaturally　busy　and　preoccupied；　Neuville　was　watching　the　helmsman　with　occasional　glances　aloft　to　see　that　every　sail　was　doing　its　work；　the　men　were　at　the　guns；　two　hands　and　a　petty　officer　heaving　the　log。　God；　how　much　longer　would　he　have？
　Look　there！　The　coaming　of　the　after　hatchway　appeared　distorted；　wavering　in　the　shimmering　air。　Hot　air　must　be　ing　up　through　it。　And　was　that；　or　was　it　not；　the　ghost　of　a　wreath　of　smoke？　It　was！　In　that　moment　the　alarm　was　given。　A　loud　cry；　a　rush　of　feet；　an　instant　bustle；　the　loud　beating　of　a　drum；　high…pitched　shouts…'Au　feu！　Au　feu！'
　The　four　elements　of　Aristotle；　thought　Hornblower　insanely…earth；　air；　water；　and　fire…were　the　constant　enemies　of　the　seaman；　but　the　lee　shore；　the　gale；　and　the　wave；　were　none　of　them　as　feared　in　wooden　ships　as　fire。　Timbers　many　years　old　and　coated　thick　with　paint　burnt　fiercely　and　readily。　Sails　and　tarry　rigging　would　burn　like　fireworks。　And　within　the　ship　were　tons　and　tons　of　gunpowder　waiting　its　chance　to　blast　the　seamen　into　fragments。　Hornblower　watched　the　fire　parties　flinging　themselves　into　their　work；　the　pumps　being　dragged　over　the　decks；　the　hoses　rigged。　Someone　came　racing　aft　with　a　message　for　Neuville；　presumably　to　report　the　site　of　the　fire。　Neuville　heard　him；　and　darted　a　glance　at　Hornblower　against　the　rail　before　he　hurled　orders　back　at　the　messenger。　The　smoke　ing　up　through　the　after　hatchway　was　dense　now；　at　Neuville's　orders　the　after　guard　flung　themselves　down　the　opening　through　the　smoke。　And　there　was　more　smoke；　and　more　smoke；　smoke　caught　up　by　the　following　wind　and　blown　forward　in　wisps…smoke　must　be　pouring　out　of　the　sides　of　the　ship　at　the　waterline。
　Neuville　took　a　stride　towards　Hornblower；　his　face　working　with　rage；　but　a　cry　from　the　helmsman　checked　him。　The　helmsman；　unable　to　take　his　hands　from　the　wheel；　pointed　with　his　foot　to　the　cabin　skylight。　There　was　a　flickering　of　flame　below　it。　A　side　pane　fell　in　as　they　watched；　and　a　rush　of　flame　came　through　the　opening。　That　store　of　paint；　Hornblower　calculated…he　was　calmer　now；　with　a　calm　that　would　astonish　him　later；　when　he　came　to　look　back　on　it…must　be　immediately　under　the　cabin；　and　blazing　fiercely。　Melville　looked　round　him；　at　the　sea　and　the　sky；　and　put　his　hands　to　his　head　in　a　furious　gesture。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　Hornblower　saw　a　man　literally　tearing　his　hair。　But　his　nerve　held。　A　shout　brought　up　another　portable　pump；　four　men　set　to　work　on　the　handles；　and　the　clank…clank；　clank…clank　made　an　acpaniment　that　blended　with　the　roar　of　the　fire。　A　thin　jet　of　water　was　squirted　down　the　gaping　skylight。　More　men　formed　a　bucket　chain；　drawing　water　from　the　sea　and　passing　it　from　hand　to　hand　to　pour　in　the　skylight；　but　those　buckets　of　water　were　less　effective　ever　than　the　stream　from　the　pumps。　From　below　came　the　dull　thud　of　an　explosion；　and　Hornblower　caught　his　breath　as　he　expected　the　ship　to　be　blown　to　pieces。　But　no　further　explosion　followed；　either　a　gun　had　been　set　off　by　the　flames　or　a　cask　had　burst　violently　in　the　heat。　And　then　the　bucket　line　suddenly　disintegrated；　beneath　the　feet　of　one　of　the　men　a　seam　had　gaped　in　a　broad　red　smile　from　which　came　a　rush　of　flame。　Some　officer　had　seized　Neuville　by　the　arm　and　was　arguing　with　him　vehemently；　and　Hornblower　could　see　Neuville　yield　in　despair。　Hands　went　scurrying　aloft　to　get　in　the　foretopsail　and　forecourse；　and　other　hands　went　to　the　main　braces。　Over　went　the　wheel；　and　the　Pique　came　up　into　the　wind。
　The　change　was　dramatic；　although　at　first　more　apparent　than　real；　with　the　wind　blowing　in　the　opposite　direction　the　roar　of　the　fi