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heavy as Brob himself or, off watch, sat around telling each other how French blood
would redden the ocean. Land was already low on the northern horizon.
Alex didn't stay topside long. He had had a difficult time of late, and faced a dinner
with Lord Nelson, Captain Bligh, and heaven knew who else, in his role as Hornblower.
Let him get some rest while he was able.
* * *
Shouts, trumpet calls, drumbeats, the thud of running feet roused him from an
uneasy night's sleep. He stumbled forth in his pajamas. Pandemonium reigned, Hokas
scurrying everywhere to and fro. Aloft, a lookout cried, "Thar she blows I mean to say,
Frogs ahead, two p'ints t' starboard!"
"Stand by to engage!" yelled Captain Bligh from the quarterdeck.
Alex scrambled up the ladder to join him. Nelson was there already, the empty
sleeve of his dressing gown aflap in the wind, a telescope clapped to his patchless eye.
"We've the weather gauge of them," he said. "They'll not escape us, I trow. Run up the
signal flags: England expects every man will do his duty."
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Aghast, Alex stared forward, past the bowsprit and across the whitecaps. Dawnlight
showed him three large sailing vessels on the rim of sight. Despite the distance, he
identified the Tricolor proudly flying at each staff. Louis XIV had built a navy too. (The
Hoka France had never had a Revolution, merely an annual Bastille Day fête. At the most
recent of these, Napoleon had taken advantage of the usual chaos to depose the king, who
cooperated because it would be more fun being a field marshal. The excitement delighted
the whole nation and charged it with enthusiasm. Only in Africa was this ignored, the
Foreign Legion preferring to stay in its romantic, if desolate, outposts.)
"No danger of their escape, milord." Bligh rubbed his hands. "See, they're coming
about. They mean to meet us. We outnumber 'em, aye, but those are three capital ships.
Ah, a jolly little fight it'll be."
Down on the main deck, and on the gun decks below, sailors were readying their
armament. The sardonic old prayer drifted thence to Alex's ears: "For that which we are
about to receive, Lord, make us duly grateful." Marine sharpshooters swarmed into the
masts. He shuddered. Like children at play, the Hokas had no idea what shot and shell
would inflict on them. They would find out, once the broadsides began, but then it would
be too late. Nor would they recoil. He knew well how much courage dwelt in them.
Feeling ill, he mumbled, "Admiral, wouldn't it be best if we er avoided
commitment in favor of proceeding on our mission? Preserve the King's property, you
know."
Nelson was shocked. "Commodore Hornblower! Do you imagine British seamen
would turn tail like a . . . like a . . . like a crew of tailturners? Egad, no! Britannia rules
the waves! Westminster Abbey or victory!"
Captain Bligh smiled. "I'm sure the Commodore is no craven, but has some ruse in
mind," he said cunningly. "What is it, sir?"
"I well, I " Desperate, Alex looked downward from the rail which his white-
knuckled hands gripped. Brob stood like a rock in a surf of Hokas. "Can you do anything,
anything at all?" the human wailed to him.
"As a matter of fact," Brob responded diffidently, "I believe I may see a perhaps
useful course of action."
"Then for mercy's sake, do it! Though . . . we can't take French lives either, do you
realize?"
"I would never dream of it." Brob fanned himself, as if the very thought made him
feel faint. "You shall have to lower me over the side." He looked around him. "Possibly
with one of those er spars to keep me afloat."
"Do you hear that?" Alex exclaimed to Nelson and Bligh. "Brob uh, Mr. Christian
can save the day." They stared blankly at him. He saw he must give them an impression
of total calm, complete mastery of the situation. Somehow, he grinned and winked.
"Gentlemen, I do indeed have a ruse, but there isn't time now to explain it. Please ready a
cargo boom and drop the mate overboard."
Nelson grew distressed. "I do not recall, sir, that any precedent exists in the annals of
war for jettisoning the mate. If we should be defeated, it would count heavily against us
at our courts martial."
Bligh was quicker-witted. "Not if he's mutinied," he said. "Do you follow me,
Christian, you treacherous scoundrel? Don't just stand there. Do something mutinous."
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"Well, er " With a mighty effort, against his every inclination, Brob raised a cable-
thick middle finger in the air. "Up yours, sir. A rusty grapnel, sir, sideways. I do require a
grapnel."
"Ah, hah! D'ye hear what he was plotting? Next thing we knew, we'd be adrift in an
open boat 4000 miles from Timor. Overboard he goes!" bellowed Bligh in his shrill
soprano.
A work detail was promptly organized. To the sound of a lusty chanty, Brob, a spar
firmly lashed to his massive body and carrying his implement, went on high, swung
above the gunwale, and dropped into the waves. An enormous splash followed. Fearful of
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