Hervey seen her so terrified. He called to the marines, who were reluctant at first to come into the stall until Johnson’s tongue left them no other honourable course. ‘We must get her on her side,’ called Hervey above the din. ‘Johnson, turn her head this way. You men get your shoulders to her flanks and be ready to push when I get her forelegs from under her.’
Wary of her hind legs, the marines edged around the stall. ‘Keep alongside ’er,’ snapped Johnson; ‘if she does lash out you won’t take t’full force of ’er feet that way.’
‘Ready!’ called Hervey, a hand on each fore cannon. ‘Now!’ And he snatched both feet back. She fell not too heavily, sliding down the side of the stall, and he whipped off the blanket from her head so that she might see him as well as hear his voice. Johnson lay across her flank as the marines edged back towards the stall sides to be clear of her still active legs. But in a few seconds she was calm again and Hervey dismissed them, to their obvious relief.
He kept her down a full fifteen minutes, calming her the while — stroking, talking softly, lying on her neck, though she had more than enough strength to throw both him and Johnson aside had she wanted. In that time the crew managed at last to put out the fire, but smoke still drifted from below, and the smell of charred wood and rope hung heavily on deck. He would keep her down a while longer — until the wind and the hoses had got rid of the worst of it.
Captain Peto was receiving the last of the damage reports from the carpenter when Hervey joined him half an hour after the flames had been finally doused. Things were bad; but they could have been much worse, of that Peto was sure. Before they had got up pressure on all the hoses, oil had run, burning, along the lower deck from the galley towards the hay and straw in the orlop. Two men were dead — both victims of their own panic more than the flames. One had missed his footing racing from the tops, falling across a spar and breaking his neck. The other had sunk like a stone when he threw himself into the sea, somehow persuaded by drink that it was the safer station. Midshipman Ranson had dived after him at once, but it was an hour before a boat fished the man out. Several of the crew were sorely burned. The cook, whose galley had been the source of the conflagration, was so badly scorched about the face that the surgeon did not expect him to live. His skin looked for all the world like that of the pig which had been roasted for the crew when they left France. Peto knew he was unlikely to learn, therefore, what had caused so fierce a blaze, or one so hot, for it had driven all back at first, even when pressure had been got up high on the hoses. Hervey could see well enough his chagrin, and he resolved not to be the first to speak.
‘You shall be delayed as little as is expedient, Hervey,’ said Peto — not sharply, but with exaggerated briskness nevertheless. ‘But I shall have to put in somewhere before Calcutta. To begin with, I have broken pumps, and we have shipped so much water — the hoses have sluiced us from top to bottom. I want to put the injured men ashore, too. I fear, in any case, that all your bedding and fodder is ruined.’ Hervey nodded. It was some time before he summoned the nerve to ask where they might put in.
‘Madras,’ replied Peto, ‘though there’s no wharfage there: everything has to go through the surf.’
He left the captain to his thoughts, and the occasional brisk word of command, for a good ten minutes. ‘How long might we be at Madras?’ he ventured when he sensed the ship’s routine was returning.
‘Four days, perhaps five.’
‘Then, with your leave, I would take Jessye ashore: she was excessively restive during the fire, and it will be well to let her run about. And it
V. THE HONOURABLE COMPANY
The marines reassembled the sling tackle which had brought Jessye aboard, and lowered the canvas cradle into her stall. Private Johnson deftly fastened her in, and two dozen sweating men heaved on the halyards to lift her out of the square twelve feet that had been her stable these past months. She was swung out over the side with nothing more than a whicker, as she had been swung aboard, to Johnson’s evident relief and satisfaction. Hervey was already in the captain’s barge as the cradle descended slowly, watching apprehensively as Jessye began the instinctive treading motion when her feet felt the water. When she had reached her natural buoyancy and begun to swim properly, although still restrained by the sling tackle, Hervey leaned out to clip a leading-rope to her head collar. Although he did not suppose she would have difficulty following the boat, he knew she would feel more secure if he were leading her. As soon as it was fastened and the strain on the hoisting rope slackened, he leaned out as far as he could to unfasten the tackle and free her from the sling. Once she was safely astern, the oars struck for the shore, Hervey encouraging her the while.
At first all was well. Jessye kept up easily with the stroke of the oars. As they left the calm of the ship’s lee, however, she began to fall back, and the swell kept putting her out of sight. She was rapidly becoming distressed, and though there was but a half-mile to the shore, Hervey became anxious too, for at Corunna he had seen strong horses drown in their panic. ‘Captain, will you hold the rope?’ he asked. ‘I’d better go to her.’
Peto raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course, if you must,’ he replied, sighing as he handed the rope in turn to the midshipman in command of his barge.
Hervey threw off his coat and shoes, and slipped over the side. He had a moment’s vision of the sea snakes, shuddered at the thought, but then struck out for his mare. The water was warm, perhaps even warmer than the mill-race at Horningsham in summer, and he reached her in a couple of dozen strokes. She settled at once, with a whicker of contentment as soon as he touched her neck, and, the current taking them easily towards the shore, he even thought he would have a pleasant time of their swim. He was not as fast through the water, however, Jessye swimming in the only way she knew. A little abashed, he had to grab hold of her mane, taking care to keep his arm well stretched to stay clear of her busy legs. Once settled to the rhythm, however, they both seemed to enjoy it as much — more, for sure, than the times they had swum the half-frozen rivers of northern Spain. Then, sooner than expected, they were amid the breakers. The beach shelved gently and Jessye found her footing before her master did. But as soon as his feet touched bottom he sprang astride her.
The joy was instant — to be up on his little mare again after so many months — and she, kicking up through the surf, was likewise full of spirit once more. He was sure he could never describe it in any letter home — though try, in due turn, he must. He looped the rope about her neck and put her (or allowed her) into a canter along the water’s edge of the flat, sandy shore. She did not even buck. Months of box-rest, and here she was as good as gold! How genuine a horse could a man want? He could imagine no other as they slowed and turned after a quarter of a mile (for he wanted no strains), and he talked to her every yard of the way, encouraging, praising. She had stood patiently in that stall, in fair weather and foul, for half a year, and now she was responding to his leg and voice as if she were in the riding school at Wilton House. If only his old Austrian riding master could see them now: what pleasure would that eminent equestrian take in seeing the practical effects of his instruction!
Spain had been hotter — much hotter. But there the heat had come unquestionably from the sun. Here it was as if the air had been warmed in some vast oven, for it touched every part of him the same. There was no hiding from it, no shade. Seeking shade was anyway of no help, for the sun had no especial strength. This was the heat of
