“That’s how it is, an’ all,” said the horseholder philosophically, “you’ll have to wait for the trade.”

“No spare men here?” asked Hornblower.

“None, sir,” said the steersman, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, “I suppose, sir, you wouldn’t care to drive a pair o’ horses?”

“Not I,” answered Hornblower hastily—he was taken sufficiently by surprise by the question to make no attempt to disguise his dismay at the thought of driving two horses in the manner of the injured Charlie; then he saw how to recover his dignity and keep himself safe from Maria’s ministrations, and he added: “But I’ll take the tiller.”

“O’ course you could, sir,” answered the steersman. “Not the first time you’ve handled a tiller. Not by a long chalk An’ I’ll drive the nags, me an’ my jury fist an’ all.”

He glanced down at the steel hook that replaced his missing hand.

“Very well,” said Hornblower.

“I’m grateful to you, sir, that I am,” said the steersman, and to emphasize his sincerity he swore a couple more oaths. “I’ve a contract on this here v’yage—that’s two chests o’ tea for’rard there, first o’ the China crop for Lunnon delivery. You’ll save me pounds, sir, an’ my good name as well. Grateful I am, by—”

He emphasized his sincerity again.

“That’s all right,” said Hornblower. “The sooner we start the sooner we arrive. What’s your name?”

“Jenkins, sir.” Tom Jenkins, the steersman—now to be the postillion—tugged at his forelock, “main topman in the old Superb, Cap’n Keates, sir.”

“Very well, Jenkins. Let’s start.”

The horseholder tended to the business of attaching the horses’ towlines, and while Jenkins cast off the bowline, Hornblower cast off the stern one and stood by with a single turn round the bollard; Jenkins climbed nimbly into the saddle and draped the reins about his hook.

“But, Horatio,” said Maria, “whatever are you thinking about?”