 Call all hands, beat the quarters, tell the battery. One broadside in for it, please, Captain Bush. Pointes on target. Limbs top ready. Aye, aye, sir. Michael Redgrave as C.S. Forester's indomitable man of the sea, a ratio hornblower. Full CD still, of course. For somehow, in following a French retreat from Riga, I'd picked up one of those illnesses which scourge armies on land. I had quite a part of it, in fact. Then my old friend Captain Bush had brought me home aboard the non-search. Home to a small bridge, where the days passed quietly, serenely. Oh, wonderful days. But I began to want to see old Bush again. So, not long after New Year's Day, we coaxed him down from London for a winter weekend with us. It was old times again. Well, it's important what you say. Awakens have left it, I'm glad to see. You know, one night up in the Gulf of Riga, you seemed amused by a yarn of mine from my midshipman days. Bush, I never told you did I buy my first independent command of what it led to in the way of, well, self-knowledge. You know, extremely young men are rather sad to contemplate, aren't they? As one grows older. They're terrible resolve that everything must turn out right. They're monstrous earnestness, aren't they? I hadn't been so long aboard the inter-fatigable under Captain Perbyle. I'd just come there as a corky midshipman, you know, from the Justinian and to have reached a frigate of the line had me quite dazzled just then. We were on patrol in the Bay of Biscay and we'd fallen on convoy of French merchant ships most opportunely. The French men of war, which sure have been escorting and suppressed, were otherwise engaged that day for our own fleet to attack them miles further out in the Atlantic. As the unescorted merchant men fled towards home, filled with the food revolutionary France needed so desperately, Captain Perbyle set out to capture as many as he could. Satchels and prizes, one by one. That French is too slow to surrender, Lieutenant Mason. Give her a shot across her bowels and the nine powders. Aye, aye, sir. Not into a holl confounded, Mason. I didn't mean that man. All I meant clipple her. Aye, aye, sir. That last one was dangerously nearer water life. God layers change point of aim. Far into our rigging. Ready? Fire! Another one, sir? No, wait. Isn't there a flag coming down? Why, yes, I do believe it is, sir. High time it did. That last shot had good elevation. Ruined the slings for a four-top cell yard. Even the sail is down. All right, all right. That's he, too, close beside her. Have a broadside ready, Mason, in case you try some trick. Give him a speaking trumpet. Oh, ho! Rice. That'll sell for a pretty penny, sir, when we get her home to England. Two hundred tons, I should imagine, and twelve in our crew at most. Ah, yes. He'll need a price clue of, er... I'd say four, eh? It's, er, Midshipman's command. Now, er, let me see, er... Mr. Hornblower! Don't want to go all the way over-side, do you? Or are you trying to knock us all breathless, huh? I'm so sorry. Never mind. I'm only joking. Get a featherweight. Why, it's young Hornblower. I thought the old man was sending down an officer. Ah, I suppose I was all... all that was left. Or, healthy, easiest to spare at this point, Mr. Hornblower. Full for the French break, then! Aye, sir. I think you can manage, all right, Mr. Hornblower? Aye, sir. That French crew's elected to be nasty. Oh, er... I feel sure, sir, that I... that I can be your first command, I suppose. Well, well, yes. Still, it is a command in a way, isn't it? Even if it's such a short voyage, you know? I hope it will be a short voyage, Mr. Hornblower. You never know, with a price ship and prisoners, watch that French crew if you don't, they'll free take the ship and have you at a French jail before you know it. What English port are you heading for? Well, sir, I... I suppose whatever port's near is. We both gazed up at the French breakers and cut her through alongside. Stuck by our fire, her foretops will yard dangle precariously and the jib haleard had slacked way off. The sail was flapping loudly in the wind. How many women will you want, Hornblower? Well, the captains have meant to take four of their men's men. They'd better be toppling, then. You'll have to get that jib in first or you will be in a bad condition. Aye, sir. Shall I pick four good men from you for my crew? They'd very much obliged if you would, sir. You know them better than I do. All right. Matthews? Aye, sir. Garcin? Hunter? Aye, sir. Smith? Aye, sir. Your detail to man this break under command of Mr. Hornblower. Keep them away from drinking, they'll be all right. Well, here are they, Mr. Hornblower. These are the main chains, not the white water in between the two vessels. You'll notice. There are Matthews. Give Mr. Hornblower a hand, there. Arnie's other side. Wait for it, sir. Get ready. Now, jump, sir. I hold myself, all arms and legs, like a leaping frog at the brig's main chains. My knees slipped off and the rolling brig lured me thigh deep into the boiling sea. But one of the seamen had preceded me. He grabbed up my wrists and hauled me aboard the three other seamen followed us. A little worse for wear, I led the way onto the deck. Well, men, we'll, um, recognize her a bit first. Aye, aye, sir. We'll be close in with you. Don't worry. Take care of yourself, Hornblower. Thank you, sir. I will. Don't see many signs of life aboard, I must say. Matthews. Men off, sir. A little not of them around that hatch cover, see? Oh, yes. And on my deck, I advanced slowly halfed. Suddenly, something was raised towards the sky above the heads of the crouching men. I halted and looked again. It was an up-tilted wine bottle. Hmm. They'd broken open the wine stores, or cheating their captors of them, at least, in as prompt and practical a way as possible. I couldn't really say I blamed them much. They've made the best of their time, sir. That's apparent. One of the group is white hair, blowing in the wind, rose to meters. His lips seem to be shaping some pronouncement of importance, searching earnestly for the right words to use. To the devil with the English! Put that bottle down. You hear, Frenchman? I didn't need to remember Ross's warning. If I didn't solve this situation instantly, my boarding party would be at the wine along with this French crew. And a frightening picture rose up in my mind. A disabled ship drifting about the Bay of Biscay, manned by a tipsy crew. A quick show of authority it was called for. Put it down, did you hear me? You understand English? If not, at least you can see that I'm armed. And here's my pistol. Put that down. He's obeying you, sir. Good for you, sir. To take these men followed Matthews. You and two others. Lock them up somewhere below. Aye, aye, sir. Such as it was, and my first lesson in the loneliness that command brings to a man at sea. And suddenly, amidst these plans, a sickening thought struck through me. I rushed on deck to find Hunter. Hunter! Hunter, come here! Yes, sir. Hunter, what is it, sir? Look, it's occurred to me. Nothing's been done to see if the brig is taking any water. You know, one of those shocks we fired at her may have hald her below the waterline. That's so, sir. We'd better sound the well. A drop of water on the rod. Dry as yesterday's panic in. We can't keep the course you set much longer, sir. And the wind's coming up very gusty like. Oh, very good. Well, I'll be up, Hunter. Call all hands at once. Aye, aye, sir. I disguised my inner feelings as best I could, but it was soon apparent what the wind nor the lair would have to go about. All hands, well shift! With but four men to handle topsills and close all the brig on the starboard deck, the task took all that was left of the night. By the time we brought her safely round, all hope of an easy two days run had vanished. True, we were heading away from the dangerous shores of France, but we were also heading away from the friendly shores of England. That French captain's been helping his head off, sir. He insists he's got to talk to you. Important. Release him, Hunter. Bring him up to me. My men, they are angry. Very angry. Sir, my men, I also, uh, moi aussi. I have a cook. Good. Well, perhaps we can arrange a truce then, captain. If your men are allowed on deck, your cook to provide food for all of us, will you agree to make no attempt to take the ship from us? Oh, that we shall talk later, sir. There is another concern of more importance at this moment. Well, she rides a little heavily. Do you know a thing, sir? Well, well, yes, perhaps, but, uh... Perhaps she leaks. Oh, no, no. Oh, there's no water in there. We've tested the well. Tested the well? But, maudier, you would find none in the well. Do you not know how cargo? Dury, monsieur, durie. What? We are carrying a cargo of rice. Cargo of rice? What? Well, yes, I recall now, but, but, after all... The rice from New Orleans? No leak would be apparent in the well. Rice would absorb every drop of water in the hold. Yes, but... One shot from your car seat frigate struck us in the hull. Did you not know? Yes, well... Hunter! Hunter! Hunter, that, that shot hit her, after all. Where, sir? Well, I don't know yet. Must be somewhere on the port side for her, though. We'll, we'll have a look. You and Matthews put a bowl in round me and lured away. We're healing on this tack, and I'll have a good view over the side. The swing of the bridge, the sea closed over my head. But there it was. Below the waterline, a splintered jagged hole. It's the one more! I, I, it's the one more. Why, I close on notice to the deck seam forward there. What? It is opening. What? Hunter! Hunter, look, look. The pitch is even bouncing out of it. And just beyond, sir. See that other spot? There's something awful wrong. Pitch coming in ridges from the deck seam. Would you... I have just thought. The rice, the rice. The rice, the rice, the rice. Cargo is, is that it? It grows bigger. What? Water's got well into it now, sir, so it's swelling. Dry rice that's soaked will double, even treble its volume. This jeep will burst wide open with this cargo. Oh, mon dieu, mon dieu, mon dieu. I remembered the unnatural creeks and groans below, and I cursed myself for inexperience. A black moment. And if I hadn't spoken sharply, I'd have, well, I'd have broken down in tears. So do we get that sailor to hold the better then? Hunter, they're friends from our punters. Don't simply stand there staring. Aye, aye, sir. I said the jeep was hiding every leaf. She's lured in the water already. Be silent, sir. One crisis after another. I have to think. Are they with that sail? Do you hear me, then? Sir! Sir, I don't like the look of it. Straight out, don't. She's settling down and opening up below as well as on deck. That rice is pushing her apart in every single... Well, Matthews, I... Looky there, sir. Even that batten-down hatch covers pushing upward. See? Well, I... I'll jettison the cargo then, Matthews. Get some prisoners together and we'll start. Hunter! Aye, aye, sir. Take half your men off that sailwork, open the hatches and bring up the cargo fast. They all worked with the will, even the prisoners. And as they lifted off the hatch covers, brown forms shot out abruptly, rice bags forced upwards by the pressure of others below. Bag by bag, the rice was hauled up from the hold and cast overboard. Sometimes the bags split, spewing rice in every direction. It was fantastic. And finally, the lower bags, wetter and more swollen, jammed the hatchwork. Even the tackles won't sway them up now. Is that it, Hunter? Great, sir, sir. But we've relieved her quite a bit. I will say, sir. And the sail's ready. Good. Keep the rice party working to see if they can get rid of more cargo. Our lines row through the grommets of the sail. Oh, yes, sir. And a good five square feet of sail is followed. Put your other men to that, then, and work the sail under the hull and drag it after the hull. Aye, sir, bigging your pardon, sir. What are you doing? Well, I'm undressing. I want to see it properly in place. And this time I'll go over without any clothes on, Hunter. Get a Berlin ready for me. Fall those men. Naked and wet, I lost a lot of skin. The ship was rolling most of this time. But I managed to see the forward sail in place against the hull. A hairy mass sucked in instantly into position. The hull seemed fairly plugged in, and they hauled me up. Well, sir, now you got a few more bags out of the hull while you was gone. Good. I'm, uh, I bet on that, you can. Hunter, hand me that shirt, will you? Yeah. She's riding better now. You notice, don't you, sir? Yes, and the wind's improving. We'll lay her down our original course, Hunter. No need to spy north. Aye, sir. Well, Bush, another glass of port. Thank you, Horatio. But go on, please. Well, I was limped with lack of sleep, with cold and exhaustion, and accumulated burdens. You know, I'd started with the highest of resolves, and now badly dampened it. But at least I learned some lessons in that 24-hour span, and for the moment, all seemed well enough with ship and men. And as we ploughed heavily along, I even felt a tiny glow of pride, unhearned or not. I squared my shoulders, and I stuck my stand there on the poop, straddling with my hands behind my back. I was still in command of my ship, Bush, such as she was. And despite the grinning fates and all my worries, she was heading home to England, on a course I'd actually laid off myself. Yes. Yes, very young and earnest men. They are a bit sad, you know, huh? Yes, indeed. Well, Bush, finished your port? Yes. Well, mustn't keep my lady wife waiting, must we? Horatio Hornblower, starring Michael Redgrave, is based on the novels of C. S. Forester. Music composed and conducted by Sidney Torch. Produced by Harry Allen Towers.