 We present Nigel Anthony in The Hornblower Story, adapted for radio by Val Gilgud from the novels of C.S. Forrester. This first episode from book four, Lord Hornblower, features Kate Binshey, James Maxwell and Robert Lindsay. Some that will be, I think, familiar to many of you. Those that go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters, these men see the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep. During these long and bitter years of war and of peril to our beloved country, many of us have had occasion from time to time to walk on facts and say. The deans voiced roamed on and on. Of course, it was a fine thing to sit in the Abbey Chapel in the company of the other knights of the most honorable order of the bath to feel that I cut something of a figure in the crimson mantle, the ribbon and star of the order. But the seat was hard, the sermon dull. Easier not to listen, to allow recollection to wander back down the years which separated Sir Horatio Hornblower K.B. in this year of Grace, 1813, from Mr. Midshipman Hornblower, who had joined Indefatigable at Portsmouth and been seething there. Queer the tricks that memory plays, I remembered those early days so clearly. My first voyage to the West Indies, my first independent command, incidence of the breast blockade. Poor dear Mariah, my first wife, dead in childbirth, and her quite damnable mother, Mrs. Mason. From the time I quitted command of Hotspur on my promotion to Captain, memories seemed oddly blurred, though they covered those events which might have seemed most significant in my professional career. I preserved in the Mediterranean, my capture and escape from a French prison, the sinking of Nativedad, the voyage of the Lydia, from which had sprung my second marriage to Lady Barbara Wellesley, sister of the great man who was to become Duke of Wellington. I was drowsing almost happily in such recollections when I realized that while the dean's sermon was continuing, nothing unusual was taking place. Footsteps sounded up the aisle behind me, and a lieutenant in uniform leaned across me to hand and dispatch its seals already broken to old lords and Vincent, that huge grim man who had destroyed the Spanish fleet of twice his strings. Sir Horatio Hornblower. My lord. I would like a word with you at your earliest convenience. That all those who have seen the lord's wonders of the deep may enjoy the fruits of their neighbors on the land. That is his no less. I had difficulty in finding a carriage, my lord. Never mind about that. The Clure of Flame, 18-gun brig, have mutinied in the Bay of the Sand. They had turned the mate and four loyal hands adrift in the gig with what they're pleased to call an ultimatum to the admiral team. Here it is. They're holding the officers as hostages. Who was in command, my lord? A lieutenant Augustine Chadwick. I remember him in Indefatigable, a bad tempered midshipman. It seems that he's a worse tempered lieutenant in his fifties now, and continually passed over for a promotion. Listen to this. HMS Flame of Havre. We are all loyal hearts and true here, but Lieutenant Chadwick has flogged us and starved us and turned up all hands twice a watch for a month. He killed the boy Jones and reported him dead from fever. We want their lordships to promise he will be tried for his crimes and give us new officers. We are not going to be hanged for mutineers, and if you try to take this vessel, we shall run, Mr Chadwick, up to the Ardham and go into the French. Mutinous dogs. The orders for me, my lord? The free hand. Bring back Flame safe and sound, and the mutineers with her. They'll listen to you. You're one of the officers they talk about and trust. They expect things of you, as I do, damn it. But if I talk to them, my lord, it will imply that I'm negotiating. No, no negotiations with mutiny. We had enough of that in 97. Then you don't give me full powers, my lord. Very well. Have it your own way. You will hold your appointment as Commodore, of course. Is the news public? It is not, and please, God, it will not be till the court-martial flag is hoisted. Now, what force? Something handy and small, my lord. Porta Coeli, sister to Flame. She's in Portsmouth ready to sail. Freeman's in command. That would serve, my lord. Winds nor westerly and steady. Glass dropping. The sooner you get off, the better. Take the chance to say goodbye to your wife. My service to Lady Barbara. I'll send your orders to your lodgings and Freeman his directs by post. I wish you luck, hornblower. Thank you, my lord. You see, my dear, that I have to sail from Spithead tonight. They're writing my orders now. I sent Brown forward to Smallbridge to pack your kit. It'll be ready for you when you get there. Thank you. You're always so capable and far-sighted. May I ask where you are going, my dear? If you do, I cannot tell you. I understand. What a pity you cannot wear your crimson mantle of the bath more often. It suits you. I think you'll be calling me Handsome Man. I think you are. I must leave in ten minutes. Will you come with me as far as Smallbridge? I was hoping you would ask me to do that. I wonder sometimes... Yes? If fate will ever let us be together again for more than a few weeks. Well, I'm away. I shall be wondering that, too. I don't graduate of the service. You know that. If you did, I couldn't love you as I do. Kiss me. Kiss me. And forget everything else. Just for these ten precious minutes. I boarded the Porta Coale to be welcomed by Freeman, square and swarthy, with black hair hanging to his cheeks. Within the quarter hour, the hands were at the capstan getting in the anchor. The Porta Coale was the best fighting machine of her tonnage that could sail the seas. She carried guns that could smash any opponent of her own size. She carried provisions enough to enable her to keep the sea for months on end. She was stout enough to face any weather that blew. The only thing wrong with her was that to achieve these results in 190 tons, the human beings who lived in her had to be content with conditions to which no farmer would dream of subjecting his livestock. It's light enough now, Sir Horatia. You can see the south shore of the Cain River. Ah, the Sanestrian. That was an excellent piece of navigation of yours last night, Mr Freeman. Thank you, Sir Horatia. Mr Freeman, let us understand one another. My position as Commodore may embarrass you as commander of this ship. I can understand your feelings. I remember feeling jealous of my captain when I was a lieutenant. It is quite nice. Feel as you like, but don't show your feelings, it is foolish. Aye, aye, sir. There's a sail on the leap out. It looks like a brig to me. That's flame all right, sir. Put up your helm and we'll bear down on it, if you please. I wonder how many of them are looking at us, sir. Most likely they're holding one of their precious seamen's debates, Mr Freeman. Those men have ropes around their necks and they know it. She's not moving. You're waiting for us to come down to her. I wonder for how long. Fine. What are you men doing, standing there chattering? Master at arms? Aye, aye, sir. Take these men's names and bring them to me at the end of the watch. Keep them at work, do you hear? This is a kingship, not a blasted school for young ladies. Thank you. They're not going to wait for us after all, Mr Freeman. It seems not, sir. And there's another sail on the leap water. West Indian men, if I'm not mistaken. And with a clear run into Harbour Grace, sir. Grain and sugar for Bonaparte. Just what we were built to intercept. I know. We might just catch her if we put about now. I think not, Mr Freeman. Our duty is with flame at present. But there goes what might have been ten pounds apiece in prize money for each of your men. They owe the loss of that to the mutineers. Let them know as much. They're keeping out of cannon shot. I can't blame them for that. Heave to, Mr Freeman. And have a boat hoisted out for me. I'll go and parley with the villains and tell Brown my servant to come with me. Aye, aye, sir. Use your telescope, Brown. Now what's going on aboard flame? Hands at the gun, sir. Guns run out. Look out saloft. Boarding nettings rigged. They don't mean to be taken by surprise. There's an old fellow with white hair standing aft, sir. He looks as if he's playing officer of the watch. It is him, aren't there? Commodore Sir Horatio Ho... Go alongside, Brown. We're taking no risks. I'll swing up by the main chains. Then cheer off, Brown. Aye, aye, sir. Ask your business here, Commodore. I wish to speak to the leader of the mutineers aboard this ship. I'm Nathaniel Sweet, captain of this ship. You can address yourself to me. Unless you are also the leader of the mutineers, I have addressed myself to you as far as I desire, Sweet. Then you can call back your boat and leave us. Listen to me, belated. One word out of turn and you've announced a lead clean through you. I am here to recall you to your duty, Sweet. Let in bygones be bygones, I suppose. You and your Confederates will stand fair trial. Which means a gallows for me, and I'll be lucky compared with some of these others. Fair and honest trial. With every mitigating circumstance taken into consideration. For myself, I'd only attend one trial, Commodore. Trial for Lieutenant Chadwick to bear witness against him. Aye, aye, sir. Full pardon for us. Fair trial for Chadwick. Those are our terms. You are throwing away your last chance. Surrender to me now if Mr Chadwick unbound and your ship in good order, and circumstances will weigh in your favor. Refuse. And what have you to look forward to? Death. That is all. Death. And nothing can save you. Beg in your pardon, Commodore. But I fancy Boney can. You would trust Bonaparte's word. There was no doubt he'd like to have this ship. But Bonaparte is not one to encourage mutiny. He relies on an army of his own, and that army's loyalty. He'll hand you back to be made examples of. You think so, Commodore? Now, take a look at this. A letter from the military governor of the lower Sain. He promises us a welcome. Water and provisions if we so need some. Immunity from arrest. And there's another sent down from Paris, offering us civil rights in France, and a pension for every man. That's signed by Marie-Louise Empress, Queen Anne Regent. Doubtless Boney will go back on his wife's word. Sir, you've already been in communication with the French. And if you, at the prospect, Commodore, are being flogged round the fleet, I'll lay you'd have done the same. It features as well as mutineers. Is that the kind of curse you are? And I thought to find some semen amongst you. English semen! I'll not foul my lungs longer by breathing the same air. Run! There was nothing for it but to have myself rowed back to the Porta Coeli, chewing the cud of failure. Ironical that not even a trained eye could see any difference in appearance between the brig loyal to the king and her sister brig in open rebellion against him. I could not see what to do unless time brought dissension among the mutineers themselves. And then suddenly an idea came to me with the old symptoms I knew so well. The dryness in my throat, the tingling in my legs, the quicker beating of my heart. Mr Freeman! Sir. Have we a good sailmaker on board? It's Vincent, sir, a sailmaker's mate. Does he know his business? I'd say yes, sir. Then we shall want him. And every hand I can use a needle and palm. Very good, sir. I'd like you to take a careful look at flame through this glass, Mr Freeman. You see that patched foretopsel? Yes, sir. I want this ship to have a foretopsel patched just like that, just like it, so that no eye can tell the difference. You think it can be done? I'm sure of it. We carry a boat of white duck canvas for patching. Good. It must be finished and ready to bend by four belts in the afternoon watch. Plenty of time, sir. What I propose to do is this. Flame and Portico Valley are as like as two peas. Even more so once we get that patched foretopsel set. The mutineers told me they'd already been in communication with the shore. Damn traitors. Just so. They've had dealings with the governor of Harbour Grace over there. He and Boney are from his money and immunity if they bring flame into Harbour Grace. Well, Mr Freeman, we shall go in her place. You remember that French West Indianman we saw? You mean we might cut her out, sir? Maybe. Shouldn't be too difficult in the dark to contrive something to annoy the frogs. And the frogs will think it's the flame and her mutineers. They'll think the mutiny was a sham. I hope they will, Mr Freeman. I hope very much that they will. Late that afternoon, as though I failed to come to any decision, the Portico Valley stood away from flame across the estuary with the wind on her port quarter. The weather was thickening. A patched foretopsel had been hoisted enthusiastically by Svensson and his mates. And we were far enough, both from flame and from Harbour Grace, for our details to be obscure. Hurried work with brushes and paint, he raised our name and substituted the other. Both Freeman and I wore plain P-jackets over our uniforms. Freeman kept his glass trained on the harbour as we stood in. Pilot luggers standing out to meet us, sir. They think we're flame all right. Very good. When the pilot comes on board, secure him. I will corner him myself. Aye-aye, sir. Leave braces! Put your helm over! Aye-aye, sir! Yes, Mr Freeman. Pilot secured, sir. Push him down the hatchway. Very good. Starving, little! Steady as you go! Aye-aye, sir! Carter's standing out to us, sir. Committee of welcome, most likely. Or orders wet of birth, sir. Have the boarding party secured as they come aboard. Aye-aye, sir. The Carter's crew followed the pilot down the hatchway, cringing from the pistols and cutlasses that they had found themselves facing so unexpectedly. It was nearly dark now as our boats pulled for the Indianmen. I could see nothing of what was happening aboard her. But when I heard the tackles hooking on again and the sheaves squealing, I knew my careful orders had been carried out. Against the night sky, I saw the sails of the Indianmen changing shape. As the men allotted to the task, sheeded them home. I thanked God for a few prime seamen who were arriving in a strange ship in darkness to find their way to the right places and lay their hands on the right lines. You can square away, Mr Freeman, if you please. The Indianmen will follow us out. Aye-aye, sir. What does he want? My speaking trumpet, if you please. Yes, sir. Difficulty with tide. Infinitely regret. No anchor cable. Unpossible! It must be the battery, sir. Stand by to go about. The Indianmen's neatly on our tail, sir. Yes, she should be. Firing high, sir. Outless Boney has got his best gunners with his army, Mr Freeman. Do we reply, sir? No need to help him to see just where we are. Nearer that time, sir. Nearly isn't quite, Mr Freeman. One more salvo, and we should be out of range before they can reload. I hope you are right, sir. Steady at the helm! They are cheering you, sir. Keep them quiet all the same. Very good, sir. Just as you say, sir. Thinking back on it, I suppose, that cheering had been earned. The risk had been enormous. Not so much the physical danger, but the risk that if the Porta Coeli had been disabled or captured, no one would have sucked to think about my motives. The story would have been that Sir Horatio Hornblower had tried to take advantage of Flam's mutiny to feather his own nest. And left the mutineers unmillested while he grabbed the chance to acquire prize money. Still, it had come off. I'd cut off Flam's retreat. I'd bearded Bonaparte under the batteries of his own capital river. My share of prize money could not be less than a thousand pounds. My wife, Barbara, would find that useful. But Mariah, poor dear Mariah, she would not have known what to do with such a sum. Any orders regarding the prisoner, Sir Horatio? They better be interrogated, I suppose, Mr Freeman. The pilot talks English, sir. We had him in the ward room last night. He says Boni's been licked at a place called Leipzig. It might be the end of the war. It might be. I seem to have heard that before. He said the Russians will be over the Rhine in a week. Bye, George, sir. Look! There she is. You're right, Mr Freeman. Clear the ship for action, if you please. We're going to fetch her out. Very good, sir. If we delay the mutineers, we'll have a new communication with the shore. I guess you'll try and make on Fleur. Just so. Carry on. Aye, aye, sir. Clear for action! Bring Cleard as ordered, sir. Very well. There's a whole lot of small craft putting out from the beach, heading for Flame. The deuce they are. Let me see. What do you think they're up to, sir? I don't think I know, Mr Freeman. The French are mistaking Flame for us, and they want our blood. Yet, I fancy the mutineers imagine they're a welcoming party coming out to escort her into Harbour Grace, just as they welcomed us yesterday. The French gunboats are closing fast. Flame's people don't look as if they can make up their minds what to do. Could you, Mr Freeman, in their place? Some of them, no doubt, still want to fight the French. Sweet slaughter all for surrender. Yet I'd not be surprised if there aren't quite a few others who trust to the mercy of a court-martial. I'm glad I am not in master's sweet shoes at this moment. They're firing at her. The frogs will be aboard her in no time, sir. I have eyes in my head. It's something that we can fight Frenchmen and not Englishmen. Run out the guns, if you please. Aye, aye, sir. Master gunner, run out! Put it in crime. Thank you, Brown. You heard Nigel Antony as Horatio Hornblower, with James Maxwell as Lord St. Vincent, Kate Binchie as Lady Barbara, and Robert Lindsay as Brown. The part of the Dean was played by George Hagen, Lieutenant Freeman Malcolm Tierney, and Nathaniel Sweet by Brian Southwood. Other parts were played by Robert Warner and Michael Morrissey. Location recordings were made by David Fleming-Williams and Christopher Hayton Webb. The Hornblower story is directed from Manchester by Trevor Hill.