Eisenbeiss showed by his manner that he knew that those words had finally committed him.

"You think that you can do that? It means using the knife?"

As soon as Hornblower finished asking the second question he was aware that it was impolitic to ask two questions at once of a man who had enough trouble answering one. Eisenbeiss had to think a long time over the phrasing of his answers.

"It means using the knife," he said at length. "It means a difficult operation. I do not know if I can do it."

"But you hope you can?"

"I hope so."

"And do you think you will be successful?"

"I do not think. I hope."

"And if you are not successful?"

"He will die."

"But you think he will die in any case if you do not attempt the operation?"

That was the point. Eisenbeiss twice opened his mouth and shut it again before he answered.

"Yes."

Down through the skylight, as Hornblower sat studying Eisenbeiss's expression, came a new cry, faintly borne from the weather main-chains.

"No bottom! No bottom with this line!"

Turner and Still had very properly decided to take a cast of the lead; they were still out of soundings, as was to be expected. Hornblower brought his mind back from the situation of the ship to the decision regarding McCullum. The latter might have some claim to be consulted on the matter, but the claim was specious. His life was his country's. A seaman was not consulted first when he was carried into the ordeal of battle.

"So that is your opinion, doctor. If you operate and fail you will only have shortened the patient's life by a few hours?"

"A few hours. A few days."

A few days might suffice for the salvage operation; but with McCullum as sick as he was he would be no use during those few days. On the other hand there was no knowing at present whether or not he might possibly recover after those few days, without being operated on.

"What are the difficulties of the operation?" asked Hornblower.

"There are several layers of muscle there," explained Eisenbeiss. "Infraspinatus. Subscapularis, many of them. In each case the - the threads run in a different direction. That makes it difficult to work quickly and yet without doing great damage. And there is the big artery, the subscapular. The patient is weak already and unable to withstand much shock."

"Have you everything you need for this operation if you carry it out?"

Eisenbeiss hunched his thick shoulders.

"The two attendants - loblolly boys, you call them, sir - are experienced. They have both served in ships in action. I have my instruments. But I should like -"

Eisenbeiss clearly wanted something he believed to be difficult to grant.

"What?"

"I should like the ship to be still. At anchor. And a good light."

That turned the scale of the decision.

"Before nightfall," said Hornblower, "this ship will be at anchor in a landlocked harbour. You can make your preparations for the operation."

"Yes, sir." Again a pause before Eisenbeiss asked an important question. "And your promise, sir?"

Hornblower did not have to think very long about the question as to whether Eisenbeiss would work more efficiently or not if he were faced with the certainty of flogging and hanging if he failed. The man would do all he could out of sheer professional pride. And the thought that his life was at stake might possibly make him nervous.

"I'll take my promise back," said Hornblower. "You'll suffer no harm, whatever happens."

"Thank you, sir."

"No bottom!" called the leadsman in the chains.

"Very well, then. You have until this evening to make what preparations you can."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

With Eisenbeiss out of the cabin Hornblower sat for hardly a moment retracing the grounds of his decision. His ship was entering Rhodes Channel and he must be on deck.

"Wind's come southerly a point, sir," said Still, touching his hat.

The first thing, of course, that Hornblower had noticed as he came up the companion was that Atropos was still braced up as close to the wind as she would lie. Still and Turner had acted correctly without troubling him about it.

"Very well, Mr. Still."

Hornblower put his glass to his eye and swept the horizon. A bold, wildly rugged coast on the one hand; on the other a low sandy shore. He bent to study the chart.

"Cape Angistro to starboard, sir," said Turner at his side. "Cape Kum abaft the port beam."

"Thank you."

Everything was as it should be. Hornblower straightened up and turned his glass upon the Turkish coast. It was steep, with bold cliffs, behind which rose a chain of steeply undulating hills.

"They're only green at this time of year, sir," explained Turner. "The rest of the year they're brown."

"Yes."

Hornblower had read all he could about the Eastern Mediterranean, and he knew something of the climatic conditions.

"Not many people live there now, sir," went on Turner. "Farmers, a few. Shepherds. Little fishing villages in some of the coves. A little coasting trade in caiques from Rhodes - not so much of that now, sir. There's piracy in all these waters, on account of the feuds between the Greeks and the Turks. There's a bit of trade in honey an' timber, but precious little."

"Yes."

It was fortunate the wind had backed southerly, even by so little. It eased one of the myriad complications in his complicated life.

"Ruins a-plenty along that coast, though, sir," droned on Turner. "Cities - temples - you'd be surprised."

Ancient Greek civilization had flourished here. Over there had stood Artemisia and a score of other Greek cities, pulsating with life and beauty.

"Yes," said Hornblower.

"The villages mostly stand where the old cities were," persisted Turner. "Ruins all round 'em. Half the cottages are built of marble from the temples."

"Yes."

In other circumstances Hornblower could have been deeply interested, but as it was Turner was merely distraction. There was not merely the immediate business in hand of taking Atropos up into Marmorice harbour; there was the business of how to deal with the Turkish authorities; of how to set about the problems of salvage; there was the question - the urgent, anxious question - as to whether McCullum would live. There was the routine of the ship; when Hornblower looked round him he could see the hands and the officers clustered along the ship's sides gazing out eagerly at the shores. There were Greeks dwelling among the Mohammedans of the mainland - that would be important when it came to a question of keeping liquor from the men. And he would like to fill his water barrels; and there was the matter of obtaining fresh vegetables.

Here was Still with a routine question. Hornblower nodded in agreement.

"Up spirits!"

The cry went through the little ship, and when they heard it the men had no ears for any siren song from the shore. This was the great moment of the day for most of them, when they would pour their tiny issue of rum-and-water down their eager throats. To deprive a man of his ration was like barring a saint from Paradise. The speculations that went on among the men, their dealings with their rum rations, the exchanging, the buying, the selling, made the South Sea Bubble seem small by comparison. But Hornblower decided he need not vaunt himself above the herd, he need not look down with condescension at the men as if they were Circe's hogs swilling at a trough; it was perfectly true that this was the great moment of their day, but it was because they had no other moment at all, for months and for years, confined within the wooden walls of their little ship, often seeing not a shilling of money in all that time, not a fresh face, not a single human problem on which to exercise their wits. Perhaps it was better to be a captain and have too many problems.

The hands went to dinner. Cape Kum went by on the one hand and the Turkish coast on the other, the breeze freshening with the bright sunny day, and Turner droning on as the landmarks went by.

"Cape Marmorice, sir," reported Turner.

The coast dipped here, revealing mountains more lofty close behind. Now was the time to take in sail, ready to enter. It was the time when decisive action had to be taken, too; when Atropos changed from a peaceful ship, cruising placidly along outside territorial waters, to a stormy petrel, whose entrance into a foreign harbour might send despatches hastening from embassies, and might cause cabinets to assemble at opposite ends of Europe. Hornblower tried to give his orders as if he had no care for the importance of the moment.

"All hands! All hands shorten sail! All hands!"

The watch below came running to their posts. The officers, at the call of all hands, went to their stations, the one or two who had been dozing down below coming hastily on deck. Courses and top gallants were got in.

"Mr. Jones!" said Hornblower harshly.

"Sir!"

"Ease that sheet and take the strain off the tack! Where did you learn your seamanship?"

"Aye aye, sir," answered Jones rather pathetically, but he ran up both clues smartly together.

The reprimand was deserved, but Hornblower wondered if he would have administered it in just that way if he had not been anxious to show that the responsibilities he was carrying could not distract him from any detail of the management of the ship. Then he decided bitterly that it was unnecessary in any event; not one of those hurrying figures on deck gave a single thought to the responsibilities of his captain, or of what international crisis this shortening of sail might be the preliminary.

"Red Cliff Point, sir," said Turner. "Passage Island. Cape Sari over there. The east passage is better, sir - there's a rock in the middle of the west passage."

"Yes," said Hornblower. There was not much detail in the chart, but that much was clear. "We'll take the east passage. Quartermaster! Port your helm. Steady! Steady as you go!"

With the wind on her quarter Atropos headed for the entrance like a stag, even with her sail reduced to topsails and headsails. The entrance became better defined as she approached; two bold points running to meet each other with a lofty island in between. It was obvious why Red Cliff Point was so named; elsewhere there was a dark, straggling growth of pine trees on capes and island, while on the summits could just be seen the rectangular outlines of small forts.

"They don't keep those manned, sir," said Turner. "Gone to rack and ruin like everything else."

"You say the east passage is absolutely clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well."

Atropos headed in, with Hornblower giving his orders to the wheel. There was no flag flying on shore, and until one could be seen there was no question of firing a salute. From point to island the entrance extended a scant half mile, possibly less; now they could see through it, to the wide waters of Marmorice Bay, with high mountains surrounding it on nearly every side, except to the northward.

"There's the town, sir," said Turner. "Not much of a place."

A white tower - a minaret - caught the afternoon sun.

"You can see the red mound behind the town now, sir."

"Where did the Speedwell go down?" asked Hornblower.

"Over to port, there, sir. Right in line between the red mound and the fort on Passage Island. The fort on Ada bore sou'-sou' east half south."

"Take the bearing now," ordered Hornblower.

They were through the entrance now. The water was smooth, not smooth enough to reflect the blue sky. Turner was calling the bearing of the fort on Capa Ada. With his own eye Hornblower could judge the other cross-bearing. There was no harm in anchoring close to the projected scene of operations; that would attract less attention than to anchor in one place first and to move to another anchorage later. Jones took in fore and main topsails and headsails smartly enough. Atropos glided quietly on.

"Hard a-starboard," said Hornblower to the quartermaster. Round came Atropos, the mizzen topsail helping the turn as Jones clued it up. The ship's way died away almost imperceptibly, the tiny waves lapping against her bows.

"Let go!"

The hawser rumbled out. Atropos swung to her anchor, in Turkish waters. The crossing of the three-mile limit, even the entrance through the Pass, had been actions that might be argued about, disavowed. But that anchor, its flukes solidly buried in the firm sand, was something of which a diplomatic note could take definite notice.

"Pass the word for the doctor," said Hornblower.

There were many things to do; it was his duty to make contact with the Turkish authorities if they did not make contact with him. But first of all, without wasting a moment, it was necessary to make arrangements for the operation on McCullum. The man's life hung in the balance, and far more than his life.

Chapter XII.

Hornblower sat waiting in his cabin. "A few minutes" had been Eisenbeiss's estimate of the time necessary for the operation. It was necessary, Hornblower knew, to work as quickly as possible, so as to minimize the shock to the patient.

"In the old Hannibal, sir," said the sickberth attendant whom Hornblower had questioned regarding his experience, "we took off eleven legs in half an hour. That was at Algeciras, sir."

But amputations were relatively simple. A full half of all amputation cases survived - Nelson himself had lost an arm, amputated on a dark night in a moderate storm at sea, and he had lived until a musket bullet killed him at Trafalgar. This was not an amputation. It was something which would be worse than useless if Eisenbeiss's diagnosis was incorrect and which could easily fail in any case.

The ship was very still and quiet. Hornblower knew that all his crew were taking a morbid interest in the fate of the "poor gentleman". They were sentimental about McCullum, lying at death's door as a result of a bullet wound he need never have received; the fact that he was going to be cut about with a knife had an unholy attraction for them; the fact that in a few minutes he might be dead, might have gone through those mysterious doors they all feared to go through invested his personality with some special quality in their eyes. Sentries had to be posted to keep out all the sentimental, the inquisitive and the morbid-minded among the crew, and now Hornblower could tell by the silence that his men were waiting in shuddering silence for the climax, hoping perhaps to hear a scream or a groan, waiting as they would wait to see a condemned criminal turned off the hangman's cart He could hear the heavy ticking of his watch as he waited.

Now there were distant sounds, but sounds in the little wooden ship were susceptible to so many possible interpretations that he would not at first allow himself to think that they might arise as a result of the ending of the operation. But then there were steps and voices outside his cabin door, the sentry speaking and then Eisenbeiss, and then came a knock.

"Come in," said Hornblower, trying to keep his voice indifferent; the first sight of Eisenbeiss as he entered was enough to tell Hornblower that all was as well as could be hoped. There was an obvious lightheartedness about the doctor's elephantine movements.

"I found the bullet," said Eisenbeiss. "It was where I thought - at the inferior angle of the scapula."