One of the all-time great nautical adventures is the Hornblower series depicting British Empire naval action at its best. There’s cutlasses and muskets aplenty, just as you’d expect. Less expected, but very welcome is a highly detailed account of life aboard ships-of-the-line, complete with the deck operations necessary for sailing the huge square riggers. Hot-blooded! Salty! Avast there . . . .(The same author wrote the African Queen.)
— J. Baldwin
Ÿ Reading
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##T Hornblower Saga
Hornblower Saga
C. S. Forester
1966-1978; 300 pp.
$7.95 each ($9.45 each postpaid) from:
Little, Brown & Co.
200 West Street
Waltham, MA 02254
Fourteen volumes. Audio version of Commodore Hornblower available; go to last card of this review for access info and sound clip.
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##T Hornblower Saga
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The Hornblower Saga includes the following titles:
Mr. Midshipman Hornblower
Lieutenant Hornblower
Hornblower and the Hotspur
Hornblower and the Atropos
Beat to Quarters
Ship of the Line
Flying Colours
Commodore Hornblower
Lord Hornblower
Admiral Hornblower in the West Indies
Hornblower During the Crisis
Young Hornblower
Captain Horatio Hornblower
The Indomitable Hornblower
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##T Hornblower Saga
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The procession of bearers with the glowing shot came up the ramp again—frightfully hot shot; the heat as each one went by, twenty four pounds of white-hot iron, was like the passage of a wave. The routine of rolling the fiendish things into the gun muzzles proceeded. There were some loud remarks from the men at the guns, and one of the shot fell with a thump on the stone floor of the battery, and lay there glowing. Two other guns were still not loaded.
“What’s wrong there?” demanded Hornblower.
“Please, sir—”
Hornblower was already striding over to see for himself. From the muzzle of one of the three loaded guns there was a curl of steam; in all three there was a wild hissing as the hot shot rested on the wet wads.
##A 09 3780 9
##T Hornblower Saga
“Run up, train, and fire,” ordered Hornblower. “Now what’s the matter with you others? Roll that thing out of the way.”
“Shot won’t fit, sir,” said more than one voice as someone with a wad-hook awkwardly rolled the fallen shot up against the parapet. The bearers of the other two stood by, sweating. Anything Hornblower could say in reply was drowned for the moment by the roar of one of the guns—the men were still at the tackles, and the gun had gone off on its own volition as they ran it up. A man sat crying out with pain, for the carriage had recoiled over his foot and blood was already pouring from it onto the stone floor.
