"Hornblower in the West Indies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forester Cecil Scott)

The Star Of The South

Here where the trade winds blew at their freshest, just within the tropics, in the wide unbroken Atlantic, was, as Hornblower decided at that moment, the finest stretch of water for a yachting excursion to be found anywhere on the globe. This was nothing more than a yachting excursion, to his mind. Only recently he had emerged from a profound spiritual experience during which the peace of the whole world had depended on his judgement; by comparison it seemed now as if the responsibilities of being Commander-in-Chief on the West Indian Station were mere nothings. He stood on the quarterdeck of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Clorinda, balancing easily as she reached to windward under moderate sail, and allowed the morning sunshine to stream down on him and the trade wind to blow round his ears. With the pitch and the roll as Clorinda shouldered against the sea the shadows of the weather rigging swooped back and forth over the deck; when she took a roll to windward, towards the nearly level morning sun, the shadows of the ratlines of the mizzen shrouds flicked across his eyes in rapid succession, hypnotically adding to his feeling of well-being. To be a Commander-in-Chief, with nothing more to worry about than the suppression of the slave trade, the hunting down of piracy, and the policing of the Caribbean, was an experience more pleasant than any Emperor, or even any poet, could ever know. The bare-legged seamen washing down the decks were laughing and joking; the level sun was calling up dazzling rainbows in the spray flung up by the weather bow; and he could have breakfast at any moment that he wanted it—standing here on the quarterdeck he was finding additional pleasure in anticipation and wantonly postponing that moment.

The appearance of Captain Sir Thomas Fell on the quarterdeck took something away from the feeling of well-being. Sir Thomas was a gloomy, lantern-jawed individual who would feel it his bounden duty to come and be polite to his Admiral, and who would never have the sensitivity to be aware when his presence was undesired.

“Good morning, My Lord,” said the captain, touching his hat.

“Good morning, Sir Thomas,” replied Hornblower, returning the salute.

“A fine fresh morning, My Lord.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Sir Thomas was looking over his ship with a captain’s eye, along the decks, up aloft, and then turning aft to observe where, right astern, a smudgy line on the horizon marked the position of the hills of Puerto Rico. Hornblower suddenly realised that he wanted his breakfast more than anything on earth; and simultaneously he realised that he now could not gratify that desire as instantaneously as a Commander-in-Chief should be able to. There were limitations of politeness that constrained even a Commander-in-Chief—or that constrained him at least. He could not turn away and go below without exchanging a few more sentences with Fell.

“Maybe we’ll catch something today, My Lord,” said Fell; instinctively with the words the eyes of both men turned aloft to where a look-out sat perched up at the dizzy height of the main topgallant masthead.

“Let’s hope we do,” said Hornblower, and, because he had never succeeded in liking Fell, and because the last thing he wanted to do was to enter into a technical discussion before breakfast, he blundered on so as to conceal these feelings. “It’s likely enough.”

“The Spaniards will want to run every cargo they can before the convention’s signed,” said Fell.

“So we decided,” agreed Hornblower. Re-hashing old decisions before breakfast was not to his taste, but it was typical of Fell to do that.

“And this is the landfall they’d make,” went on Fell, remorselessly, glancing astern again at Puerto Rico on the horizon.

“Yes,” said Hornblower. Another minute or two of this pointless conversation and he would be free to escape below.

Fell took the speaking-trumpet and directed it upwards.

“Masthead, there! Keep a good lookout or I’ll know the reason why!”

“Aye aye, sir!” came the reply.

“Head money, My Lord,” said Fell, in apologetic explanation.

“We all find it useful,” answered Hornblower, politely.

Head money was paid by the British Government for slaves freed on the high seas, to the Royal Naval ships concerned in the capture of the slaves, and divided among the ship’s company like any other prize money. It was a small fund compared with the gigantic sums acquired during the great wars, but at five pounds a head a big capture could bring in a substantial sum to the ship making the capture. And of that substantial sum one-quarter went to the captain. On the other hand, one-eighth went to the Admiral commanding, wherever he happened to be. Hornblower, with twenty ships at sea under his command, was entitled to one-eighth of all their head money. It was a system of division which explained how during the great wars the Admirals commanding the Channel Fleet or in the Mediterranean became millionaires, like Lord Keith.

“No one could find it more useful than I, My Lord,” said Fell.

“Maybe,” said Hornblower.

Hornblower knew vaguely that Fell was in difficulties about money. He had had many years of half pay since Waterloo, and even now as captain of a fifth-rate his pay and allowances were less than twenty pounds a month—lucky though he was, in peacetime, to have command even of a fifth-rate. He had had experience himself of being a poor captain, of wearing cotton stockings instead of silk, and brass epaulettes instead of gold. But he had no desire whatever to discuss the Tables of Personal Pay before breakfast.

“Lady Fell, My Lord,” went on Fell, persistently, “has a position to maintain in the world.”

She was an extravagant woman, so Hornblower had heard.

“Let’s hope we have some luck today, then,” said Hornblower, still thinking about breakfast.

It was a melodramatic coincidence that at that very moment a hail came down from the masthead.

“Sail ho! Sail right to wind’ard!”

“Perhaps that’s what we’re waiting for, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower.

“As likely as not, My Lord. Masthead, there! How’s the sail heading? Mr. Sefton, bring the ship to the wind.”

Hornblower backed away to the weather-rail. He felt he could never grow used to his situation as Admiral, and having to stand by and be no more than an interested spectator while the ship he was in was being handled at decisive moments. It was quite painful to be a spectator, but it would be more painful still to go below and remain in ignorance of what was going on—and much more painful than to postpone breakfast again.

“Deck, there! She’s a two-master. Heading straight down for us. All sail to the royals. Captain, sir, she’s a schooner! A big schooner, sir. Still running down for us.”

Young Gerard, the flag-lieutenant, had come running on deck at the first hail from the masthead, to his place beside his Admiral.

“A tops’l schooner,” he said. “A big one. She could be what we’re looking for, My Lord.”

“Plenty of other things she could be,” said Hornblower, doing his best to conceal his absurd excitement.

Gerard had his telescope pointing to windward.

“There she is! Coming down fast, right enough. Look at the rake of those masts! Look at the cut of those tops’ls! My Lord, she’s no Island schooner.”

It would not be a very remarkable coincidence if she should be a slaver; he had brought Clorinda here to the windward of San Juan in the full expectation that slave cargoes would be hurrying here. Spain was meditating joining in the suppression of the slave trade, and every slaver would be tempted to run cargoes and take advantage of enhanced prices before the prohibition should take effect. The main slave market for the Spanish colonies was at Havana, a thousand miles to leeward, but it could be looked upon as certain that Spanish slavers, making their passage from the Slave Coast, would touch first at Puerto Rico to refill with water if not to dispose of part of their cargo. It had only been logical to station Clorinda to intercept them.

Hornblower took the telescope and trained it on the fast-nearing schooner. He saw what Gerard had spoken about. Hull up now, he could see how heavily sparred she was, and how built for speed. With those fine lines it would only pay for her to carry highly perishable cargo—human cargo. As he looked he saw the rectangles of her square sails narrow vertically; the small distance between her masts widened greatly. She was wheeling away from the waiting Clorinda—a final proof, if any was needed, that she was what she appeared to be. Laying herself on the starboard tack, she proceeded to keep at a safe distance, and to increase that distance as fast as possible.

“Mr. Sefton!” shouted Fell. “Fill the main tops’l! After her, on the starboard tack! Set the royals!”

In an orderly and disciplined rush some of the hands hurried to the braces while others scurried aloft to set more sail. It was only a matter of moments before Clorinda, as close-hauled as she would lie, was thrashing to windward in pursuit. With everything braced up sharp, and carrying every inch of sail that the brisk trade wind would allow, she lay steeply over, plunging through the sea, each wave in turn bursting on her weather bow with the spray flying aft in sheets, and the taut weather-rigging shrieking in the wind. It was a remarkable transition from the quiet that had reigned not so long ago.

“Hoist the colours,” ordered Fell. “Let’s see what she says she is.”

Through the telescope Hornblower watched the schooner hoist her colours in reply—the red and yellow of Spain.

“You see, My Lord?” asked Fell.

“Pardon, Cap’n,” interposed Sefton, the officer of the watch, “I know who she is. I saw her twice last commission. She’s the Estrella.”

“The Australia?” exclaimed Fell, mishearing Sefton’s Spanish pronunciation.

“The Estrella, sir. The Estrella del Sur—the Star of the South, sir.”

“I know about her, then,” said Hornblower. “Her captain’s Gomez—runs four hundred slaves every passage, if he doesn’t lose too many.”

“Four hundred!” repeated Fell.

Hornblower saw a momentary calculating look pass over Fell’s face. Five pounds a head meant two thousand pounds; a quarter of that was five hundred pounds. Two years’ pay at one swoop. Fell darted glances aloft and overside.

“Keep your luff, there!” he shouted at the helmsman. “Mr. Sefton! Hands to the bowlines there, for’rard.”

“She’s weathering on us,” said Gerard, the glass to his eye.

It was really only to be expected that a well-designed schooner would work to windward more efficiently than even the best of square-rigged frigates.

“She’s fore-reaching on us, too,” said Hornblower, gauging the distances and angles. She was not only lying closer to the wind but travelling faster through the water. Very little faster, it was true—a knot or perhaps two knots—but enough to render her safe from Clorinda’s pursuit.

“I’ll have her yet!” said Fell. “Mr. Sefton! Call all hands! Run out the guns on the weather side. Mr. James! Find Mr. Noakes. Tell him to start the water. Hands to the pumps, Mr. Sefton! Pump her dry.”

Hands came pouring up through the hatchways. With the gun-ports opened the guns’ crews flung their weight on the gun tackles, inch by inch dragging the guns on the weather side up the steep slope presented by the heeling deck. The rumble of the wooden wheels over the seams of the planking made a stirring sound; it had been the preliminary of many a desperate fight in the old days. Now the guns were merely being run out in order to keep the ship on a slightly more even keel, giving her a better grip on the water and minimising leeway. Hornblower watched the pumps being manned; the hands threw their weight on the handles with a will, the rapid clank-clank proving how hard they were at work, pumping overside the twenty tons of drinking water which might be thought of as the life-blood of a cruising ship. But the slight reduction of draught that would result might, combined with the running out of the weather guns, add a few yards to her speed.

The call for all hands had brought Mr. Erasmus Spendlove on deck, Hornblower’s secretary. He looked round him at the organised confusion on deck with that air of Olympian superiority which always delighted Hornblower. Spendlove cultivated a pose of unruffled calm that exasperated some and amused others. Yet he was a most efficient secretary, and Hornblower had never once regretted acting on the recommendation of Lord Exmouth and appointing him to his position.

“You see the vulgar herd all hard at work, Mr. Spendlove,” said Hornblower.

“Truly they appear to be, My Lord.” He looked to windward at the Estrella. “I trust their labours will not be in vain.”

Fell came bustling by, still looking up at the rigging and overside at the Estrella.

“Mr. Sefton! Call the carpenter. I’ll have the wedges of the mainmast knocked loose. More play there may give us more speed.”

Hornblower caught a change of expression on Spendlove’s face, and their eyes met. Spendlove was a profound student of the theory of ship design, and Hornblower was a man with a lifetime of experience, and the glance they exchanged, brief as it was, was enough for each to know that the other thought the new plan unwise. Hornblower watched the main shrouds on the weather side taking the additional strain. It was as well that Clorinda was newly refitted.

“Can’t say we’re doing any better, My Lord,” said Gerard from behind his telescope.

The Estrella was perceptibly farther ahead and more to windward. If she wished, she would run Clorinda practically out of sight by noon. Hornblower observed an odd expression on Spendlove’s face. He was testing the air with his nose, sniffing curiously at the wind as it blew past him. It occurred to Hornblower that once or twice he had been aware, without drawing any conclusions from the phenomenon, that the clean trade wind had momentarily been tainted with a hint of a horrible stench. He himself tried the air again, and caught another musky whiff. He knew what it was—twenty years ago he had smelt the same stench when a Spanish galley crowded with galley slaves had passed to windward. The trade wind, blowing straight from the Estrella to the Clorinda, was bearing with it the reek from the crowded slave ship, tainting the air over the clean blue sea far to leeward of her.

“We can be sure she’s carrying a full cargo,” he said.

Fell was still endeavouring to improve Clorinda’s sailing qualities.

“Mr. Sefton! Set the hands to work carrying shot up to wind’ard.”

“She’s altering course!” Half a dozen voices made the announcement at the same moment.

“Belay that order, Mr. Sefton!”

Fell’s telescope, like all the others, was trained on the Estrella. She had put her helm up a little, and was boldly turning to cross Clorinda’s bows.

“Damned insolence!” exclaimed Fell.

Everyone watched anxiously as the two ships proceeded headlong on converging courses.

“She’ll pass us out of range,” decided Gerard; the certainty became more apparent with every second of delay.

“Hands to the braces!” roared Fell. “Quartermaster! Starboard your helm! Handsomely! Handsomely! Steady as you go!”

“Two points off the wind,” said Hornblower. “We stand more chance now.”

Clorinda’s bows were now pointed to intercept the Estrella at a far distant point, several miles ahead. Moreover, lying a little off the wind as both ships now were, it seemed probable that Estrella’s fore-and-aft rig and fine lines might not convey so great an advantage.

“Take a bearing, Gerard,” ordered Hornblower.

Gerard went to the binnacle and read the bearing carefully.

“My impression,” said Spendlove, gazing over the blue, blue water, “is that she’s still fore-reaching on us.”

“If that’s the case,” said Hornblower, “then all we can hope for is that she carries something away.”

“We can at least hope for it, My Lord,” said Spendlove. The glance he directed upwards was indicative of his fear that it would be the Clorinda whose gear would give way. Clorinda now had wind and sea very nearly abeam. She was lying over very steeply under every inch of canvas she could carry, and lifting unwillingly to the seas which came rolling in upon her, swirling in through her open gun-ports. Hornblower realised that he had not a dry stitch of clothing on him, and probably no one else on board had, either.

“My Lord,” said Gerard, “you’ve had no breakfast as yet.”

Hornblower tried to conceal the discomfiture he felt at this reminder. He had forgotten all about breakfast, despite the cheerful anticipation with which he had once been looking forward to it.

“Quite right, Mr. Gerard,” he said, jocular, but only clumsily so, thanks to being taken by surprise. “And what of it?”

“It’s my duty to remind you, My Lord,” said Gerard. “Her Ladyship—”

“Her Ladyship told you to see that I took my meals regularly,” replied Hornblower. “I am aware of that. But Her Ladyship, owing to her inexperience, made no allowance for encounters with fast-sailing slavers just at mealtimes.”

“But can’t I persuade you, My Lord?”

The thought of breakfast, now that it had been reimplanted in his mind, was more attractive than ever. But it was hard to go below with a pursuit being so hotly conducted.

“Take that bearing again before I decide,” he temporised.

Gerard walked to the binnacle again.

“Bearing’s opening steadily, My Lord,” he reported. “She must be drawing ahead fast.”

“Clearly so,” said Spendlove, telescope trained out towards the Estrella. “And it looks—it looks as if she’s hauling in on her sheets. Maybe—”

Hornblower had whipped his telescope to his eye on the instant.

“She’s gibing over!” he pronounced. “See how she comes round, by George!”

Estrella must have a bold captain and a well-trained crew. They had hauled in on her sheets and had stood ready at her topsail braces. Then, with the helm hard over, she had spun round on her heel. Her whole beautiful profile was now presented to Hornblower’s telescope. She was headed to cross Clorinda’s bows from starboard to port, and not too far ahead, either.

“Damned insolence!” said Hornblower, but full of admiration for the daring and skill displayed.

Fell was standing close by, staring at the impertinent schooner. He was rigid, even though the wind was flapping his coat-tails round him. For a few seconds it seemed as if the two vessels were heading towards a common point, where they must meet. But the impression soon passed. Even without taking a compass bearing it became apparent that Estrella must pass comfortably ahead of the frigate.

“Run the guns in!” bellowed Fell. “Stand by to wear ship! Clear away the bow chasers, there!”

It might be just possible that the schooner would pass within range of the bow chasers, but to take a shot at her, at long range and on that heaving sea, would be a chancy business. Should they score a hit, it might as likely take effect in the hull, among the wretched slaves, as on the spars or rigging. Hornblower was prepared to restrain Fell from firing.

The guns were run in, and after another minute’s examination of the situation Fell ordered the helm to be put a-starboard and the ship laid right before the wind. Hornblower through his telescope could see the schooner lying right over with the wind abeam, so far over that she, as she heaved, presented a streak of copper to his view, pinkish against the blue of the sea. Clearly she was drawing across the frigate’s bows, as Fell tacitly acknowledged when he ordered a further turn of two points to port. Thanks to her two knots superiority in speed and thanks also to her superior handiness and weatherliness the Estrella was literally making a circle round the Clorinda.

“She’s built for speed, My Lord,” said Spendlove from behind his telescope.

So was Clorinda, but with a difference. Clorinda was a fighting ship, built to carry seventy tons of artillery, with forty tons of powder and shot in her magazines. It was no shame to her that she should be outsailed and outmanoeuvred by such a vessel as the Estrella.

“I fancy she’ll make for San Juan, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower.

Fell’s face bore an expression of helpless fury as he turned to his Admiral; it was with an obvious effort that he restrained himself from pouring out his rage, presumably in a torrent of blasphemy.

“It’s—it’s—” he spluttered.

“It’s enough to madden a saint,” said Hornblower.

Clorinda had been ideally stationed, twenty miles to windward of San Juan; Estrella had run practically into her arms, so to speak, and had yet dodged neatly round her and had won for herself a clear run to the port.

“I’ll see him damned, My Lord!” said Fell. “Quartermaster!”

There was now the long run ahead to San Juan, one point off the wind, in what was practically a race with an even start. Fell laid a course for San Juan; it was obvious that Estrella, comfortably out of range on the starboard beam, was heading for the same point. Both ships had the wind practically abeam; this long run would be a final test of the sailing qualities of the two ships, as though they were a couple of yachts completing a triangular course in a race in the Solent. Hornblower reminded himself that earlier this morning he had compared the present voyage with a yachting excursion. But the expression in Fell’s face showed that his flag-captain by no means looked on it in the same light. Fell was in the deadliest earnest, and not from any philanthropic feelings about slavery, either. It was the head money he wanted.

“About that breakfast, My Lord?” said Gerard.

An officer was touching his hat to Fell with the request that it might be considered noon.

“Make it so,” said Fell. The welcome cry of “Up spirits” rang through the ship.

“Breakfast, My Lord?” asked Gerard again.

“Let’s wait and see how we do on this course,” said Hornblower. He saw something of dismay in Gerard’s face and laughed. “It’s a question of your breakfast, I fancy, as well as mine. You’ve had nothing this morning?”

“No, My Lord.”

“I starve my young men, I see,” said Hornblower, looking from Gerard to Spendlove; but the latter’s expression was peculiarly unchanging, and Hornblower remembered all he knew about him. “I’ll wager a guinea that Spendlove hasn’t spent the morning fasting.”

The suggestion was answered by a wide grin.

“I am no sailor, My Lord,” said Spendlove. “But I have learned one thing while I have been at sea, and that is to snatch at any meal that makes its appearance. Fairy gold vanishes no faster than the opportunity of eating food at sea.”

“So, while your Admiral has been starving, you have been walking this deck with a full belly? Shame on you.”

“I feel that shame as deeply as the situation merits, My Lord.”

Spendlove obviously had all the tact that an Admiral’s secretary needed to have.

“Hands to the mainbrace,” bellowed Fell.

Clorinda was hurtling along over the blue sea with the wind abeam; it was her best point of sailing, and Fell was doing all he could to get the very best out of her. Hornblower looked over at Estrella.

“I fancy we’re falling behind,” he said.

“I think so, too, My Lord,” said Gerard after a glance in the same direction. He walked over and took a bearing, and Fell glared at him with irritation before turning to Hornblower.

“I hope you will agree, My Lord,” he said, “that Clorinda has done all a ship can do?”

“Certainly, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower. Fell real meant to say that no fault could be found with his handling the ship; and Hornblower, while convinced that he himself could have handled her better, had no doubt that in any case Estrella would have evaded capture.

“That schooner sails like a witch,” said Fell. “Look at her now, My Lord.”

Estrella’s lovely lines and magnificent sail plan were obvious even at this distance.

“She’s a beautiful vessel,” agreed Hornblower.

“She’s headreaching on us for sure,” announced Gerard from the binnacle. “And I think she’s weathering on us, too.”

“And there goes five hundred pounds,” said Fell, bitterly. Assuredly he was in need of money. “Quartermaster! Bear up a point. Hands to the braces!”

He brought Clorinda a little closer to the wind and studied her behaviour before turning back to Hornblower.

“I’ll not give up the chase until I’m compelled, My Lord,” he said.

“Quite right,” agreed Hornblower.

There was something of resignation, something of despair, in Fell’s expression. It was not only the thought of the lost money that troubled him, Hornblower realised. The report that Fell had tried to capture the Estrella, and had failed, almost ludicrously, would reach their Lordships of the Admiralty, of course. Even if Hornblower’s own report minimised the failure it would still be a failure. That meant that Fell would never be employed again after his present two years’ appointment had expired. For every captain with a command in the Royal Navy now there were twenty at least hungry for commands. The slightest lapse would be seized upon as reason for ending a man’s career; it could not be otherwise. Fell was now looking forward apprehensively to spending the rest of his life on half pay. And Lady Fell was an expensive and ambitious woman. No wonder that Fell’s usually red cheeks had a grey tinge.

The slight alteration of course Fell had ordered was really a final admission of defeat. Clorinda was retaining her windward position only at the cost of seeing Estrella draw more rapidly ahead.

“But I fear she’ll beat us easily into San Juan,” went on Fell with admirable stoicism. Right ahead the purple smear on the horizon that marked the hills of Puerto Rico was growing loftier and more defined. “What orders have you for me in that case, My Lord?”

“What water have you left on board?” asked Hornblower in return.

“Five tons, My Lord. Say six days at short allowance.”

“Six days,” repeated Hornblower, mostly to himself. It was a tiresome complication. The nearest British territory was a hundred miles to windward.

“I had to try the effect of lightening the ship, My Lord,” said Fell, self-exculpatory.

“I know, I know.” Hornblower always felt testy when someone tried to excuse himself. “Well, we’ll follow Estrella in if we don’t catch her first.”

“It will be an official visit, My Lord?” asked Gerard quickly.

“It can hardly be anything else with my flag flying,” said Hornblower. He took no pleasure in official visits. “We may as well kill two birds with one stone. It’s time I called on the Spanish authorities, and we can fill up with water at the same time.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

A visit of ceremony in a foreign port meant many calls on the activity of his staff—but not as many as on him, he told himself with irritation.

“I’ll have my breakfast before anything else comes to postpone it,” he said. The perfect good humour of the morning had quite evaporated now. He would be in a bad temper now if he allowed himself to indulge in the weaknesses of humanity.

When he came on deck again the failure to intercept Estrella was painfully obvious. The schooner was a full three miles ahead, and had weathered upon Clorinda until the latter lay almost in her wake. The coast of Puerto Rico was very well defined now. Estrella was entering into territorial waters and was perfectly safe. All hands were hard at work in every part of the ship bringing everything into that condition of perfection—really no more perfect than invariably prevailed—which a British ship must display when entering a foreign port and submitting herself to the jealous inspection of strangers. The deck had been brought to a whiteness quite dazzling in the tropical sun; the metalwork was equally dazzling—painful when the eye received a direct reflection; gleaming cutlasses and pikes were ranged in decorative patterns on the bulkhead aft; white cotton lines were being rove everywhere, with elaborate Turk’s heads.

“Very good, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower approvingly.

“Authority in San Juan is represented by a Captain-General, My Lord,” said Spendlove.

“Yes. I shall have to call upon him,” agreed Hornblower. “Sir Thomas, I shall be obliged if you will accompany me.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

“Ribbons and stars, I fear, Sir Thomas.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Fell had received his knighthood of the Bath after a desperate frigate action back in 1813. It had been a tribute to his courage if not to his professional abilities.

“Schooner’s taking a pilot on board!” hailed the masthead lookout.

“Very well!”

“Our turn shortly,” said Hornblower. “Time to array ourselves for our hosts. They will be grateful, I hope, that our arrival will take place after the hour of the siesta.”

It was also the hour when the sea breeze was beginning to blow. The pilot they took on—a big, handsome quadroon—took the ship in without a moment’s difficulty, although, naturally, Fell stood beside him consumed with anxiety. Hornblower, free from any such responsibility, was able to go forward to the gangway and examine the approaches to the city; it was a time of peace, but Spain had been an enemy before and might perhaps be an enemy again, and at least nothing would be lost if he knew as much as possible about the defences first-hand. It did not take very long to perceive why San Juan had never been attacked, not to speak of captured, by the numerous enemies of Spain during the long life of the city. It was ringed by a lofty wall, of stout masonry, with ditches and bastions, moats and drawbridges. On the lofty bluff overlooking the entrance Morro Castle covered the approaches with artillery; there was another fortress—which must be San Cristobal—and battery succeeded battery along the waterfront, with heavy guns visible in the embrasures. Nothing less than a formal siege, with powerful army and a battering train, could make any impression on San Juan as long as it was defended by an adequate garrison.

The sea breeze brought them up the entrance passage; there was the usual momentary anxiety about whether the Spaniards were prepared to salute his flag, but the anxiety was speedily allayed as the guns in the Morro began to bang out their reply. Hornblower held himself stiffly to attention as the ship glided in, the forecastle saluting carronade firing at admirably regular intervals. The hands took in the canvas with a rapidity that did them credit—Hornblower was watching unobtrusively from under the brim of his cocked hat—and then Clorinda rounded-to and the anchor cable rumbled through the hawse-hole. A deeply sunburned officer in a fine uniform came up the side and announced himself, in passable English, as the port medical officer, and received Fell’s declaration that Clorinda had experienced no infectious disease during the past twenty-one days.

Now that they were in the harbour, where the sea breeze circulated with difficulty, and the ship was stationary, they were aware of the crushing heat; Hornblower felt instantly the sweat trickling down inside his shirt under his heavy uniform coat, and he turned his head uncomfortably from side to side, feeling the constriction of his starched neckcloth. A brief gesture from Gerard beside him pointed out what he had already observed—the Estrella del Sur in her gleaming white paint lying at the pier close beside them. It seemed as if the reek of her still reached his nostrils from her open hatchways. A file of soldiers, in blue coats with white cross-belts, was drawn up on the pier, standing somewhat negligently under command of a sergeant. From within the hold of the schooner came a most lamentable noise—prolonged and doleful wailings. As they watched they saw a string of naked Negroes come climbing with difficulty up through the hatchway. They could hardly walk—in fact some of them could not walk at all, but fell to their hands and knees and crawled in that fashion over the deck and on to the pier.

“They’re landing their cargo,” said Gerard.

“Some of it at least,” replied Hornblower. In nearly a year of study he had learned much about the slave trade. The demand for slaves here in Puerto Rico was small compared with that at Havana. During the Middle Passage the slaves he saw had been confined on the slave decks, packed tight ‘spoon fashion’, lying on their sides with their knees bent up into the bend of the knees of the next man. It was only to be expected that the captain of the Estrella would take this opportunity of giving his perishable cargo a thorough airing.

A hail from overside distracted them. A boat with the Spanish flag at the bow was approaching; sitting in the stern-sheets was an officer in a brilliant gold-laced uniform that reflected back the setting sun.

“Here comes Authority,” said Hornblower.

The side was manned and the officer came aboard to the trilling of the pipes of the bosun’s mates, very correctly raising his hand in salute. Hornblower walked over to join Fell in receiving him. He spoke in Spanish, and Hornblower was aware that Fell had none of that language.

“Major Mendez-Castillo,” the officer announced himself. “First and Principal Aide-de-Camp to His Excellency the Captain-General of Puerto Rico.”

He was tall and slender, with a thin moustache that might have been put on with grease paint; he looked cautiously, without committing himself, at the two officers in their red ribbons and stars, and glittering epaulettes, who were receiving him.

“Welcome, Major,” said Hornblower. “I am Rear Admiral Lord Hornblower, Commander-in-Chief of His Britannic Majesty’s ships and vessels in West Indian waters. May I present Captain Sir Thomas Fell, commanding His Britannic Majesty’s ship Clorinda.”

Mendez-Castillo bowed to each of them, his relief at knowing which was which faintly apparent.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico, Your Excellency,” he said. “We had, of course, heard that the famous Lord Hornblower was now Commander-in-Chief here, and we had long hoped for the honour of a visit from him.”

“Many thanks,” said Hornblower.

“And welcome to you and to your ship, Captain,” added Mendez-Castillo hastily, nervous in case it should be too apparent that he had been so engrossed in his meeting with the fabulous Hornblower that he had paid insufficient attention to a mere captain. Fell bowed awkwardly in reply—interpretation was unnecessary.

“I am instructed by His Excellency,” went on Mendez-Castillo, “to enquire if there is any way in which His Excellency can be of service to Your Excellency on the notable occasion of this visit?”

In Spanish, the phrasing of the pompous sentence was even more difficult than in English. And as Mendez-Castillo spoke his glance wavered momentarily towards the Estrella; obviously all the details of the Clorinda’s attempted interception were already known—much of the unavailing pursuit must have been visible from the Morro. Something in the Major’s attitude conveyed the impression that the subject of the Estrella was not open to discussion.

“We intend to make only a brief stay, Major. Captain Fell is anxious to renew the water supply of his ship,” said Hornblower, and Mendez-Castillo’s expression softened at once.

“Of course,” he said, hastily. “Nothing could be easier. I will give instructions to the Captain of the Port to afford Captain Fell every facility.”

“You are too kind, Major,” said Hornblower. Bows were exchanged again, Fell joining in although unaware of what had been said.

“His Excellency has also instructed me,” said Mendez-Castillo, “that he hopes for the honour of a visit from Your Excellency.”

“I had hoped that His Excellency would be kind enough to invite me.”

“His Excellency will be charmed to hear it. Perhaps Your Excellency would be kind enough to visit His Excellency this evening. His Excellency would be charmed to receive Your Excellency at eight o’clock, along with the members of Your Excellency’s staff, at La Fortaleza, the Palace of Santa Catalina.”

“His Excellency is too good. We shall be delighted, naturally.”

“I shall inform His Excellency. Perhaps Your Excellency would find it convenient if I were to come on board at that time to escort Your Excellency and Your Excellency’s party?”

“We shall be most grateful, Major.”

The Major took his leave after a final reference to the Captain of the Port and the watering of the ship. Hornblower explained briefly to Fell.

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Here came another visitor, up the port side of the ship, a squat, heavily-built man in dazzling white linen, wearing a broad-brimmed hat which he took off with scrupulous politeness as he reached the quarterdeck. Hornblower watched him address himself to the midshipman of the watch, and saw the latter hesitate and look round him while trying to make up his mind as to whether he should grant the request.

“Very well, midshipman,” said Hornblower. “What does the gentleman want?”

He could guess very easily what the gentleman wanted. This might be an opportunity of making contact with the shore other than through official channels—something always desirable, and peculiarly so at this moment. The visitor came forward; a pair of bright, quizzical blue eyes studied Hornblower closely as he did so.

“My Lord?” he said. He at least could recognise an Admiral’s uniform when he saw it.

“Yes. I am Admiral Lord Hornblower.”

“I fear to trouble you with my business, My Lord.” He spoke English like an Englishman, like a Tynesider, perhaps, but obviously as if he had not spoken it for years.

“What is it?”

“I came on board to address myself to your steward, My Lord, and to the president of the wardroom mess, and to the purser. The principal ship chandler of the port. Beef cattle, My Lord, chickens, eggs, fresh bread, fruits, vegetables.”

“What is your name?”

“Eduardo Stuart—Edward Stuart, My Lord. Second mate of the brig Columbine, out of London. Captured back in 1806, My Lord, and brought in here as a prisoner. I made friends here, and when the Dons changed sides in 1808 I set up as ship chandler, and here I’ve been ever since.”

Hornblower studied the speaker as keenly as the speaker was studying him. He could guess at much of what was left unsaid. He could guess at a fortunate marriage, and probably at a change of religion—unless Stuart had been born a Catholic, as was possible enough.

“And I am at your service, My Lord,” went on Stuart, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“In a moment I’ll let you speak to the purser,” said Hornblower. “But tell me first, what impression has our arrival made here?”

Stuart’s face crinkled into a grin.

“The whole town was out watching your chase of the Estrella del Sur, My Lord.”

“I guessed as much.”

“They all rejoiced when they saw her escape you. And then when they saw you coming in they manned the batteries.”

“Indeed?”

The Royal Navy’s reputation for prompt action, both daring and high-handed, must still be very much alive, if there could be even a momentary fear that a single frigate would attempt to snatch a prize from out of the shelter of a port as well guarded as San Juan.

“In ten minutes your name was being spoken in all the streets, My Lord.”

Hornblower’s keen glance reassured him that he was not being paid an idle compliment.

“And what is the Estrella going to do now?”

“She has only come in to land a few sickly slaves and renew with water, My Lord. It’s a poor market for slaves here. She sails for Havana at once, as soon as she can be sure of your movements, My Lord.”

“At once?”

“She’ll sail with the land breeze at dawn tomorrow, My Lord, unless you are lying outside the port.”

“I don’t expect I shall be,” said Hornblower.

“Then she’ll sail without a doubt, My Lord. She’ll want to get her cargo landed and sold in Havana before Spain signs the Convention.”

“I understand,” said Hornblower.

Now what was this? Here were the old symptoms, as recognisable as ever, the quickened heartbeat, the feeling of warmth under the skin, the general restlessness. There was something just below the horizon of his mind, some stirring of an idea. And within a second the idea was up over the horizon, vague at present, like a hazy landfall, but as certain and as reassuring as any landfall. And beyond, still over the horizon, were other ideas, only to be guessed at. He could not help glancing over at the Estrella, sizing up the tactical situation, seeking further inspiration there, testing what he already had in mind.

It was all he could do to thank Stuart politely for his information, without betraying the excitement he felt, and without terminating the interview with suspicious abruptness. A word to Fell made certain that Stuart would receive the business of supplying the Clorinda, and Hornblower waved away Stuart’s thanks. Hornblower turned away with as great an appearance of nonchalance as he could manage.

There was plenty of bustle over there by the Estrella, just as there was round the Clorinda, with preparations being made for filling the water casks. It was hard to think in the heat and the noise. It was hard to face the cluttered deck. And darkness was approaching, and then would come eight o’clock, when he would be making his call upon the Captain-General, and obviously everything must be thought out before that. And there were complications. Successive ideas were arising, one out of another, like Chinese boxes, and each one in turn had to be examined for flaws. The sun was down into the hills, leaving a flaming sky behind, when he came to his final resolution.

“Spendlove!” he snapped; excitement made him curt. “Come below with me.”

Down in the big stern cabin it was oppressively hot. The red sky was reflected in the water of the harbour, shining up through the stern windows; the magnificent effect was dissipated with the lighting of the lamps. Hornblower threw himself into his chair; Spendlove stood looking at him keenly, as Hornblower was well aware. Spendlove could be in no doubt that his temperamental Commander-in-Chief had much on his mind. Yet even Spendlove was surprised at the scheme that was sketched out to him, and at the orders he received. He even ventured to protest.

“My Lord—” he said.

“Carry out your orders, Mr. Spendlove. Not another word.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Spendlove left the cabin, with Hornblower sitting there alone, waiting. The minutes passed slowly—precious minutes; there were few to spare—before the knock came on the door that he expected. It was Fell, entering with every appearance of nervousness.

“My Lord, have you a few minutes to spare?”

“Always a pleasure to receive you, Sir Thomas.”

“But this is unusual, I fear, My Lord. I have a suggestion to make—an unusual suggestion.”

“Suggestions are always welcome too, Sir Thomas. Please sit down and tell me. We have an hour at least before we go ashore. I am most interested.”

Fell sat bolt upright in his chair, his hands clutching the arms. He swallowed twice. It gave Hornblower no pleasure to see a man who had faced steel and lead and imminent death apprehensive before him; it made him uncomfortable.

“My Lord—” began Fell, and swallowed again.

“You have all my attention, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, gently.

“It has occurred to me,” said Fell, growing more fluent with each word until at last he spoke in a rush, “that we still might have a chance at the Estrella.”

“Really, Sir Thomas? Nothing could give me greater pleasure, if it were possible. I would like to hear what you suggest.”

“Well, My Lord. She’ll sail tomorrow. Most likely at dawn, with the land breeze. Tonight we might—we might fix some kind of drogue to her bottom. Perhaps to her rudder. She’s no more than a knot or two faster than we are. We could follow her out and catch her at sea—”

“This is brilliant, Sir Thomas. Really ingenious—but nothing more than could be expected of a seaman of your reputation, let me add.”

“You are too kind, My Lord.” There was a struggle only too perceptible in Fell’s expression, and he hesitated before he went on at last—“It was your secretary, Spendlove, who put the idea in my mind, My Lord.”

“Spendlove? I can hardly believe it.”

“He was too timid to make the suggestion to you, My Lord, and so he came to me with it.”

“I’m sure he did no more than set the wheels of your thought turning, Sir Thomas. In any case, since you have assumed the responsibility the credit must be yours, of course, if credit is to be awarded. Let us hope there will be a great deal.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Now about this drogue. What do you suggest, Sir Thomas?”

“It need be no more than a large sea anchor. A bolt of No 1 canvas, sewn into a funnel, one end larger than the other.”

“It would have to be reinforced even so. Not even No 1 canvas could stand the strain with Estrella going at twelve knots.”

“Yes, My Lord, I was sure of that. Bolt-ropes sewn in in plenty. That would be easy enough, of course. We have a spare bob-stay chain on board. That could be sewn round the mouth of the drogue—”

“And could be attached to the Estrella to take the main strain.”

“Yes, My Lord. That was what I thought.”

“It would serve to keep the drogue under water out of sight as well.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Fell found Hornblower’s quickness in grasping the technical points vastly encouraging. His nervousness was now replaced by enthusiasm.

“And where would you propose to attach this drogue, Sir Thomas?”

“I was thinking—Spendlove suggested, My Lord—that it might be passed over one of the lower pintles of the rudder.”

“It would be likely to tear the rudder clean away when exerting its full force.”

“That would serve our purpose equally well, My Lord.”

“Of course, I understand.”

Fell walked across the cabin to where the great cabin window stood open wide.

“You can’t see her from here as we lie now, My Lord,” he said. “But you can hear her.”

“And smell her,” said Hornblower, standing beside him.

“Yes, My Lord. They’re hosing her out at present. But you can hear her, as I said.”

Over the water came very plainly to them, along with the miasma of her stench, the continued wailing of the wretched slaves; Hornblower fancied he could even hear the clanking of the leg irons.

“Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, “I think it would be very desirable if you would put a boat overside to row guard round the ship tonight.”

“Row guard, My Lord?” Fell was not very quick in the uptake. In the peace-time Navy it was unnecessary to take elaborate precautions against desertion.

“Oh, yes, most certainly. Half these men would be overside swimming for the shore as soon as night falls. Surely you understand that, Sir Thomas. We must restrain their passion to desert from this brutal service. And in any case a guard-boat will prevent the sale of liquor through the gun-ports.”

“Er—yes, I suppose so, My Lord.” But Fell clearly had not grasped the implications of the suggestion, and Hornblower had to elaborate.

“Let us set a boat-rowing guard now, before nightfall. I can explain to the authorities why it is necessary. Then when the time comes—”

“We’ll have a boat ready in the water!” Enlightenment had broken in on Fell at last.

“Attracting no attention,” supplemented Hornblower.

“Of course!”

The red sunset showed Fell’s face lit up with animation.

“It would be best if you gave that order soon, Sir Thomas. But meanwhile there’s little time to spare. We must have this drogue in the making before we go ashore.”

“Shall I give the orders, My Lord?”

“Spendlove has figures at his fingertips. He can work out the measurements. Would you be kind enough to send for him, Sir Thomas?”

The cabin was soon crowded with people as the work was put in hand. Spendlove came first; after him Gerard was sent for, and then Sefton, the first-lieutenant. Next came the sail-maker, the armourer, the carpenter, and the boatswain. The sail-maker was an elderly Swede who had been forced into the British Navy twenty years ago in some conscienceless action of the press gang, and who had remained in the service ever since. His wrinkled face broke into a grin, like a shattered window, as the beauties of the scheme dawned upon him when he was told about it. He just managed to restrain himself from slapping his thigh with glee when he remembered he was in the august presence of his Admiral and his captain. Spendlove was busy sketching out with pencil and paper a drawing of the drogue, with Gerard looking over his shoulder.

“Perhaps even I might make a contribution to this scheme,” said Hornblower, and everyone turned to look at him; he met Spendlove’s eye with a glassy stare that forbade Spendlove to breathe a word to the effect that the whole scheme was his original idea.

“Yes, My Lord?” said Fell.

“A length of spun yarn,” said Hornblower, “made fast to the tail of the drogue and led for’rard and the other end secured to the chain. Just a single strand, to keep it tail end forward while Estrella gets under way. Then when she sets all sail and the strain comes—”

“The yarn will part!” said Spendlove. “You’re right, My Lord. Then the drogue will take the water—”

“And she’ll be ours, let’s hope,” concluded Hornblower.

“Excellent, My Lord,” said Fell.

Was there perhaps a mild condescension, a tiny hint of patronage, in what he said? Hornblower felt that there was, and was momentarily nettled at it. Already Fell was quite convinced that the whole scheme was his own—despite his handsome earlier admission that Spendlove had contributed—and he was generously allowing Hornblower to add a trifling suggestion. Hornblower allayed his irritation with cynical amusement at the weaknesses of human nature.

“In this stimulating atmosphere of ideas,” he said, modestly, “one can hardly help but be infected.”

“Y-yes, My Lord,” said Gerard, eyeing him curiously. Gerard was too sharp altogether, and knew him too well. He had caught the echo of mock-modesty in Hornblower’s tone, and was on the verge of guessing the truth.

“No need for you to put your oar in, Mr. Gerard,” snapped Hornblower. “Do I have to recall you to your duty? Where’s my dinner, Mr. Gerard? Do I always have to starve while I’m under your care? What will Lady Barbara say when she hears you allow me to go hungry?”

“I beg pardon, My Lord,” spluttered Gerard, entirely taken aback. “I’d quite forgotten—you’ve been so busy, My Lord—”

His embarrassment was intense; he turned this way and that in the crowded cabin as if looking about him for the missing dinner.

“No time now, Mr. Gerard,” said Hornblower. Until the need for distracting Gerard’s attention had arisen he had been equally forgetful of the need for dinner. “Let’s hope His Excellency will offer us some small collation.”

“I really must beg your pardon, My Lord,” said Fell, equally embarrassed.

“Oh, no matter, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, waving the apologies aside testily. “You and I are in the same condition. Let me see that drawing, Mr. Spendlove.”

He was continually being led into playing the part of a peppery old gentleman, when he knew himself to be nothing of the sort. He was able to mellow again as they went once more through the details of the construction of the drogue, and he gave his approval.

“I believe, Sir Thomas,” he said, “that you have decided to entrust the work to Mr. Sefton during our absence ashore?” Fell bowed his agreement.

“Mr. Spendlove will remain under your orders, Mr. Sefton. Mr. Gerard will accompany Sir Thomas and me. I don’t know what you have decided, Sir Thomas, but I would suggest that you bring a lieutenant and a midshipman with you to His Excellency’s reception.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

“Mr. Sefton, I am sure I can trust you to have this work completed by the time of our return, early in the middle watch, I fancy?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

So there it was all settled, except for the dreary interval of waiting. This was just like war-time, standing by with a crisis looming in the near future.

“Dinner, My Lord?” suggested Gerard, eagerly. He wanted no dinner. He was weary now that all was settled and the tension easing.

“I’ll call for Giles if I want some,” he said, looking round the crowded cabin. He wanted to dismiss the horde of people, and sought words to do so politely.

“Then I’ll attend to my other duties, My Lord,” said Fell, suddenly and surprisingly tactful.

“Very well, Sir Thomas, thank you.”

The cabin emptied itself rapidly; Hornblower was able by a mere look to put an end to Gerard’s tendency to linger. Then he could sink back into his chair and relax, sturdily ignoring Giles when he came in with another lighted lamp for the darkening cabin. The ship was full of the sound of the business of watering, sheaves squealing in blocks, pumps clanking, hoarse orders; the noise was sufficiently distracting to prevent his thoughts maintaining any regular course. He was in half a doze when a knock on the door preceded the arrival of a midshipman.

“Cap’n’s respects, My Lord, and the shore boat is approaching.”

“My compliments to the captain, and I’ll be on deck at once.”

The shore boat was bright with a lantern hanging over the stern-sheets in the midst of the darkness of the harbour. It lit up Mendez-Castillo’s resplendent uniform. Down the side they went, midshipman, lieutenants, captain, Admiral, in the reversed order of naval precedence, and powerful strokes of the oars carried them over the black water towards the city, where a few lights gleamed. They passed close by the Estrella; there was a light hanging in her rigging, but apparently she had completed her watering, for there was no activity about her.

Nevertheless, there came a continuous faint wailing from up her open hatchways. Perhaps the slaves there were mourning the departure of those of them who had been taken from them; perhaps they were voicing their apprehension at what the future held in store for them. It occurred to Hornblower that these unfortunate people, snatched from their homes, packed into a ship whose like they had never seen before, guarded by white men (and white faces must be as extraordinary to them as emerald green ones would be to a European) could have no idea at all of what lay in store for them, any more than he himself would have if he were to be abducted to another planet.

“His Excellency,” said Mendez-Castillo beside him, “has had pleasure in deciding to receive Your Excellency with full ceremonial.”

“That is most kind of His Excellency,” replied Hornblower, recalling himself to his present duties with an effort, and expressing himself in Spanish with even more effort.

The tiller was put over and the boat turned abruptly round a corner, revealing a brightly-lit jetty, with a massive gateway beyond. The boat ran alongside and half a dozen uniformed figures stood to attention as the party climbed on shore.

“This way, Your Excellency,” murmured Mendez-Castillo.

They passed through the gateway into a courtyard lit by scores of lanterns, which shone on ranks of soldiers drawn up in two treble lines. As Hornblower emerged into the courtyard a shouted order brought the muskets to the present, and at the same moment a band burst into music. Hornblower’s tone-deaf ear heard the jerky braying, and he halted at attention with his hand to the brim of his cocked hat, his fellow officers beside him, until the deafening noise—echoed and multiplied by the surrounding walls—came to an end.

“A fine military appearance, Major,” said Hornblower, looking down the rigid lines of white cross-belts.

“Your Excellency is too kind. Would Your Excellency please proceed to the door in front?”

An imposing flight of steps, lined on either side with more uniforms; beyond that an open doorway and a vast room. A prolonged whispered conference between Mendez-Castillo and an official beside the door, and then their names blared out in resounding Spanish—Hornblower had long given up hope of ever hearing his name pronounced intelligibly by a foreign tongue.

The central figure in the room rose from his chair—which was almost a throne—to receive the British Commander-in-Chief standing. He was a much younger man than Hornblower had expected, in his thirties, dark complexioned, with a thin, mobile face and a humorous expression at odds with his arrogant hooked nose. His uniform gleamed with gold lace, with the Order of the Golden Fleece on his breast.

Mendez-Castillo made the presentations; the Englishmen bowed deeply to the representative of His Most Catholic Majesty and each received a polite inclination in return. Mendez-Castillo ventured so far as to murmur their host’s titles—probably a breach of etiquette, thought Hornblower, for it should be assumed that visitors were fully aware of them.

“His Excellency the Marques de Ayora, Captain-General of His Most Catholic Majesty’s dominion of Puerto Rico.”

Ayora smiled in welcome.

“I know you speak Spanish, Your Excellency,” he said. “I have already had the pleasure of hearing you do so.”

“Indeed, Your Excellency?”

“I was a major of migueletes under Claros at the time of the attack on Rosas. I had the honour of serving beside Your Excellency—I remember Your Excellency well. Your Excellency would naturally not remember me.”

It would have been too flagrant to pretend he did, and Hornblower was for once at a loss for a word, and could only bow again.

“Your Excellency,” went on Ayora, “has changed very little since that day, if I may venture to say so. It is eleven years ago.”

“Your Excellency is too kind.” That was one of the most useful phrases in polite language.

Ayora had a word for Fell—a compliment on the appearance of his ship—and a supplementary smile for the junior officers. Then, as if it were a moment for which he had been waiting, Mendez-Castillo turned to them.

“Perhaps you gentlemen would care to be presented to the ladies of the company?” he said; his glance passed over Hornblower and Fell and took in only the lieutenants and the midshipmen. Hornblower translated, and saw them depart a little nervously under Mendez-Castillo’s escort.

Ayora, etiquette and Spanish training notwithstanding, wasted no time in coming to the point the moment he found himself alone with Hornblower and Fell.

“I watched your pursuit of the Estrella del Sur today through my telescope,” he said, and Hornblower once more found himself at a loss for a word; a bow and a smile also seemed out of place in this connection. He could only look blank.

“It is an anomalous situation,” said Ayora. “Under the preliminary convention between our governments the British Navy has the right to capture on the high seas Spanish ships laden with slaves. But once within Spanish territorial waters those ships are safe. When the new convention for the suppression of the slave trade is signed then those ships will be forfeit to His Most Catholic Majesty’s government, but until that time it is my duty to give them every protection in my power.”

“Your Excellency is perfectly correct, of course,” said Hornblower. Fell was looking perfectly blank, not understanding a word of what was said, but Hornblower felt that the effort of translating was beyond him.

“And I fully intend to carry out my duty,” said Ayora, firmly.

“Naturally,” said Hornblower.

“So perhaps it would be best to come to a clear understanding regarding future events.”

“There is nothing I would like better, Your Excellency.”

“It is clearly understood, then, that I will tolerate no interference with the Estrella del Sur while she is in waters under my jurisdiction?”

“Of course I understand that, Your Excellency,” said Hornblower.

“The Estrella wishes to sail at the first light of morning tomorrow.”

“That is what I expected, Your Excellency.”

“And for the sake of the amity between our governments it would be best if your ship were to remain in this harbour until after she sails.”

Ayora’s eyes met Hornblower’s in a steady stare. His face was perfectly expressionless; there was no hint of a threat in that glance. But a threat was implied, the ultimate hint of superior strength was there. At Ayora’s command a hundred thirty-two-pounders could sweep the waters of the harbour. Hornblower was reminded of the Roman who agreed with his Emperor because it was ill arguing with the master of thirty legions. He adopted the same pose as far as his acting ability allowed. He smiled the smile of a good loser.

“We have had our chance and lost it, Your Excellency,” he said. “We can hardly complain.”

If Ayora felt any relief at his acquiescence it showed no more plainly than his previous hint of force.

“Your Excellency is most understanding,” he said.

“Naturally we are desirous of taking advantage of the land breeze to leave tomorrow morning,” said Hornblower, deferentially. “Now that we have refilled with water—for the opportunity of doing so I have to thank Your Excellency—we would not like to trespass too far upon Your Excellency’s hospitality.”

Hornblower did his best to maintain an appearance of innocence under Ayora’s searching stare.

“Perhaps we might hear what Captain Gomez has to say,” said Ayora, turning aside to summon someone close at hand. He was a young man, strikingly handsome, dressed in plain but elegant blue clothes with a silver-hiked sword at his side.

“May I present,” said Ayora, “Don Miguel Gomez y Gonzalez, Captain of the Estrella del Sur?”

Bows were exchanged.

“May I felicitate you on the sailing qualities of your ship, Captain?” said Hornblower.

“Many thanks, señor.”

“Clorinda is a fast frigate, but your ship is superior at all points of sailing.” Hornblower was not too sure about how to render that technical expression into Spanish, but apparently he contrived to make himself understood.

“Many thanks again, señor.”

“And I could even venture”—Hornblower spread his hands deprecatingly—“to congratulate her captain on the brilliance with which he managed her.”

Captain Gomez bowed, and Hornblower suddenly checked himself. These high-flown Spanish compliments were all very well, but they could be overdone. He did not want to give the impression of a man too anxious to please. But he was reassured by a glance at the expression on Gomez’s face. He was actually simpering; that was the only word for it. Hornblower mentally classified him as a young man of great ability and well pleased with himself. Another compliment would not be one too many.

“I shall suggest to my government,” he went on, “that they request permission to take off the lines of the Star of the South, and study the plan of her sails, in order to build a similar vessel. She would be ideal for the work of the Navy in these waters. But, of course, it would be hard to find a suitable captain.”

Gomez bowed once more. It was hard not to be self-satisfied when complimented by a seaman with the legendary reputation of Hornblower.

“His Excellency,” put in Ayora, “is desirous of leaving the harbour tomorrow morning.”

“So we understood,” said Gomez.

Even Ayora looked a trifle disconcerted at the admission. Hornblower could see it plainly. Stuart, so helpful with his information, had not hesitated to help both sides, as Hornblower had expected he would. He had gone straight to the Spanish authorities with the intelligence Hornblower had supplied him with. But Hornblower had no desire to allow a jarring note to creep into the present conversation.

“You can understand, Captain,” he said, “that I would be glad to leave on the same tide and with the same land breeze that takes you out. After our experiences today I fear you need be under no apprehension.”

“None at all,” said Gomez. There was something of condescension in his smile. That agreement was all that Hornblower wanted. He was at pains to conceal his relief.

“It will be my duty to pursue you if you are still in sight when I leave,” he said, apologetically; by his glance he made it clear that the remark was addressed to the Captain-General as well as to Gomez, but it was Gomez who answered.

“I have no fear,” he said.

“In that case, Your Excellency,” said Hornblower, clinching the matter, “I can inform Your Excellency officially that His Majesty’s Ship in which my flag is being flown will leave harbour tomorrow morning as early as suits Captain Gomez’s convenience.”

“That is understood,” agreed Ayora. “I regret greatly that Your Excellency’s visit should be so brief.”

“In the life of a sailor,” said Hornblower, “duty seems invariably to interfere with inclination. But at least during this brief visit I have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Your Excellency, and of Captain Gomez.

“There are numerous other gentlemen here also desirous of making Your Excellency’s acquaintance,” said Ayora. “May I be permitted to present them to Your Excellency?”

The real business of the evening had been transacted, and now it was only necessary to go through the other formalities. The rest of the reception was as dreary as Hornblower had expected and feared; the Puerto Rican magnates who were led up in turn to meet him were as dull. At midnight Hornblower caught the eye of Gerard and gathered his flock together. Ayora noted the gesture and gave, in courteous terms, the leave to depart which, as His Catholic Majesty’s representative, he had to give unless his guests were to be guilty of discourtesy.

“Your Excellency has doubtless need to rest in readiness for your early start tomorrow,” he said. “I will not attempt to detain Your Excellency in consequence, much as Your Excellency’s presence here has been appreciated.”

The goodbyes were said, and Mendez-Castillo undertook to escort the party back to the Clorinda. It was something of a shock to Hornblower to find that the band and the guard of honour were still in the courtyard to offer the official compliments on his departure. He stood at the salute while the band played some jerky tune or other; then they went down into the waiting boat.

The harbour was pitch dark as they rowed out into it, the few lights visible doing almost nothing to alleviate the blackness. They rounded the corner and passed astern of the Estrella again. There was a single lantern hanging in her main rigging, and she was quiet by now—no; in the still night, at one moment, Hornblower heard the faint rattle of leg-irons as some one of the slaves in her hold indicated that he was still awake and restless. That was good. Farther along, a quiet challenge came over the inky water, issuing from a nucleus of darkness even more solid than the darkness surrounding it.

“Flag,” answered the midshipman. “Clorinda.”

The two brief words were all that were needed to inform the guardboat that an Admiral and a captain were approaching.

“You see, Major,” said Hornblower, “that Captain Fell deemed it necessary to row guard round the ship during the night.”

“I understood that to be the case, Your Excellency,” answered Mendez-Castillo.

“Our seamen will go to great lengths to indulge themselves in the pleasures of the shore.”

“Naturally, Your Excellency,” said Mendez-Castillo.

The boat ran alongside the Clorinda; standing awkwardly in the stern-sheets Hornblower said his last goodbyes, and uttered his last words of thanks, to the representative of his host before going up the side. From the entry port he watched the boat shove off again and disappear into the darkness.

“Now,” he said, “we can make better use of our time.”

On the maindeck, just visible in the light from the lantern hanging from the mainstay, was a Thing; that was the only way to describe it, something of canvas and cordage, with a length of chain attached to it. Sefton was standing beside it.

“I see you’ve finished it, Mr. Sefton.”

“Yes, My Lord. A full hour ago. The sail-maker and his mates worked admirably.”

Hornblower turned to Fell.

“I fancy, Sir Thomas,” he said, “that you have in mind the necessary orders to give. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me about them before you issue them?”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

That eternal Navy answer was the only one Fell could make in the circumstances, even if Fell had not yet given full thought to the next problems. Down in the cabin alone with his Admiral, Fell’s unreadiness was a little apparent.

“I suppose,” prompted Hornblower, “that you will tell off the necessary personnel for the expedition. Which officer can you trust fully to exercise discretion?”

Little by little the details were settled. Powerful swimmers who could work under water; an armourer’s mate who could be relied upon to put the final shackle in the chain in the darkness; the boat’s crew was decided upon, summoned, and instructed in all the details of the plan. When the guard-boat came in for the relief of its crew there was another crew standing by all ready, who went down overside rapidly and quietly although encumbered with the Thing and the necessary gear.

It pushed off again into the darkness, and Hornblower stood on the quarterdeck to watch it go. There might be an international incident arising out of this, or he might be made to appear a fool in the eyes of the world, which would be just as bad. He strained his ears for any sounds in the darkness which would tell him how the work was progressing, but he could hear nothing. The land breeze had just begun to blow, gently, but strongly enough to swing Clorinda to her anchor; it would carry any sounds away from him, he realised—but it would also serve to obscure any suspicious noises if anyone in the Estrella was awake enough to hear them. She had a full counter, with, as was only to be expected, plenty of rake. A swimmer who reached her stern unobserved would be able to work at her rudder unobserved, certainly.

“My Lord,” said Gerard’s voice quietly beside him. “Would not this be a suitable time to rest?”

“You are quite right, Mr. Gerard. A most suitable time,” answered Hornblower, continuing to lean against the rail.

“Well, then, My Lord—?”

“I have agreed with you, Mr. Gerard. Surely you can be content with that?”

But Gerard’s voice went on, remorseless as the voice of conscience.

“There is cold beef laid out in the cabin, My Lord. Fresh bread and a bottle of Bordeaux.”

That was a different story. Hornblower suddenly realised how hungry he was; during the past thirty hours he had eaten one meagre meal, because the cold collation he had expected at the reception had failed to materialise. And he could still pretend to be superior to the weaknesses of the flesh.

“You would have made an excellent wet-nurse, Mr. Gerard,” he said, “if nature had treated you more generously. But I suppose my life will be unbearable until I yield to your importunity.”

On the way to the companion they passed Fell; he was striding up and down the quarterdeck in the darkness, and they could hear his hard breathing. It pleased Hornblower to know that even these muscular heroes could feel anxiety. It might be polite, even kind, to invite Fell to join them at this cold supper, but Hornblower dismissed the idea. He had had as much of Fell’s company already as he could bear.

Down below, Spendlove was waiting in the lighted cabin.

“The vultures are gathered together,” said Hornblower. It was amusing to see Spendlove was pale and tense too. “I hope you gentlemen will join me.”

The younger men were silent as they ate. Hornblower put his nose to his glass of wine and sipped thoughtfully.

“Six months in the tropics has done this Bordeaux no good,” he commented; it was inevitable that as host, and Admiral, and older man, his opinion should be received with deference. Spendlove broke the next silence.

“That length of spun yarn, My Lord,” he said. “The breaking strain—”

“Mr. Spendlove,” said Hornblower. “All the discussion in the world won’t change it now. We shall know in good time. Meanwhile, let’s not spoil our dinner with technical discussions.”

“Your pardon, My Lord,” said Spendlove, abashed. Was it by mere coincidence or through telepathy that Hornblower had been thinking at that very moment about the breaking strain of that length of spun yarn in the drogue; but he would not dream of admitting that he had been thinking about it. The dinner continued.

“Well,” said Hornblower, raising his glass, “we can admit the existence of mundane affairs long enough to allow of a toast. Here’s to head money.”

As they drank they heard unmistakable sounds on deck and overside. The guard-boat had returned from its mission. Spendlove and Gerard exchanged glances, and poised themselves ready to stand up. Hornblower forced himself to lean back and shake his head sadly, his glass still in his hand.

“Too bad about this Bordeaux, gentlemen,” he said.

Then came the knock on the door and the expected message.

“Cap’n’s respects, My Lord, and the boat has returned.”

“My compliments to the captain, and I’ll be glad to see him and the lieutenant here as soon as is convenient.”

One glance at Fell as he entered the cabin was sufficient to indicate that the expedition had been successful, so far, at least.

“All well, My Lord,” he said, his florid face suffused with excitement.

“Excellent.” The lieutenant was a grizzled veteran older than Hornblower; and Hornblower could not help but think to himself that had he not enjoyed great good fortune on several occasions he would be only a lieutenant, too. “Will you sit down, gentlemen? A glass of wine? Mr. Gerard, order fresh glasses, if you please. Sir Thomas, would you mind if I hear Mr. Field’s story from his own lips?”

Field had no fluency of speech. His story had to be drawn from him by questions. Everything had gone well. Two strong swimmers, their faces blackened, had slipped overside from the guard-boat and had swum unseen to the Estrella. Working with their knives, they had been able to prise off the copper from the second rudder-brace below the waterline. With an auger they had made a space large enough to pass a line through. The most ticklish part of the work had been approaching near enough in the guard-boat and putting the drogue overside after it had been attached to the line, but Field reported that no hail had come from the Estrella. The chain had followed the line and had been securely shackled. Now the drogue hung at Estrella’s stern, safely out of sight below the surface, ready to exert its full force on her rudder when—and if—the spun yarn which held the drogue reversed should part.

“Excellent,” said Hornblower again, when Field’s last halting sentence was uttered. “You’ve done very well, Mr. Field, thank you.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

When Field had left, Hornblower could address himself to Fell.

“Your plan has worked out admirably, Sir Thomas. Now it only remains to catch the Estrella. Iwould strongly recommend you to make all preparations for getting under way at daylight. The sooner we leave after the Estrella has sailed the better, don’t you think?”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

The ship’s bell overhead anticipated the next question Hornblower was about to ask.

“Three hours to daylight,” he said. “I’ll say goodnight to you gentlemen, then.”

It had been a busy day, of ceaseless activity, mental if not physical, since dawn. After a long, hot evening it seemed to Hornblower that his feet had swollen to twice their ordinary size and that his gold-buckled shoes had made no allowance for this expansion—he could hardly pry them off. He took off ribbon and star and gold-laced coat, and reluctantly reminded himself that he would have to put them on again for his ceremonial departure in three hours’ time. He sponged himself down with water from his washbasin, and sank down sighing with relief on his cot in the night cabin.

He woke automatically when the watch was called; the cabin was still quite dark and he was at a loss, for a couple of seconds, about why there should be this feeling of urgency within him. Then he remembered, and was wide awake at once, shouting to the sentry at the door to pass the word for Giles. He shaved by lamplight in feverish haste, and then, once more in the hated full-dress uniform, he sped up the ladder to the quarterdeck. It was still pitch dark; no, perhaps there was the slightest glimmering of daylight. Perhaps the sky was the smallest trifle brighter over the Morro. Perhaps. The quarterdeck was crowded with shadowy figures, more even than would be found there with the ship’s company at stations for getting under way. At sight of them he nearly turned back, having no wish to reveal that he shared the same weaknesses as the rest of them, but Fell had caught sight of him.

“Good morning, My Lord.”

“Morning, Sir Thomas.”

“Land breeze blowing full, My Lord.”

No doubt about that; Hornblower could feel it breathing round him, delightful after the sweltering stuffiness of the cabin. In these midsummer tropics it would be of short duration; it would be cut off short as soon as the sun, lifting over the horizon, should get to work in its brassy strength upon the land.

“Estrella’s making ready for sea, My Lord.”

There was no doubt about that either; the sounds of it made their way over the water through the twilight.

“I don’t have to ask if you are ready, Sir Thomas.”

“All ready, My Lord. Hands standing by at the capstan.”

“Very well.”

Undoubtedly it was lighter already; the figures on the quarterdeck—now much more clearly defined—had all moved over to the starboard side, lining the rail. Half a dozen telescopes were being extended and pointed towards the Estrella.

“Sir Thomas, put an end to that, if you please. Send that crowd below.”

“They’re anxious to see—”

“I know what they want to see. Send them below immediately.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Everyone, of course, was desperately anxious to see if anything was visible at the Estrella’s waterline aft, which might reveal what had been done at night. But there could be no surer way of calling the attention of the Estrella’s captain to something suspicious under his stern than by pointing telescopes at it.

“Officer of the watch!”

“My Lord?”

“See to it that no one points a telescope for one moment towards the Estrella.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

“When there’s enough light to see clearly, you can sweep round the harbour as you might be expected to do. Not more than five seconds for the Estrella, but make sure you see all there is to see.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

The eastern sky was now displaying faint greens and yellows, against which the Morro silhouetted itself magnificently though faintly, but in its shadow all was still dark. Even before breakfast it was a romantic moment. It occurred to Hornblower that the presence of an Admiral in full dress on the quarterdeck so early might itself be a suspicious circumstance.

“I’m going below, Sir Thomas. Please keep me informed.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

In the day cabin Gerard and Spendlove sprang to their feet as he entered; presumably they had been among those driven below by Fell’s order.

“Mr. Spendlove, I am profiting by your admirable example of yesterday. I shall make sure of my breakfast while I may. Would you please order breakfast, Mr. Gerard? I presume you gentlemen will favour me with your company.”

He threw himself negligently into a chair and watched the preparations. Half way through them a knock at the door brought in Fell himself.

“Estrella’s clearly in sight now, My Lord. And there’s nothing visible under her stern.”

“Thank you, Sir Thomas.”

A cup of coffee was welcome at this time in the morning. Hornblower did not have to pretend eagerness to drink it. Daylight was creeping in through the cabin windows, making the lamplight garish and unnecessary. Another knock brought in a midshipman.

“Cap’n’s respects, My Lord, and Estrella’s casting off.”

“Very well.”

Soon she would be under way, and their device would be put to the test. Hornblower made himself bite and masticate another mouthful of toast.

“Can’t you young men sit still for even a moment?” he snapped. “Pour me some more coffee, Gerard.”

“Estrella’s warping out into the channel, My Lord,” reported the midshipman again.

“Very well,” said Hornblower, sipping fastidiously at his coffee, and hoping that no one could guess how much his pulse rate had accelerated. The minutes dragged by.

“Estrella’s preparing to make sail, My Lord.”

“Very well.” Hornblower put down his coffee cup, slowly, and as slowly as he could manage it rose from his chair, the eyes of the two young men never leaving him.

“I think,” he said, dragging out his words, “we might now go on deck.”

Pacing as slowly as when he had been a mourner at Nelson’s funeral he walked out past the sentry and up the ladder; behind him the young men had to curb their impatience. It was dazzling bright on deck; the sun was just over the Morro. In the centre of the fairway at less than a cable’s length distance lay the Estrella, gleaming in her white paint. As Hornblower’s eyes rested on her her jib extended itself upwards, to catch the wind and swing her round. Next moment her mainsail took the wind, and she steadied herself, gathering way; in a few seconds she was moving forward past the Clorinda. This was the moment. Fell was standing staring at her and muttering to himself; he was blaspheming in his excitement. Estrella dipped her colours; on her deck Hornblower was able to recognise the figure of Gomez, standing directing the handling of the schooner. Gomez caught sight of him at the same moment, and bowed, holding his hat across his chest, and Hornblower returned the compliment.

“She’s not making two knots through the water,” said Hornblower.

“Thank God for that,” said Fell.

Estrella glided on towards the entrance, preparatory to making the dog-legged turn out to sea; Gomez was handling her beautifully under her very easy sail.

“Shall I follow her now, My Lord?”

“I think it’s time, Sir Thomas.”

“Hands to the capstan, there! Headsail sheets, Mr. Field!”

Even at two knots there would be some strain on that length of spun yarn. It must not part—it must not—before Estrella was well out to sea. Lusty arms and sturdy backs were heaving Clorinda’s cable short.

“Clear away the saluting carronade, there!”

Estrella had made the turn; the last of her mainsail was vanishing round the corner. Fell was giving his orders to get Clorinda under way steadily and clearly, despite his excitement. Hornblower was watching him narrowly; this was not a bad test of how he would behave in action, of how he would take his ship down into the smoke and fury of a battle.

“Main tops’l braces!”

Fell was bringing the big frigate round in as neat a fashion as Gomez had handled Estrella. Clorinda steadied herself and gathered way, moving down the channel.

“Man the rail!”

Whatever was going on round the corner, whatever was happening to the Estrella out of sight, the compliments must be paid. Nine-tenths of Clorinda’s crew on deck could be spared for the purpose; with the ship creeping forward before the land breeze the other one-tenth sufficed to keep her under control. Hornblower drew himself up and faced the Spanish flag flying over the Morro, his hand to his hat brim, Fell beside him, the other officers in rank behind, while the salute banged out and was returned, the flags dipping respectfully.

“Carry on!”

They were approaching the turn. It was possible that at any moment one of those grinning cannons up there would pitch a warning shot at them—a shot warning them that a hundred other guns were ready to pound them into a wreck; that would be if the drogue had begun to take obvious effect on the Estrella.

“Main tops’l braces!” came Fell’s order again.

Already the big Atlantic rollers were making their effect felt; Hornblower could feel Clorinda’s bows lift momentarily to a dying surge.

“Hard a-starboard!” Clorinda turned steadily. “Meet her! Steady as you go.”

She had hardly settled on her new course when Estrella came in sight again a mile farther out to sea, her bows pointed in almost the opposite direction; she was still under very easy canvas, thank God, steadying herself for the final turn from the channel out into the ocean. Clorinda’s main topsail shivered briefly as the Morro height intercepted the land breeze, but drew again instantly. Estrella was turning again now. She was hardly within cannon shot of the Morro.

“Port!” came Fell’s order. “Steady!”

The land breeze was right aft now, but dying away, partly with their increased distance from land and partly with the growing heat of the sun.

“Set the mains’l.”

Fell was quite right; there was need to hasten, lest the ship be delayed in the belt of doldrums between the land breeze and the trade wind. The enormous sail area of the main course carried Clorinda forward boldly, and once more the sound of the ship’s way through the water became audible. Estrella was clear of the channel now; Hornblower, watching anxiously, saw her set foresail and staysails and jibs, all her fore and aft canvas in fact. She was holding her course northward, close-hauled, directly away from the land; she must have caught the trade wind and was making northing, very sensibly, because she would have to weather Haiti before next morning on her course to the Old Bahama Channel and Havana. They were far enough from the Morro now, and from Estrella, to incur no suspicion by staring through telescopes at her. Hornblower looked long and carefully. He could detect nothing unusual about her appearance. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Gomez had detected the drogue under his stern and had removed it. He might even now be exploding with laughter, along with his officers, looking back at the British frigate hopefully following them.

“Port!” came Fell’s order again, and Clorinda took the final turn.

“Leading marks in line, sir!” reported the master, looking aft at the land with his telescope to his eye.

“Very well. Steady as you go.”

Now the waves they were encountering were true Atlantic rollers, heaving up Clorinda’s starboard bow, and passing aft as the bows dipped to heave up the port quarter. Estrella right ahead was still close-hauled on a northerly course under fore and aft canvas.

“She’ll be making six knots,” estimated Gerard, standing with Spendlove a yard from Hornblower.

“That spun yarn should hold at six knots,” said Spendlove, meditatively.

“No bottom with this line!” reported the leadsman in the chains.

“All hands make sail!”

The order was being piped through the ship. Topgallants and royals were being spread; it was not long before Clorinda had every stitch of canvas set.

Yet the land breeze was dying fast. Clorinda was hardly making steerage way. Once, twice, the sails flapped like thunder, but she still held her course, creeping forward over the blue and white sea, with the sun blazing down upon her from a blue sky with hardly a fleck of cloud.

“Can’t keep her on her course, sir,” reported the quartermaster.

Clorinda was yawing sluggishly as the rollers came at her. Far ahead the Estrella was almost hull down. Now came a breath of a different air, the tiniest breath; Hornblower felt it, nearly imperceptible, on his sweating face long before Clorinda made response. It was a different air indeed, not the heated air of the land breeze, but the fresher air of the trade wind, clean with its passage over three thousand miles of ocean. The sails flapped and shivered; Clorinda swung more meaningly.

“Here it comes!” exclaimed Fell. “Full and by!”

A stronger puff came, so that the rudder could bite. A lull, another puff, another lull, another puff, yet each puff was stronger yet. The next puff did not die away. It endured, heeling Clorinda over. A roller burst against her starboard bow in a dazzling rainbow. Now they had caught the trade wind; now they could thrust their way northwards close-hauled in the trail of the Estrella. With the clean, fresh wind blowing, and the sensation of successful striving with it, a new animation came over the ship. There were smiles to be seen.

“She hasn’t set her tops’ls yet, My Lord,” said Gerard, his telescope still to his eye.

“I doubt if she will while she makes her northing,” replied Hornblower.

“On a wind she can weather and headreach on us,” said Spendlove. “Just as she did yesterday.”

Yesterday? Was it only yesterday? It could have been a month ago, so much had happened since yesterday’s chase.

“Do you think that drogue ought to have any effect?” asked Fell, approaching them.

“None, sir, practically speaking,” answered Spendlove. “Not while that spun yarn keeps it tail forward.”

Fell had one huge hand clasped in the other, grinding his knuckles into his palm.

“For me,” said Hornblower, and every eye turned to him, “I am going to say farewell to gold lace. A cooler coat and a looser neckcloth.”

Let Fell display worry and nervousness; he himself was going below as if he had no interest whatever in the outcome of the affair. Down in the hot cabin it was a relief to throw off his full-dress uniform—ten pounds of broadcloth and gold—and to have Giles get out a clean shirt and white duck trousers.

“I’ll take my bath,” said Hornblower, meditatively.

He knew perfectly well that Fell thought it undignified and dangerous to discipline that an Admiral should disport himself under the washdeck pump, hosed down by grinning seamen, and he neither agreed nor cared. No miserable sponging down could take the place of his bath. The seamen pumped vigorously, and Hornblower pranced with middle-aged abandon under the stinging impact of the water. Now the clean shirt and trousers were doubly delightful; he felt a new man as he came on deck again, and his unconcern was not all pretence when Fell nervously approached him.

“She’s running clean away from us again, My Lord,” he said.

“We know she can, Sir Thomas. We can only wait until she puts her helm up and sets her tops’ls.”

“As long as we can keep her in sight—” said Fell.

Clorinda was lying right over, fighting her way to the northward.

“I can see that we’re doing all we can, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, soothingly.

The morning was wearing on. “Up spirits!” was piped, and Fell agreed with the sailing master that it was noon, and the hands were sent to dinner. Now it was only when Clorinda lifted to a wave that a telescope, trained over the starboard bow from the quarterdeck, could detect the gleam of Estrella’s sails over the horizon. She still had no topsails set; Gomez was acting on the knowledge that close-hauled his schooner behaved better without her square sails—unless he was merely playing with his pursuers. The hills of Puerto Rico had sunk out of sight below the horizon far, far astern. And the roast beef at dinner, roast fresh beef, had been most disappointing, tough and stringy and without any taste whatever.

“Stuart said he’d send me the best sirloin the island could produce, My Lord,” said Gerard, in answer to Hornblower’s expostulations.

“I wish I had him here,” said Hornblower. “I’d make him eat it, every bit, without salt. Sir Thomas, please accept my apologies.”

“Er—yes, My Lord,” said Fell, who had been invited to his Admiral’s table and who had been recalled from his own private thoughts by Hornblower’s apologies. “That drogue—”

Having said those words—that special word, rather—he was unable to say more. He looked across the table at Hornblower. His lantern-jawed face—the brick-red cheeks always looked odd in that conformation—showed his anxiety, which was accentuated by the look in his eyes.

“If we don’t know all about it today,” said Hornblower, “we’ll hear all about it at some later date.”

It was the truth, even though it was not the kindest thing to say.

“We’ll be the laughing-stock of the Islands,” said Fell.

No one in the world could look more miserable than he did at that moment. Hornblower himself was inclined to give up hope, but the sight of that despair roused his contrary nature.

“There’s all the difference in the world between six knots, which she’s making now close-hauled, and twelve knots, which she’ll make when she puts up her helm,” he said. “Mr. Spendlove here will tell you that the water resistance is a function of the square of the speed. Isn’t that so, Mr. Spendlove?”

“Perhaps a function of the cube or even one of the higher powers, My Lord.”

“So we can still hope, Sir Thomas. That spun yarn will have eight times the pull upon it when she alters course.”

“It’ll be chafing now, as well, My Lord,” added Spendlove.

“If they didn’t see the thing last night and cast it off,” said Fell, still gloomy.

When they reached the deck again the sun was inclining towards the west.

“Masthead, there!” hailed Fell. “Is the chase still in sight?”

“Yes, sir. Hull down from here, sir, but plain in sight. Two points or thereabouts on the weather bow.”

“She’s made all the northing she needs,” grumbled Fell. “Why doesn’t she alter course?”

There was nothing to do except wait, to try and extract some pleasure from the clean wind and the blue and white sea; but the pleasure was only faint now, the sea did not seem so blue. Nothing to do except wait, with the minutes dragging like hours. Then it happened.

“Deck, there! Chase is altering course to port. She’s running right before the wind.”

“Very well.”

Fell looked round at all the faces of the crowd on the quarterdeck. His own was as tense as anyone else’s.

“Mr. Sefton, alter course four points to port.”

He was going to play the game out to the bitter end, even though yesterday’s experience, closely parallel to the present, had shown that Clorinda stood no chance in normal circumstances of intercepting.

“Deck, there! She’s settin’ her tops’ls. T’garns’ls, too, sir!”

“Very well.”

“We’ll soon know now,” said Spendlove. “With the drogue in action she must lose speed. She must.”

“Deck, there! Cap’n, sir!” The lookout’s voice had risen to a scream of excitement. “She’s flown up into the wind! She’s all aback! Fore topmast’s gone, sir!”

“So have her rudder pintles,” said Hornblower, grimly.

Fell was leaping on the deck, actually dancing with joy, his face radiant. But he re-collected himself with all speed.

“Come two points to starboard,” he ordered. “Mr. James, get aloft with you and tell me how she bears.”

“She’s taking in her mains’l!” shouted the lookout.

“Trying to get before the wind again,” commented Gerard.

“Cap’n, sir!” This was James’s voice from the masthead. “You’re heading a point to loo’ard of her.”

“Very well.”

“She’s coming before the wind—no, she’s all aback again, sir!”

The Thing still had her by the tail, then; her struggles would be as unavailing as those of a deer in the claws of a lion.

“Steer small, you—” said Fell, using a horrible word to the helmsman.

Everyone was excited, everyone seemed to be obsessed with the fear that Estrella would clear away the wreck and make her escape after all.

“With her rudder gone she’ll never be able to hold a course,” said Hornblower. “And she’s lost her fore-topmast, too.”

Another wait, but of a very different nature now. Clorinda, thrashing along, seemed to have caught the excitement and to have put on a spurt as she hurled herself at her quarry, racing forward to triumph.

“There she is!” said Gerard, telescope trained forward. “All aback still.”

As the next wave lifted Clorinda they all caught sight of her; they were approaching her fast. A sorry, pitiful sight she looked, her fore-topmast broken off clean at the cap, her sails shivering in the wind.

“Clear away the bow chaser,” ordered Fell. “Fire a shot across her bow.”

The shot was fired. Something rose to the schooner’s main peak, and broke out into the red and gold of Spain. It hung there for a moment and then came slowly down again.

“Congratulations on the success of your plans, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower.

“Thank you, My Lord,” answered Fell. He was beaming with pleasure. “I could have done nothing without Your Lordship’s acceptance of my suggestions.”

“That is very good of you, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, turning back to look at the prize.

The Estrella was a pitiful sight, the more pitiful as they approached her, and could see more clearly the raffle of wreckage dangling forward, and the rudder torn loose aft. The sudden tug of the drogue when it took effect, using enormous force and leverage, had broken or pulled straight the stout bronze pintles on which the rudder had hung suspended. The drogue itself, weighted by its chain, still hung out of sight below the dangling rudder. Gomez, brought triumphantly aboard, had still no idea of the cause of the disaster, and had not guessed at the reason for the loss of his rudder. He had been young and handsome and dignified in the face of undeserved misfortune when he arrived on Clorinda’s deck. There was no pleasure in observing the change in him when he was told the truth. No pleasure at all. The sight even took away the feeling of pleasure over a professional triumph, to see him wilting under the eyes of his captors. But still, more than three hundred slaves had been set free.

Hornblower was dictating his despatch to Their Lordships, and Spendlove, who numbered this newfangled shorthand among his surprising accomplishments, was slashing down the letter at a speed that made light of Hornblower’s stumbling sentences—Hornblower had not yet acquired the art of dictation.

“In conclusion,” said Hornblower, “it gives me particular pleasure to call Their Lordships’ attention to the ingenuity and activity of Captain Sir Thomas Fell, which made this exemplary capture possible.”

Spendlove looked up from his pad and stared at him. Spendlove knew the truth; but the unblinking stare which answered him defied him to utter a word.

“Add the usual official ending,” said Hornblower.

It was not for him to explain his motives to his secretary. Nor could he have explained them if he had tried. He liked Fell no better now than before.

“Now a letter to my agent,” said Hornblower.

“Aye aye, My Lord,” said Spendlove, turning a page.

Hornblower began to assemble in his mind the sentences composing this next letter. He wanted to say that because the capture was due to Sir Thomas’s suggestions he did not wish to apply for his share of head money for himself. It was his desire that the share of the Flag should be allocated to Sir Thomas.

“No,” said Hornblower. “Belay that. I won’t write after all.”

“Aye aye, My Lord,” said Spendlove.

It was possible to pass on to another man distinction and honour, but one could not pass on money. There was something obvious, something suspicious, about that. Sir Thomas might guess, and Sir Thomas’s feelings might be hurt, and he would not risk it. But he wished he liked Sir Thomas better, all the same.