Hornblower in the West Indies h-12 Read online

  “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 s
peaking,” 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.