Страница 16 из 70
“Roses,” lied St. Elizabeth.
“Show me,” said her husband.
St. Elizabeth showed him—and her apron was full of roses.
Life could begin anew, thought Hornblower.
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 Brita
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 Cha
“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 ru
Young Gerard, the flag-lieutenant, had come ru
“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.