Страница 17 из 70
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 ma
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 a
“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 bi
“My impression,” said Spendlove, gazing over the blue, blue water, “is that she’s still fore-reaching on us.”