Hornblower in the West Indies

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.