“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 Mend
ez-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.”
Hornblower in the West Indies h-12 Page 9
