Admiral Hornblower

by C. S. Forester

  ‘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 mast-head.

  ‘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. Mast-head, 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 running down for us.’

  Young Gerard, the flag-lieutenant, had come running on deck at the first hail from the mast-head, to his place beside his Admiral.

  ‘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.

  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 rectangle 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 closehauled 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’ crew 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 manned; the hands threw their weight on the handles with a will, the rapid clank-clank proving how hard they were at work, pumping overside the twenty tons of drinking water which might be thought of as the 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 main-mast 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 observ
ed 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 meal-times.’

  ‘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.

  So was Clorinda, but with a difference. Clorinda was a fighting ship, built to carry seventy tons of artillery, with forty tons of powder and shot in her magazines. It was no shame to her that she should be outsailed and outmanoeuvred by such a vessel as the Estrella.

  ‘I fancy she’ll make for San Juan, Sir Thomas,’ said Hornblower.

  Fell’s face bore an expression of helpless fury as he turned to his Admiral; it was with an obvious effort that he restrained himself from pouring out his rage, presumably in a torrent of blasphemy.

  ‘It’s – it’s—’ he spluttered.

  ‘It’s enough to madden a saint,’ said Hornblower.

  Clorinda had been ideally stationed, twenty miles to windward of San Juan; Estrella had run practically into her arms, so to speak, and had yet dodged neatly round her and had won for herself a clear run to the port.

  ‘I’ll see him damned, My Lord!’ said Fell. ‘Quartermaster!’

  There was now the long run ahead to San Juan, one point off the wind, in what was practically a race with an even start. Fell laid a course for San Juan; it was obvious that Estrella, comfortably out of range on the starboard beam, was heading for the same point. Both ships had the wind practically abeam; this long run would be a final test of the sailing qualities of the two ships, as though they were a couple of yachts completing a triangular course in a race in the Solent. Hornblower reminded himself that earlier this morning he had compared the present voyage with a yachting excursion. But the expression in Fell’s face showed that his flag-captain by no means looked on it in the same light. Fell was in the deadliest earnest, and not from any philanthropic feelings about slavery, either. It was the head money he wanted.

  ‘About that breakfast, My Lord?’ s
aid Gerard.

  An officer was touching his hat to Fell with the request that it might be considered noon.

  ‘Make it so,’ said Fell. The welcome cry of ‘Up spirits’ rang through the ship.

  ‘Breakfast, My Lord?’ asked Gerard again.

  ‘Let’s wait and see how we do on this course,’ said Hornblower. He saw something of dismay in Gerard’s face and laughed. ‘It’s a question of your breakfast, I fancy, as well as mine. You’ve had nothing this morning?’

  ‘No, My Lord.’

  ‘I starve my young men, I see,’ said Hornblower, looking from Gerard to Spendlove; but the latter’s expression was peculiarly unchanging, and Hornblower remembered all he knew about him. ‘I’ll wager a guinea that Spendlove hasn’t spent the morning fasting.’

  The suggestion was answered by a wide grin.

  ‘I am no sailor, My Lord,’ said Spendlove. ‘But I have learned one thing while I have been at sea, and that is to snatch at any meal that makes its appearance. Fairy gold vanishes no faster than the opportunity of eating food at sea.’

  ‘So, while your Admiral has been starving, you have been walking this deck with a full belly? Shame on you.’

  ‘I feel that shame as deeply as the situation merits, My Lord.’

  Spendlove obviously had all the tact that an Admiral’s secretary needed to have.

  ‘Hands to the main-brace,’ bellowed Fell.

  Clorinda was hurtling along over the blue sea with the wind abeam; it was her best point of sailing, and Fell was doing all he could to get the very best out of her. Hornblower looked over at Estrella.

  ‘I fancy we’re falling behind,’ he said.

  ‘I think so, too, My Lord,’ said Gerard after a glance in the same direction. He walked over and took a bearing, and Fell glared at him with irritation before turning to Hornblower.