'But what is she doing here?' went on Hornblower.
'She is on her way back to England. She was at Florence when the French marched in, I understand. She reached Leghorn, and bribed a coaster to bring her here. She asked Sir Hew to find her a passage, and Sir Hew asked the Admiral — Sir Hew would ask anyone for anything on behalf of a duchess, even one said by her friends to be an innkeeper's widow.
'I see,' said Hornblower.
There was a burst of merriment from the head of the table, and the duchess was prodding the governor's scarlet-coated ribs with the handle of her knife, as if to make sure he saw the joke.
'Maybe you will not lack for mirth on your homeward voyage,' said the aide-de-camp.
Just then a smoking sirloin of beef was put down in front of Hornblower, and all his other worries vanished before the necessity of carving it and remembering his manners. He took the carving knife and fork gingerly in his hands and glanced round at the company.
'May I help you to some of this beef, Your Grace? Madam? Sir? Well done or underdone, sir? A little of the brown fat?'
In the hot room the sweat ran down his face as he wrestled with the joint; he was fortunate that most of the guests desired helpings from the other removes so that he had little carving to do. He put a couple of haggled slices on his own plate as the simplest way of concealing the worst results of his own handiwork.
'Beef from Tetuan,' sniffed the aide-de-camp. 'Tough and stringy.'
That was all very well for a governor's aide-de-camp — he could not guess how delicious was this food to a young naval officer fresh from beating about at sea in an over-crowded frigate. Even the thought of having to act as host to a duchess could not entirely spoil Hornblower's appetite. And the final dishes, the meringues and macaroons, the custards and the fruits, were ecstasy for a young man whose last pudding had been currant duff last Sunday.
'Those sweet things spoil a man's palate,' said the aide-de-camp — much Hornblower cared.
They were drinking formal toasts now. Hornblower stood for the King and the royal family, and raised his glass for the duchess.
'And now for the enemy,' said Sir Hew, 'may their treasure galleons try to cross the Atlantic.'
'A supplement to that, Sir Hew,' said the commodore at the other end, 'may the Dons make up their minds to leave Cadiz.'
There was a growl almost like wild animals from round the table. Most of the naval officers present were from Jervis' Mediterranean squadron which had beaten about in the Atlantic for the past several months hoping to catch the Spaniards should they come out. Jervis had to detach his ships to Gibraltar two at a time to replenish their stores, and these officers were from the two ships of the line present at the moment in Gibraltar.
'Johnny Jervis would say amen to that,' said Sir Hew. 'A bumper to the Dons then, gentlemen, and may they come out from Cadiz.'
The ladies left them then, gathered together by Lady Dalrymple, and as soon as it was decently possible Hornblower made his excuses and slipped away, determined not to be heavy with wine the night before he sailed in independent command.
Maybe the prospect of the coming on board of the duchess was a useful counter-irritant, and saved Hornblower from worrying too much about his first command. He was up before dawn — before even the brief Mediterranean twilight had begun — to see that his precious ship was in condition to face the sea, and the enemies who swarmed upon the sea. He had four popgun four-pounders to deal with those enemies, which meant that he was safe from no one; his was the weakest vessel at sea, for the smallest trading brig carried a more powerful armament. So that like all weak creatures his only safety lay in flight — Hornblower looked aloft in the half-light, where the sails would be set on which so much might depend. He went over the watch bill with his two watch-keeping officers, Midshipman Hunter and Master's Mate Winyatt, to make sure that every man of his crew of eleven knew his duty. Then all that remained was to put on his smartest seagoing uniform, try to eat breakfast, and wait for the duchess.
She came early, fortunately; Their Excellencies had had to rise at a most unpleasant hour to see her off. Mr Hunter reported the approach of the governor's launch with suppressed excitement.
'Thank you, Mr Hunter,' said Hornblower coldly — that was what the service demanded, even though not so many weeks before they had been playing follow-my-leader through the Indefatigable's rigging together.
The launch swirled alongside, and two neatly dressed seamen hooked on the ladder. Le Rêve had such a small freeboard that boarding her presented no problem even for ladies. The governor stepped on board to the twittering of the only two pipes Le Rêve could muster, and Lady Dalrymple followed him. Then came the duchess, and the duchess's companion; the latter was a younger woman, as beautiful as the duchess must once have been. A couple of aides-de-camp followed, and by that time the minute deck of Le Rêve was positively crowded, so that there was no room left to bring up the duchess's baggage.
'Let us show you your quarters, Your Grace,' said the governor.
Lady Dalrymple squawked her sympathy at sight of the minute cabin, which the two cots almost filled, and every one's head, inevitably, bumped against the deck-beam above. 'We shall live through it,' said the duchess stoically, 'an' that's more than many a man makin' a little trip to Tyburn could say.'
One of the aides-de-camp produced a last minute packet of despatches and demanded Hornblower's signature on the receipt; the last farewells were said, and Sir Hew and Lady Dalrymple went down the side again to the twittering of the pipes.
'Man the windlass!' bellowed Hornblower the moment the launch's crew bent to their oars.
A few seconds' lusty work brought Le Rêve up to her anchor.
'Anchor's aweigh, sir,' reported Winyatt.
'Jib halliards!' shouted Hornblower. 'Mains'l halliards!'
Le Rêve came round before the wind as her sails were set and her rudder took a grip on the water. Everyone was so busy catting the anchor and setting sail that it was Hornblower himself who dipped his colours in salute as Le Rêve crept out beyond the mole before the gentle south-easter, and dipped her nose to the first of the big Atlantic rollers coming in through the Gut. Through the skylight beside him he heard a clatter and a wail, as something fell in the cabin with that first roll, but he could spare no attention for the woman below. He had the glass to his eye now, training it first on Algeciras and then upon Tarifa — some well-manned privateer or ship of war might easily dash out to snap up such a defenceless prey as Le Rêve. He could not relax while the forenoon watch wore on. They rounded Cape Marroqui and he set a course for St Vincent, and then the mountains of Southern Spain began to sink below the horizon. Cape Trafalgar was just visible on the starboard bow when at last he shut the telescope and began to wonder about dinner; it was pleasant to be captain of his own ship and to be able to order dinner when he chose. His aching legs told him he had been on his feet too long — eleven continuous hours; if the future brought him many independent commands he would wear himself out by this sort of behaviour.
Down below he relaxed gratefully on the locker, and sent the cook to knock at the duchess's cabin door to ask with his compliments if all was well; he heard the duchess's sharp voice saying that they needed nothing, not even dinner. Hornblower philosophically shrugged his shoulders and ate his dinner with a young man's appetite. He went on deck again as night closed in upon them; Winyatt had the watch.
'It's coming up thick, sir,' he said.
So it was. The sun was invisible on the horizon, engulfed in watery mist. It was the price he had to pay for a fair wind, he knew; in the winter months in these latitudes there was always likely to be fog where the cool land breeze reached the Atlantic.
'It'll be thicker still by morning,' he said gloomily, and revised his night orders, setting a course due west instead of west by north as he originally intended. He wanted to make certain of keeping clear of Cape St Vincent in the event of fog.
That was one of those minute tri
fles which may affect a man's whole after life — Hornblower had plenty of time later to reflect on what might have happened had he not ordered that alteration of course. During the night he was often on deck, peering through the increasing mist, but at the time when the crisis came he was down below snatching a little sleep. What woke him was a seaman shaking his shoulder violently.
'Please, sir. Please, sir. Mr Hunter sent me. Please, sir, won't you come on deck, he says, sir.'
'I'll come,' said Hornblower, blinking himself awake and rolling out of his cot.
The faintest beginnings of dawn were imparting some slight luminosity to the mist which was close about them. Le Rêve was lurching over an ugly sea with barely enough wind behind her to give her steerage way. Hunter was standing with his back to the wheel in an attitude of tense anxiety.
'Listen!' he said, as Hornblower appeared.
He half-whispered the word, and in his excitement he omitted the 'sir' which was due to his captain — and in his excitement Hornblower did not notice the omission. Hornblower listened. He heard the shipboard noises he could expect — the clattering of the blocks as Le Rêve lurched, the sound of the sea at her bows. Then he heard other shipboard noises. There were other blocks clattering; the sea was breaking beneath other bows.
'There's a ship close alongside,' said Hornblower.
'Yes, sir,' said Hunter. 'And after I sent below for you I heard an order given. And it was in Spanish — some foreign tongue, anyway.'
The tenseness of fear was all about the little ship like the fog.
'Call all hands. Quietly,' said Hornblower.
But as he gave the order he wondered if it would be any use. He could send his men to their stations, he could man and load his four-pounders, but if that ship out there in the fog was of any force greater than a merchant ship he was in deadly peril. Then he tried to comfort himself — perhaps the ship was some fat Spanish galleon bulging with treasure, and were he to board her boldly she would become his prize and make him rich for life.
'A 'appy Valentine's day to you,' said a voice beside him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin with surprise. He had actually forgotten the presence of the duchess on board.
'Stop that row!' he whispered furiously at her, and she pulled up abruptly in astonishment. She was bundled up in a cloak and hood against the damp air, and no further detail could be seen of her in the darkness and fog.
'May I hask—' she began.
'Shut up!' whispered Hornblower.
A harsh voice could be heard through the fog, other voices repeating the order, whistles being blown, much noise and bustle.
'That's Spanish, sir, isn't it?' whispered Hunter.
'Spanish for certain. Calling the watch. Listen!'
The two double-strokes of a ship's bell came to them across the water. Four bells in the morning watch. And instantly from all round them a dozen other bells could be heard, as if echoing the first.
'We're in the middle of a fleet, by God!' whispered Hunter.
'Big ships, too, sir,' supplemented Winyatt who had joined them with the calling of all hands. 'I could hear half a dozen different pipes when they called the watch.'
'The Dons are out, then,' said Hunter.
And the course I set has taken us into the midst of them, thought Hornblower bitterly. The coincidence was maddening, heartbreaking. But he forbore to waste breath over it. He even suppressed the frantic gibe that rose to his lips at the memory of Sir Hew's toast about the Spaniards coming out from Cadiz.
'They're setting more sail,' was what he said. 'Dagos snug down at night, just like some fat Indiaman. They only set their t'gallants at daybreak.'
All round them through the fog could be heard the whine of sheaves in blocks, the stamp-and-go of the men at the halliards, the sound of ropes thrown on decks, the chatter of a myriad voices.
'They make enough noise about it, blast 'em,' said Hunter.
The tension under which he laboured was apparent as he stood straining to peer through the mist.
'Please God they're on a different course to us,' said Winyatt, more sensibly. 'Then we'll soon be through 'em.'
'Not likely,' said Hornblower.
Le Rêve was running almost directly before what little wind there was; if the Spaniards were beating against it or had it on their beam they would be crossing her course at a considerable angle, so that the volume of sound from the nearest ship would have diminished or increased considerably in this time, and there was no indication of that whatever. It was far more likely that Le Rêve had overhauled the Spanish fleet under its nightly short canvas and had sailed forward into the middle of it. It was a problem what to do next in that case, to shorten sail, or to heave to, and let the Spaniards get ahead of them again, or to clap on sail to pass through. But the passage of the minutes brought clear proof that fleet and sloop were on practically the same course, as otherwise they could hardly fail to pass some ship close. As long as the mist held they were safest as they were.
But that was hardly to be expected with the coming of day.
'Can't we alter course, sir?' asked Winyatt.
'Wait,' said Hornblower.
In the faint growing light he had seen shreds of denser mist blowing past them — a clear indication that they could not hope for continuous fog. At that moment they ran out of a fog bank into a clear patch of water.
'There she is, by God!' said Hunter.
Both officers and seamen began to move about in sudden panic.
'Stand still, damn you!' rasped Hornblower, his nervous tension releasing itself in the fierce monosyllables.
Less than a cable's length away a three-decked ship of the line was standing along parallel to them on their starboard side. Ahead and on the port side could be seen the outlines, still shadowy, of other battleships. Nothing could save them if they drew attention to themselves; all that could be done was to keep going as if they had as much right there as the ships of the line. It was possible that in the happy-go-lucky Spanish navy the officer of the watch over there did not know that no sloop like Le Rêve was attached to the fleet — or even possibly by a miracle there might be one. Le Rêve was French built and French rigged, after all. Side by side Le Rêve and the battleship sailed over the lumpy sea. They were within pointblank range of fifty big guns, when one well-aimed shot would sink them. Hunter was uttering filthy curses under his breath, but discipline had asserted itself; a telescope over there on the Spaniard's deck would not discover any suspicious bustle on board the sloop. Another shred of fog drifted past them, and then they were deep in a fresh fog bank.
'Thank God!' said Hunter, indifferent to the contrast between this present piety and his preceding blasphemy.
'Hands wear ship,' said Hornblower. 'Lay her on the port tack.'
There was no need to tell the hands to do it quietly; they were as well aware of their danger as anyone. Le Rêve silently rounded-to, the sheets were hauled in and coiled down without a sound; and the sloop, as close to the wind as she would lie, heeled to the small wind, meeting the lumpy waves with her port bow.
'We'll be crossing their course now,' said Hornblower.
'Please God it'll be under their sterns and not their bows,' said Winyatt.
There was the duchess still in her cloak and hood, standing right aft as much out of the way as possible.
'Don't you think Your Grace had better go below?' asked Hornblower, making use by a great effort of the formal form of address.
'Oh, no, please,' said the duchess. 'I couldn't bear it.' Hornblower shrugged his shoulders, and promptly forgot the duchess's presence again as a new anxiety struck him. He dived below and came up again with the two big sealed envelopes of despatches. He took a belaying pin from the rail and began very carefully to tie the envelopes to the pin with a bit of line.
'Please,' said the duchess, 'please, Mr Hornblower, tell me what you are doing?'
'I want to make sure these will sink when I throw them overboard if we're captured,' said Hor
nblower grimly.
'Then they'll be lost for good?'
'Better that than that the Spaniards should read 'em,' said Hornblower with all the patience he could muster.
'I could look after them for you,' said the duchess. 'Indeed I could.'
Hornblower looked keenly at her.
'No,' he said, 'they might search your baggage. Probably they would.'
'Baggage!' said the duchess. 'As if I'd put them in my baggage! I'll put them next my skin — they won't search me in any case. They'll never find 'em, not if I put 'em up my petticoats.'
There was a brutal realism about those words that staggered Hornblower a little, but which also brought him to admit to himself that there was something in what the duchess was saying.
'If they capture us,' said the duchess, '—I pray they won't, but if they do — they'll never keep me prisoner. You know that. They'll send me to Lisbon or put me aboard a King's ship as soon as they can. Then the despatches will be delivered eventually. Late, but better late than never.'
'That's so,' mused Hornblower.
'I'll guard them like my life,' said the duchess. 'I swear I'll never part from them. I'll tell no one I have them, not until I hand them to a King's officer.'
She met Hornblower's eyes with transparent honesty in her expression.
'Fog's thinning, sir,' said Winyatt.
'Quick!' said the duchess.
There was no time for further debate. Hornblower slipped the envelopes from their binding of rope and handed them over to her, and replaced the belaying pin in the rail.
'These damned French fashions,' said the duchess. 'I was right when I said I'd put these letters up my petticoats. There's no room in my bosom.'
Certainly the upper part of her gown was not at all capacious; the waist was close up under the armpits and the rest of the dress hung down from there quite straight in utter defiance of anatomy.
'Give me a yard of that rope, quick!' said the duchess.
Winyatt cut her a length of the line with his knife and handed it to her. Already she was hauling at her petticoats; the appalled Hornblower saw a gleam of white thigh above her stocking tops before he tore his glance away. The fog was certainly thinning.
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