“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 Mendez-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.