“Flag,” answered the midshipman. “Clorinda.”
The two brief words were all that were needed to inform the guardboat that an Admiral and a captain were approaching.
“You see, Major,” said Hornblower, “that Captain Fell deemed it necessary to row guard round the ship during the night.”
“I understood that to be the case, Your Excellency,” answered Mendez-Castillo.
“Our seamen will go to great lengths to indulge themselves in the pleasures of the shore.”
“Naturally, Your Excellency,” said Mendez-Castillo.
The boat ran alongside the Clorinda; standing awkwardly in the stern-sheets Hornblower said his last goodbyes, and uttered his last words of thanks, to the representative of his host before going up the side. From the entry port he watched the boat shove off again and disappear into the darkness.
“Now,” he said, “we can make better use of our time.”
On the maindeck, just visible in the light from the lantern hanging from the mainstay, was a Thing; that was the only way to describe it, something of canvas and cordage, with a length of chain attached to it. Sefton was standing beside it.
“I see you’ve finished it, Mr Sefton.”
“Yes, My Lord. A full hour ago. The sail-maker and his mates worked admirably.”
Hornblower turned to Fell.
“I fancy, Sir Thomas,” he said, “that you have in mind the necessary orders to give. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me about them before you issue them?”
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
That eternal Navy answer was the only one Fell could make in the circumstances, even if Fell had not yet given full thought to the next problems. Down in the cabin alone with his Admiral, Fell’s unreadiness was a little apparent.
“I suppose,” prompted Hornblower, “that you will tell off the necessary personnel for the expedition. Which officer can you trust fully to exercise discretion?”
Little by little the details were settled. Powerful swimmers who could work under water; an armourer’s mate who could be relied upon to put the final shackle in the chain in the darkness; the boat’s crew was decided upon, summoned, and instructed in all the details of the plan. When the guard-boat came in for the relief of its crew there was another crew standing by all ready, who went down overside rapidly and quietly although encumbered with the Thing and the necessary gear.
It pushed off again into the darkness, and Hornblower stood on the quarterdeck to watch it go. There might be an international incident arising out of this, or he might be made to appear a fool in the eyes of the world, which would be just as bad. He strained his ears for any sounds in the darkness which would tell him how the work was progressing, but he could hear nothing. The land breeze had just begun to blow, gently, but strongly enough to swing Clorinda to her anchor; it would carry any sounds away from him, he realised — but it would also serve to obscure any suspicious noises if anyone in the Estrella was awake enough to hear them. She had a full counter, with, as was only to be expected, plenty of rake. A swimmer who reached her stern unobserved would be able to work at her rudder unobserved, certainly.
“My Lord,” said Gerard’s voice quietly beside him. “Would not this be a suitable time to rest?”
“You are quite right, Mr Gerard. A most suitable time,” answered Hornblower, continuing to lean against the rail.
“Well, then, My Lord — ?”
“I have agreed with you, Mr Gerard. Surely you can be content with that?”
But Gerard’s voice went on, remorseless as the voice of conscience.
“There is cold beef laid out in the cabin, My Lord. Fresh bread and a bottle of Bordeaux.”
That was a different story. Hornblower suddenly realised how hungry he was; during the past thirty hours he had eaten one meagre meal, because the cold collation he had expected at the reception had failed to materialise. And he could still pretend to be superior to the weaknesses of the flesh.
“You would have made an excellent wet-nurse, Mr Gerard,” he said, “if nature had treated you more generously. But I suppose my life will be unbearable until I yield to your importunity.”
On the way to the companion they passed Fell; he was striding up and down the quarterdeck in the darkness, and they could hear his hard breathing. It pleased Hornblower to know that even these muscular heroes could feel anxiety. It might be polite, even kind, to invite Fell to join them at this cold supper, but Hornblower dismissed the idea. He had had as much of Fell’s company already as he could bear.
Down below, Spendlove was waiting in the lighted cabin.
“The vultures are gathered together,” said Hornblower. It was amusing to see Spendlove was pale and tense too. “I hope you gentlemen will join me.”
The younger men were silent as they ate. Hornblower put his nose to his glass of wine and sipped thoughtfully.
“Six months in the tropics has done this Bordeaux no good,” he commented; it was inevitable that as host, and Admiral, and older man, his opinion should be received with deference. Spendlove broke the next silence.
“That length of spun yarn, My Lord,” he said. “The breaking strain —”
“Mr Spendlove,” said Hornblower. “All the discussion in the world won’t change it now. We shall know in good time. Meanwhile, let’s not spoil our dinner with technical discussions.”
“Your pardon, My Lord,” said Spendlove, abashed. Was it by mere coincidence or through telepathy that Hornblower had been thinking at that very moment about the breaking strain of that length of spun yarn in the drogue; but he would not dream of admitting that he had been thinking about it. The dinner continued.
“Well,” said Hornblower, raising his glass, “we can admit the existence of mundane affairs long enough to allow of a toast. Here’s to head money.”
As they drank they heard unmistakable sounds on deck and overside. The guard-boat had returned from its mission. Spendlove and Gerard exchanged glances, and poised themselves ready to stand up. Hornblower forced himself to lean back and shake his head sadly, his glass still in his hand.
“Too bad about this Bordeaux, gentlemen,” he said.
Then came the knock on the door and the expected message.
“Cap’n’s respects, My Lord, and the boat has returned.”
“My compliments to the captain, and I’ll be glad to see him and the lieutenant here as soon as is convenient.”
One glance at Fell as he entered the cabin was sufficient to indicate that the expedition had been successful, so far, at least.
“All well, My Lord,” he said, his florid face suffused with excitement.
“Excellent.” The lieutenant was a grizzled veteran older than Hornblower; and Hornblower could not help but think to himself that had he not enjoyed great good fortune on several occasions he would be only a lieutenant, too. “Will you sit down, gentlemen? A glass of wine? Mr Gerard, order fresh glasses, if you please. Sir Thomas, would you mind if I hear Mr Field’s story from his own lips?”
Field had no fluency of speech. His story had to be drawn from him by questions. Everything had gone well. Two strong swimmers, their faces blackened, had slipped overside from the guard-boat and had swum unseen to the Estrella. Working with their knives, they had been able to prise off the copper from the second rudder-brace below the waterline. With an auger they had made a space large enough to pass a line through. The most ticklish part of the work had been approaching near enough in the guard-boat and putting the drogue overside after it had been attached to the line, but Field reported that no hail had come from the Estrella. The chain had followed the line and had been securely shackled. Now the drogue hung at Estrella‘s stern, safely out of sight below the surface, ready to exert its full force on her rudder when — and if — the spun yarn which held the drogue reversed should part.