“Put out my best uniform again,” snapped Hornblower. “And I want the after cabin ready for a state dinner for eight at six bells. Go for’rard and bring my cook to me.”
There was plenty to do. Bush and Rayner the first and fourth lieutenants, and Simmonds the marine officer, and Crystal the master, had to be invited to the dinner and warned to be ready in full dress. Plans had to be made for the accommodation of five hundred men on board the two frigates.
Hornblower was just looking across to the Natividad, where she swung with her white ensign over the red and gold of Spain, wondering what steps he should take with regard to her, when a boat came running gaily out to him from the shore. The leader of the party which came on board was a youngish man of less than middle height, slight of figure and lithe as a monkey, with a mobile smile and an expression of indefeatable good humour. He looked more Spanish than American. Bush brought him up to where Hornblower impatiently trod his quarterdeck. Making a cordial bow, the newcomer introduced himself.
“I am Vice-Admiral Don Cristobal de Crespo,” he said.
Hornblower could not help but look him up and down. The Vice-Admiral wore gold earrings, and his gold embroidered coat did not conceal the raggedness of the grey shirt beneath. At least he wore boots, of soft brown leather, into which were tucked his patched white trousers.
“Of el Supremo’s service?” asked Hornblower.
“Of course. May I introduce my officers. Ship-captain Andrade. Frigate-captain Castro. Corvette-captain Carrera. Lieutenants Barrios and Barillas and Cerno. Aspirants Diaz—”
The dozen officers introduced under these resounding titles were barefooted Indians, the red sashes round their waists stuck full of pistols and knives. They bowed awkwardly to Hornblower; one or two of them wore expressions of brutish cruelty.
“I have come,” said Crespo, amiably, “to hoist my flag in my new ship Natividad. It is el Supremo’s wish that you should salute it with the eleven guns due to a vice-admiral.”
Hornblower’s jaw dropped a little at that. His years of service had grained into him despite himself a deep respect for the details of naval pageantry, and he was irked by the prospect of giving this ragged-shirted rascal as many guns as Nelson ever had. With an effort he swallowed his resentment He knew he had to go through with the farce to the bitter end if he was to glean any success. With an empire at stake it would be foolish to strain at points of ceremony.
“Certainly, Admiral,” he said. “It gives me great happiness to be one of the first to congratulate you upon your appointment.”
“Thank you, Captain. There will be one or two details to attend to first,” said the vice-admiral. “May I ask if the executive officers of the Natividad are on board here or are still in the Natividad?”
“I greatly regret,” said Hornblower, “that I dropped them overboard this morning after courtmartial.”
“That is indeed a pity,” said Crespo. “I have el Supremo’s orders to hang them at the Natividad’s yardarms. You did not leave even one?”
“No one, Admiral. I am sorry that I received no orders from el Supremo on the subject.”
“There is no help for it, then. Doubtless there will be others. I will go on board my ship, then. Perhaps you will be good enough to accompany me so as to give orders to your prize crew?”
“Certainly, Admiral.”
Hornblower was curious to see how el Supremo’s subordinates would deal with the problem of changing the allegiance of a whole ship’s crew. He gave hurried orders to the gunner for the saluting of the flag when it should be hoisted in the Natividad, and went down into the boat with the new officers.
On board the Natividad Crespo swaggered on to the quarterdeck. The Spanish sailing master and his mates were grouped there, and under their startled eyes he walked up to the image of the Virgin and Child beside the taffrail and tossed it overboard. At a sign from him one of the aspirants hauled down the Spanish and British ensigns from the peak. Then he turned upon the navigating officers. It was a dramatic scene on that crowded quarterdeck in the brilliant sunshine. The British marines stood in rigid line in their red coats, with ordered arms. The British seamen stood by their carronades, matches smouldering, for no orders had yet relieved them of their duty. Gerard came over and stood beside Hornblower.
“Which is the sailing master?” demanded Crespo.
“I am,” quavered one of the Spaniards.
“Are you his mates?” rasped Crespo, and received frightened nods in reply.
All trace of humour had disappeared from Crespo’s expression. He seemed to expand and dilate with cold anger.
“You,” he said, pointing at the youngest. “You will now hold up your hand and declare your faith in our lord el Supremo. Hold up your hand.”
The boy obeyed as if in a trance.
“Now repeat after me. ‘I swear—’”
The boy’s face was white. He tried to look round at his superior officer, but his gaze was held by Crespo’s glaring eyes.
“’I swear,’” said Crespo, more menacingly. The boy’s mouth opened and shut without a sound. Then convulsively he freed himself from the hypnotic stare. His hand wavered and came down, and he looked away from Crespo’s pointing right forefinger. Instantly Crespo’s left hand shot out; so quick was the motion that no one could see until afterwards that it held a pistol from his sash. The shot rang out, and the boy, with a pistol ball in his stomach, fell to the deck writhing in agony. Crespo disregarded his convulsions and turned to the next man.
“You will now swear,” he said.
He swore at once, repeating Crespo’s words in quavering tones. The half dozen sentences were very much to the point; they declared the omnipotence of el Supremo, testified to the speaker’s faith, and in a single sweeping blasphemy denied the existence of God and the virginity of the Mother of God. The others followed his example, repeating the words of the oath one after the other, while no one paid any attention to the dying boy at their feet. Crespo only condescended to notice him after the conclusion of the ceremony.
“Throw that overboard,” he said curtly. The officers only hesitated a moment under his gaze, and then one stooped and lifted the boy by his shoulders, another by his feet, and they flung the still living body over the rail.
Crespo waited for the splash, and then walked forward to the quarterdeck rail with its peeling gilt. The herded crew in the waist listened dumbly to his uplifted voice. Hornblower, gazing down at them, saw that there would be small resistance to Crespo’s missionary efforts. To a man the crew were of non-European blood; presumably during the many years of the Natividad’s commission in the Pacific the original European crew had quite died out. Only officers had been replaced from Spain; fresh hands had been recruited from the native races. There were Chinese among them, as Hornblower recognised, and negroes, and some whose physiognomy was unfamiliar to him—Philipinos.
In five minutes of brilliant speaking Crespo had won them all over. He made no more attempt to enunciate the divinity of el Supremo than was involved in the mention of his name. El Supremo, he said, was at the head of a movement which was sweeping the Spaniards from the dominion of America. Within the year the whole of the New World from Mexico to Peru would be at his feet. There would be an end of Spanish misrule, or brutal domination, of slavery in mine and field. There would be land for the asking for everybody, freedom and happiness under the benign supervision of el Supremo. Who would follow him?