Hornblower 05 - Hornblower and the Atropos (33 page)

“Mr. Turner,” said Hornblower. “Report any case of inattention to me at once and I will deal with it as it deserves.”

That steadied the young men to a noticeable extent and made them restrain their animal spirits. Smiley checked himself in the midst of a wink at the young Prince, and the Prince's embryo guffaw was stillborn as a guilty grin. That boy was perfectly human now — it was a far cry from the stuffy German court into which he had been born to the windy deck of the Atropos. If ever he were restored to the throne of his fathers he would be free of the thraldom of a sextant, but perhaps he might remember these breezy days with regret. The great-nephew of King George — Hornblower looked at him pretending to study the equilateral triangle scrawled on his slate, and smiled to himself again, remembering Dr. Eisenbeiss's horror at the suggestion that perhaps corporal punishment might come the way of a reigning Prince. It had not so far, but it might.

Four bells sounded, the sand glass was turned, the wheel was relieved, and Turner dismissed his class.

“Mr. Smiley! Mr. Horrocks!”

The released midshipmen turned to their captain.

“I want you at the mastheads now with your glasses.”

Sharp young eyes would be best for looking into Cartagena. Hornblower noticed the appeal in the Prince's expression.

“Very well, Mr. Prince. You can go too. Fore topmast head with Mr. Smiley.”

It was a frequent punishment to send a young officer up to the discomforts of the masthead, but it was no punishment today, not with an enemy's harbour to be examined, and reports made on the shipping inside. Cartagena was fast coming into sight; the castle and the towers of the churches were visible now beyond the sheltering island of La Escombrera. With this westerly wind it was simple enough to stand right in so that from the masthead a view could be had of the inner harbour.

“Deck, there! Captain, sir —”

Smiley was hailing down from the fore topmast head. Hornblower had to walk forward to hear what he had to say, for the wind was sweeping away his words.

“There's a ship of war in the outer bay, sir! Spanish, she looks like. One of their big frigates. She's got her yards across.”

That was likely to be the Castilla, one of the survivors of Trafalgar.

“There's seven sail of coasters anchored close in, sir.”

They were safe enough from the Atropos in these conditions.

“What about the inner harbour?”

“Four — no five ships moored there, sir. And two hulks.”

“What d'you make of them?”

“Four of the line, sir, and a frigate. No yards across. Laid up in ordinary, I should say, sir.”

In past years the Spanish government had built fine ships, but under the corruption and inefficiency of Godoy they were allowed to rot at their moorings for want of crews and stores. Four of the line and a frigate laid up at Cartagena was what had last been reported there, so there was no change; negative information for Collingwood again, but useful.

“She's setting sail!”

That was the prince's voice, high-pitched and excited, screaming down. A moment later Horrocks and Smiley were supplementing the warning.

“The frigate, sir! She's getting sail on her!”

“I can see her cross, sir!”

Spanish ships of war had the habit of hoisting huge wooden crosses at the mizzen peak when action seemed timely. The frigate must be intending to make a sortie, to chase away this inquisitive visitor. It was high time to beat a retreat. A big Spanish frigate such as the Castilla carried forty-four guns, just twice as many as Atropos, and with three times their weight of metal. If only over the horizon Atropos had a colleague to whom she could lure the Castilla! That was something to bear in mind and to suggest to Collingwood in any case; this Spanish captain was enterprising and energetic, and might be rash — he might be smouldering with shame after Trafalgar, and he might be lured out to his destruction.

“She's under way, sir!”

“Fore tops'l set! Main tops'l set, sir!”

No sense in courting danger, even though with this wind Atropos had a clear run to safety.

“Keep her away a point,” said Hornblower to the helmsman, and Atropos turned a little to show a clean pair of heels to the Spaniard.

“She's coming out, sir!” reported Horrocks from the main topmast head. “Reefed tops'ls. Two reefs, I think, sir.”

Hornblower trained his glass over the quarter There it was, the white oblong just showing above the horizon as Atropos lifted — the reefed fore topsail of the Castilla.

“She's pointing straight at us now, sir,” reported Smiley.

In a stern chase like this Atropos had nothing to fear, newly coppered as she was and with a pretty turn of speed. The high wind and the rough sea would favour the bigger ship, of course. The Castilla might contrive to keep the Atropos in sight even though she had no chance of overtaking her. It would be a useful object lesson to officers and men to see Atropos making the best use of her potentiality for speed. Hornblower looked up again at sails and rigging. Certainly now there could be no question of taking in a third reef. He must carry all possible sail, just as the Castilla was doing.

Mr. Still, as officer of the watch, we touching his hat to Hornblower with a routine question.

“Carry on, Mr. Still.”

“Up spirits!”

With a powerful enemy plunging along behind her the life of the Atropos went on quite normally; the men had their grog and went to their dinners, the watch changed, the wheel was relieved. Palos Point disappeared over the port quarter as Atropos went flying on into the open Mediterranean, and still that white oblong kept its position on the horizon astern. The Castilla was doing well for a Spanish frigate.

“Call me the moment there is any changes Mr. Jones,” said Hornblower, shutting his glass.

Jones was nervous — he might be imagining himself in a Spanish prison already. It would do him no harm to be left on deck with the responsibility, even though, down in his cabin, Hornblower found himself getting up from his dinner table to peer aft through the scuttle to make sure the Castilla was not gaining on them. In fact, Hornblower was not sorry when, with his dinner not yet finished, a knock at the door brought a messenger from the quarter-deck

“Mr. Jones's respects, sir, and the wind is moderating a little, he thinks, sir.”

“I'm coming,” said Hornblower, laying down his knife and fork.

In a moderate breeze Atropos ought to be able to run Castilla topsails-under in an hour or two, and any reduction in the wind was to the advantage of Atropos as long as she spread all the canvas she could carry. But it would call for judgement to shake out the reefs at the right time, without imperilling spars on the one hand or losing distance on the other. When Hornblower arrived on deck a glance told him that it was time.

“You are quite right, Mr. Jones,” he said — no harm in giving him a pat on the back — “we'll shake out a reef.”

The order sped along the deck.

“Hands make sail!”

Hornblower looked aft through his glass; as Atropos lifted her stern he could get the Castilla's fore topsail right in the centre of the field. The most painstaking thought could not bring a decision as to whether or not it was any nearer. She must be exactly maintaining her distance. Then as the topsail hung dizzily in the lens he saw — he was nearly sure he saw — the oblong broaden into a square. He rested his eye and looked again. No doubt about it. Castilla had decided that was the moment to shake out a reef too.

Hornblower looked up at the Atropos' main topsail yard. The topmen, bent over the yard at that dizzy height, had completed the untying of the reef points. Now they came running in from the yard. Smiley had the starboard yardarm, and His Serene Highness the Prince of Seitz-Bunau the port. They were having their usual race, flinging themselves on to the backstays and sliding down without a thought for their necks. Hornblower was glad that boy had found his feet — of course he was wild with the excitement of the flight and pursuit; Hornblower was glad that Smiley had adopted that amused paternal attitude towards him.

With the letting out of the reef Atropos increased her speed again; Hornblower could feel the renewed thrust of the sail upon the fabric of the ship under his feet; he could feel the more frantic leap of the vessel on the wave crests. He directed a wary glance aloft. This would not be the moment to have anything carry away, not with Castilla tearing along in pursuit. Jones was standing by the wheel. The wind was just over the starboard quarter, and the little ship was answering well to her rudder, but it was as important to keep an eye on the helmsman as it was to see that they did not split a topsail. It called for some little resolution to leave Jones in charge again and go below to try to finish his dinner.

When the message came down again that the wind was moderating it was like that uncanny feeling which Hornblower had once or twice experienced of something happening again even though it had not happened before — the circumstances were so exactly similar.

“Mr. Jones's respects, sir, and the wind is moderating a little, he thinks, sir.”

Hornblower had to compel himself to vary his reply.

“My compliments to Mr. Jones, and I am coming on deck.”

Just as before, he could feel that the ship was not giving her utmost. Just as before, he gave the order for a reef to be shaken out. Just as before, he swung round to train his glass on the Castilla's topsail. And just as before he turned back as the men prepared to come in from the yard. But that was the moment when everything took a different course, when the desperate emergency arose that always at sea lies just over the horizon of the future.

Excitement had stimulated the Prince into folly. Hornblower looked up to see the boy standing on the port yardarm, not merely standing but dancing, taking a clumsy step or two to dare Smiley at the starboard yardarm to imitate him, one hand on his hip, the other over his head. Hornblower was going to shout a reprimand; he opened his mouth and inflated his chest, but before he could utter a sound the Prince's foot slipped. Hornblower saw him totter, strive to regain his balance, and then fall, heavily through the air, and turning a complete circle as he fell.

Later on Hornblower, out of curiosity, made a calculation. The Prince fell from a height of a little over seventy feet, and without the resistance of the air and had he not bounced off the shrouds he would have reached the surface of the sea in something over two seconds. But the resistance of the air could have been by no means negligible — it must have got under his jacket and slowed his fall considerably, for the boy was not killed and was in fact only momentarily knocked unconscious by the impact. Probably it took as much as four seconds for the Prince to fall into the sea. Hornblower was led to make the calculation when brooding over the incident later, for he could remember clearly all the thoughts that passed through his mind during those four seconds. Momentary exasperation came first and then anxiety, and then followed a hasty summing up of the situation. If he hove-to to pick up the boy the Castilla would have all the time needed to overhaul them. If he went on the boy would drown. And if he went on he would have to report to Collingwood that he had left the King's great-nephew without lifting a finger to help him. He had to choose quickly — quickly. He had no right to risk his ship to save one single life. But — but — if the boy had been killed in battle by a broadside sweeping the deck it would be different. To abandon him was another matter again. On the heels of that conclusion came another thought, the beginnings of another thought, sprouting from a seed that had been sown outside Cartagena. It did not have time to develop in those four seconds; it was as if Hornblower acted the moment the green shoot from the seed showed above ground, to reach its full growth later.

By the time the boy had reached the sea Hornblower had torn the emergency lifebuoy from the taffrail; he flung it over the port quarter as the speed of the ship brought the boy nearly opposite him, and it smacked into the sea close beside him. At the same moment the air which Hornblower had drawn into his lungs to reprimand the Prince was expelled in a salvo of bellowed orders.

“Mizzen braces! Back the mizzen topsail! Quarter boat away!”

Maybe — Hornblower could not be sure later — everyone was shouting at once, but everyone at least responded to orders with the rapidity that was the result of months of drill. Atropos flew up into the wind, her way checked instantly. It was Smiley — Heaven only knew how he had made the descent from the starboard main topsail yardarm in that brief space — who got the jolly boat over the side, with four men at the oars, and dashed off to effect the rescue, the tiny boat soaring up and swooping down as the waves passed under her. And even before Atropos was hove-to Hornblower was putting the next part of the plan into action.

“Mr. Horrocks! Signal 'Enemy in sight to windward'.”

Horrocks stood and gaped, and Hornblower was about to out with, “Blast you, do what I tell you,” but he restrained himself. Horrocks was not a man of the quickest thought in the world, and he had failed entirely to see any purpose in signalling to a vacant horizon. To swear at him now would simply paralyse him with nervousness and lead to a further delay.

“Mr. Horrocks, kindly send up the signal as quickly as you can. 'Enemy in sight to windward.' Quickly, please.”

The signal rating beside Horrocks was luckily quicker witted — he was one of the dozen men of the crew who could read and write, naturally — and was already at the halliards with the flag-locker open, and his example shook Horrocks out of his amazement. The flags went soaring up to the main topmast yardarm, flying out wildly in the wind. Hornblower made a mental note that that rating, even though he was no seaman as yet — lately a City apprentice who had come hurriedly aboard at Deptford to avoid something worse in civilian life — was deserving of promotion.

“Now another signal, Mr. Horrors. 'Enemy is a frigate distant seven miles bearing west course east.'”

It was the sensible thing to do to send up the very signals he would have hoisted if there really were help in sight — the Castilla might be able to read them or might make at least a fair guess at their meaning. If there had been a friendly ship in sight down to leeward (Hornblower remembered the suggestion he had been going to make to Collingwood) he would never have hove-to, of course, but would have gone on tearing down to lure the Castilla as near as possible, but the captain of the Castilla was not to know that.