Hornblower could only translate the brutal message without any attempt at softening it, and Pellew listened, white with anger despite his tan.
“Tell him —” he began, and then mastered his rage. “Damme if I’ll let him see he has made me angry.”
He put his hat across his stomach and bowed in as faithful an imitation of the Spaniard’s courtliness as he could manage, before he turned to Hornblower.
“Tell him I have received his message with pleasure. Tell him I much regret that circumstances are separating him from me, and that I hope I shall always enjoy his personal friendship whatever the relations between our countries. Tell him — oh, you can tell him the sort of thing I want said, can’t you, Hornblower? Let’s see him over the side with dignity. Sideboys! Bosun’s mates! Drummers!”
Hornblower poured out compliments to the best of his ability, and at every phrase the two captains exchanged bows, the Spaniard withdrawing a pace at each bow and Pellew following him up, not to be outdone in courtesy. The drums beat a ruffle, the marines presented arms, the pipes shrilled and twittered until the Spaniard’s head had descended to the level of the maindeck, when Pellew stiffened up, clapped his hat on his head, and swung round on his first lieutenant.
“Mr Eccles, I want to be under way within the hour, if you please.”
Then he stamped down below to regain his equanimity in private.
Hands were aloft loosing sail ready to sheet home, while the clank of the capstan told how other men were heaving the cable short, and Hornblower was standing on the portside gangway with Mr Wales the carpenter, looking over at the white houses of one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.
“I’ve been ashore there twice,” said Wales. “The wine’s good — vino, they calls it — if you happens to like that kind o’ muck. But don’t you ever try that brandy, Mr Hornblower. Poison, it is, rank poison. Hello! We’re going to have an escort, I see.”
Two long sharp prows had emerged from the inner bay, and were pointing towards the Indefatigable. Hornblower could not restrain himself from giving a cry of surprise as he followed Wales’ gaze. The vessels approaching were galleys, along each side of them the oars were lifting and falling rhythmically, catching the sunlight as they feathered. The effect, as a hundred oars swung like one, was perfectly beautiful. Hornblower remembered a line in a Latin poet which he had translated as a schoolboy, and recalled his surprise when he discovered that to a Roman the ‘white wings’ of a ship of war were her oars. Now the simile was plain; even a gull in flight, which Hornblower had always looked upon until now as displaying the perfection of motion, was not more beautiful than those galleys. They lay low in the water, immensely long for their beam. Neither the sails nor the lateen yards were set on the low raking masts. The bows blazed with gilding, while the waters of the bay foamed round them as they headed into the teeth of the gentle breeze with the Spanish red and gold streaming aft from the masthead. Up — forward — down — went the oars with unchanging rhythm, the blades not varying an inch in their distance apart during the whole of the stroke. From the bows of each two long guns looked straight forward in the direction the galleys pointed.
“Twenty-four pounders,” said Wales. “If they catch you in a calm, they’ll knock you to pieces. Lie off on your quarter where you can’t bring a gun to bear and rake you till you strike. An’ then God help you — better a Turkish prison than a Spanish one.”
In a line-ahead that might have been drawn with a ruler and measured with a chain the galleys passed close along the port side of the Indefatigable and went ahead of her. As they passed the roll of the drum and the call of the pipes summoned the crew of the Indefatigable to attention out of compliment to the flag and the commission pendant going by, while the galleys’ officers returned the salute.
“It don’t seem right, somehow,” mustered Wales under his breath, “to salute ‘em like they was a frigate.”
Level with the Indefatigable‘s bowsprit the leader backed her starboard side oars, and spun like a top, despite her length and narrow beam, across the frigate’s bows. The gentle wind blew straight to the frigate from the galley, and then from her consort as the latter followed; and a foul stench came back on the air and assailed Hornblower’s nostrils, and not Hornblower’s alone, clearly, for it brought forth cries of disgust from all the men on deck.
“They all stink like that,” explained Wales. “Four men to the oar an’ fifty oars. Two hundred galley slaves, that is. All chained to their benches. When you goes aboard one of them as a slave you’re chained to your bench, an’ you’re never unchained until they drop you overside. Sometimes when the hands aren’t busy they’ll hose out the bilge, but that doesn’t happen often, bein’ Dagoes an’ not many of ‘em.”
Hornblower as always sought exact information.
“How many, Mr Wales?”
“Thirty, mebbe. Enough to hand the sails if they’re making a passage. Or to man the guns — they strike the yards and sails, like now, before they goes into action, Mr Hornblower,” said Wales, pontifical as usual, and with that slight emphasis on the ‘Mister’ inevitable when a warrant officer of sixty with no hope of further promotion addressed a warrant officer of eighteen (his nominal equal in rank) who might some day be an admiral. “So you see how it is. With no more than thirty of a crew an’ two hundred slaves they daren’t let ‘em loose, not ever.”
The galleys had turned again, and were now passing down the Indefatigable‘s starboard side. The beat of the oars had slowed very noticeably, and Hornblower had ample time to observe the vessels closely, the low forecastle and high poop with the gangway connecting them along the whole length of the galley; upon that gangway walked a man with a whip. The rowers were invisible below the bulwarks, the oars being worked through holes in the sides closed, as far as Hornblower could see, with sheets of leather round the oar-looms to keep out the sea. On the poop stood two men at the tiller and a small group of officers, their gold lace flashing in the sunshine. Save for the gold lace and the twenty-four-pounder bow chasers Hornblower was looking at exactly the same sort of vessel as the ancients used to fight their battles. Polybius and Thucydides wrote about galleys almost identical with these — for that matter it was not much more than two hundred years since the galleys had fought their last great battle at Lepanto against the Turks. But those battles had been fought with hundreds of galleys a side.
“How many do they have in commission now?” asked Hornblower.
“A dozen, mebbe — not that I knows for sure, o’ course. Carthagena’s their usual station, beyond the Gut.”
Wales, as Hornblower understood, meant by this through the Strait of Gibraltar in the Mediterranean.
“Too frail for the Atlantic,” Hornblower commented.
It was easy to deduce the reasons for the survival of this small number — the innate conservatism of the Spaniards would account for it to a large extent. Then there was the point that condemnation to the galleys was one way of disposing of criminals. And when all was said and done a galley might still be useful in a calm — merchant ships becalmed while trying to pass the Strait of Gibraltar might be snapped up by galleys pushing out from Cadiz or Carthagena. And at the very lowest estimate there might be some employment for galleys to tow vessels in and out of harbour with the wind unfavourable.
“Mr Hornblower!” said Eccles. “My respects to the captain, and we’re ready to get under way.”
Hornblower dived below with his message.
“My compliments to Mr Eccles,” said Pellew, looking up from his desk, “and I’ll be on deck immediately.”