He swept his glass farther round the coast, and then checked it with a start and a gulp of excitement. There were the unmistakable lugsails of a French coaster coming round the bold headland of Point Matthew. There was another pair — a whole cluster. Could it possibly be that a group of coasters was trying to run the blockade into Brest in broad daylight in the teeth of Hotspur? Hardly likely. Now there was a bang — bang — bang of guns, presumably from the field battery, invisible over the farther ridge. Behind the coasters appeared a British frigate, and then another, showing up at the moment when the coasters began to go about; as the coasters tacked they revealed that they had no colours flying.
“Prizes, sir. And that’s Naiad an’ Doris,” said Bush.
The two British frigates must have swooped down during the night by the passage of the Four inshore of Ushant and cut out these coasters from the creeks of Le Conquet where they had been huddled for shelter. A neat piece of work, undoubtedly, but bringing them out had only been made possible by the destruction of the battery on the Petit Minou. The frigates tacked in the wake of the coasters, like shepherd dogs following a flock of sheep. They were escorting their prizes in triumph back to the Inshore Squadron, whence, presumably they would be dispatched to England for sale. Bush had taken his telescope from his eye and had turned his gaze full on Hornblower, while Prowse came up to join them.
“Six prizes, sir,” said Bush.
“A thousand pound each, those coasters run, sir,” said Prowse. “More, if it’s naval stores, and I expect it is. Six thousand pound. Seven thousand. An’ no trouble selling ‘em, sir.”
By the terms of the royal proclamation issued on the declaration of war, prizes taken by the Royal Navy became — as was traditional by now — the absolute property of the captors.
“And we weren’t in sight, sir,” said Bush.
The proclamation also laid down the proviso that the value of the prizes, after a deduction for flag officers, should be shared among those ships in sight at the moment the colours came down or possession was secured.
“We couldn’t expect to be,” said Hornblower. He was honestly implying that Hotspur was too preoccupied with her duty of watching the Goulet, but the others misinterpreted the speech.
“No, sir, not with —” Bush broke off what he was saying before he became guilty of mutiny. He had been about to continue ‘not with Admiral Parker in command’ but he had more sense than to say it, after Hornblower’s meaning had become clear to him.
“One eighth’d be nigh on a thousand pounds,” said Prowse.
An eighth of the value of the prizes was, by the proclamation, to be divided among the lieutenants and masters taking part in the capture of the ships. Hornblower was making a different calculation. The share of the captains was two-eighths; if Hotspur had been associated in the venture with Naiad and Doris he would have been richer by five hundred pounds.
“And it was us that opened the way for ‘em sir,” went on Prowse.
“It was you, sir, who —” Bush broke off his speech for the second time
“That’s the fortune of war,” said Hornblower, lightly, “or the misfortune of war.”
Hornblower was quite convinced that the whole system of prize money was vicious, and tended towards making the navy less effective in war. He told himself that this was sour grapes, that he would think differently if he had won great amounts of prize money, but that did not soften his present conviction.
“For’ard, there!” yelled Poole from beside the binnacle. “Get the lead going in the main chains.”
The three senior officers beside the hammock nettings came back to the present world with a general start. Hornblower felt a chill wave of horror over his ribs as he realized his inexcusable carelessness. He had forgotten all about the course he had set. Hotspur was sailing tranquilly into peril, was in danger of running aground, and it was his fault, the result of his own inattention. He had no time for self-reproach at the present moment, all the same. He lifted his voice, trying to pitch it steadily.
“Thank you, Mr Poole,” he called. “Belay that order. Put the ship on the other tack, if you please.”
Bush and Prowse were wearing guilty, hangdog looks. It had been their duty, it had been Prowse’s particular duty, to warn him when Hotspur was running into navigational dangers. They would not meet his eye; they tried to assume a pose of exaggerated interest in Poole’s handling of the ship as she went about. The yards creaked as she came round, the sails flapped and then drew again, the wind blew on their faces from a different angle.
“Hard-a-lee!” ordered Poole, completing the manoeuvre. “Fore-tack! Haul the bowlines!”
Hotspur settled down on her new course, away from the dangerous shore to which she had approached too close, and all danger was averted.
“You see, gentlemen,” said Hornblower coldly, and he waited until he had the full attention of Bush and Prowse. “You see, there are many disadvantages about the system of prize money. I am aware now of a new one, and I hope you are too. Thank you, that will do.”
He remained by the hammock netting as they slunk away; he was taking himself to task. It was his first moment of carelessness in a professional career of ten years. He had made mistakes through ignorance, through recklessness, but never carelessness before. If there had been a fool as officer of the watch just now utter ruin would have been possible. If Hotspur had gone aground, in clear weather and a gentle breeze, it would have been the end of everything for him. Court martial and dismissal from the service, and then … ? In his bitter self-contempt he told himself that he would not be capable even of begging his bread, to say nothing of Maria’s. He might perhaps ship before the mast, and with his clumsiness and abstraction he would be the victim of the cat, of the boatswain’s rattan. Death would be better. He shuddered with cold.
Now he turned his attention to Poole, standing impassive by the binnacle. What had been the motives that had impelled him to order the lead into use? Had it been mere precaution, or had it been a tactful way of calling his captain’s attention to the situation of the ship? His present manner and bearing gave no hint of the answer. Hornblower had studied his officers carefully since Hotspur was commissioned; he was not aware of any depths of ingenuity or tact in Poole, but he freely admitted to himself that they might exist, unobserved. In any case, he must allow for them. He sauntered down the quarter-deck.
“Thank you, Mr Poole,” he said, slowly and very distinctly.
Poole touched his hat in reply, but his homely face did not change its expression. Hornblower walked on, nettled — amused — that his questions remained unanswered. It was a momentary relief from the torments of conscience which still plagued him.
The lesson he had learned remained with him during that summer to trouble his conscience. Otherwise during those golden months the blockade of Brest might have been for Hotspur and Hornblower a yachting holiday, a holiday with a certain macabre quality. Just as some lay theologians advanced the theory that in Hell sinners would be punished by being forced to repeat, in unutterable tedium and surfeit, the sins they had committed during life, so Hornblower spent those delightful months doing delightful things until he felt he could not do them any longer. Day after day, and night after night, through the finest summer in human memory, Hotspur cruised in the approaches to Brest. She pressed up to the Goulet with the last of the flood, and cannily withdrew in to safety with the last of the ebb. She counted the French fleet, she reported the result of her observations to Admiral Parker. She drifted, hove-to, over calm seas amid gentle breezes. With westerly winds she worked her way out to give the lee shore a wide berth; with easterly winds she beat back again to beard the impotent French in their safe harbour.