“I acknowledged the signal, sir.”
“Very good, Mr Bush.”
Hotspur was turning her stern to Brest; with the wind comfortably over her quarter she was running out to sea, away from France. For the commander-in-chief to demand the attendance of his farthest outpost must be of significance. He had summoned the ship, not merely the captain. There must be something more in the wind than this gentle breeze.
Bush called the crew to attention to render passing honours to Parker’s flagship, the flagship of the Inshore Squadron.
“Hope he has as good a ship as us to replace us, sir,” said Bush, who evidently had the same feeling as Hornblower, to the effect that the departure was only the beginning of a long absence from the Iroise.
“No doubt,” said Hornblower. He was glad that Bush was bearing no malice for his recent dressing-down. Of course this sudden break in routine was a stimulant in itself, but Hornblower in a moment of insight realized that Bush, after a lifetime of being subject to the vagaries of wind and weather, could manage to be fatalistic about the unpredictable vagaries of his captain.
This was the open sea; this was the wide Atlantic, and there on the horizon was a long line of topsails in rigid order — the Channel Fleet, whose men and whose guns prevented Bonaparte from hoisting the Tricolor over Windsor Castle.
“Our number from the Commander-in-Chief, sir. ‘Pass within hail’.”
“Acknowledge. Mr Prowse, take a bearing, if you please.”
A pleasant little problem, to set a course wasting as little time as possible, with Hibernia close-hauled under easy sail and Hotspur running free under all plain sail. It was a small sop to Prowse’s pride to consult him, for Hornblower had every intention of carrying out the manoeuvre by eye alone. His orders to the wheel laid Hotspur on a steadily converging course.
“Mr Bush, stand by to bring the ship to the wind.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
A big frigate was foaming along in Hibernia‘s wake. Hornblower looked and looked again. That was the Indefatigable, once Pellew’s famous frigate — the ship in which he had served during those exciting years as midshipman. He had no idea she had joined the Channel Fleet. The three frigates astern of Indefatigable he knew at once; Medusa, Lively, Amphion, all veterans of the Channel Fleet. Bunting soared up Hibernia‘s halliards.
“‘All captains,’ sir!”
“Clear away the quarter-boat, Mr Bush!”
It was another example of how good a servant Doughty was, that he appeared on the quarter-deck with sword and boat cloak within seconds of that signal being read. It was highly desirable to shove off in the boat at least as quickly as the boats from the frigates, even though it meant that Hornblower had to spend longer pitching and tossing in the boat while his betters went up Hibernia‘s side before him, but the thought that all this presaged some new and urgent action sustained Hornblower in the ordeal.
In the cabin of the Hibernia there was only one introduction to be made, of Hornblower to Captain Graham Moore of the Indefatigable. Moore was a strikingly handsome burly Scotsman; Hornblower had heard somewhere that he was the brother of Sir John Moore, the most promising general in the army. The others he knew, Gore of the Medusa, Hammond of the Lively, Sutton of the Amphion. Cornwallis sat with his back to the great stern window, with Collins on his left, and the five captains seated facing him.
“No need to waste time, gentlemen,” said Cornwallis abruptly. “Captain Moore has brought me despatches from London and we must act on them promptly.”
Even though he began with these words he spent a second or two rolling his kindly blue eyes along the row of captains, before he plunged into his explanations.
“Our Ambassador at Madrid —” he went on, and that name made them all stir in their seats; ever since the outbreak of war the Navy had been expecting Spain to resume her old role of ally to France.
Cornwallis spoke lucidly although rapidly. British agents in Madrid had discovered the content of the secret clauses of the treaty of San Ildefonso between France and Spain; the discovery had confirmed long cherished suspicions. By those clauses Spain was bound to declare war on England whenever requested by France, and until that request was made she was bound to pay a million francs a month into the French treasury.
“A million francs a month in gold and silver, gentlemen,” said Cornwallis.
Bonaparte was in constant need of cash for his war expenses; Spain could supply it thanks to her mines in Mexico and Peru. Every month waggon-loads of bullion climbed the Pyrenean passes to enter France. Every year a Spanish squadron bore the products of the mines from America to Cadiz.
“The next flota is expected this autumn, gentlemen,” said Cornwallis. “Usually it brings about four millions of dollars for the Crown, and about the same amount on private account.”
Eight millions of dollars, and the Spanish silver dollar was worth, in an England cursed by paper currency, a full seven shillings. Nearly three million pounds.
“The treasure that is not sent to Bonaparte,” said Cornwallis, “will largely go towards re-equipping the Spanish navy, which can be employed against England whenever Bonaparte chooses. So you can understand why it is desirable that the flota shall not reach Cadiz this year.”
“So it’s war, sir?” asked Moore, but Cornwallis shook his head.
“No. I am sending a squadron to intercept the flota, and I expect you’ve already guessed that it is your ships that I’m sending, gentlemen. But it is not war. Captain Moore, the senior officer, will be instructed to request the Spaniards to alter course and enter an English port. There the treasure will be removed and the ships set free. The treasure will not be seized. It will be retained by His Majesty’s Government as a pledge, to be returned to His Most Catholic Majesty on the conclusion of a general peace.”
“What ships are they, sir?”
“Frigates. Ships of war. Three frigates, sometimes four.”
“Commanded by Spanish naval officers, sir?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll never agree, sir. They’ll never violate their orders just because we tell ‘em to.”
Cornwallis rolled his eyes up to the deck-beams above and then down again.
“You will have written orders to compel them.”
“Then we’ll have to fight them, sir?”
“If they are so foolish as to resist.”
“And that will be war, sir.”
“Yes. His Majesty’s Government is of the opinion that Spain without eight million dollars is less dangerous as an open enemy than she would be as a secret enemy with that money available. Is the situation perfectly clear now, gentlemen?”
It was instantly obvious. It could be grasped even more quickly than the problem in simple mental arithmetic could be solved. Prize money; one-quarter of three million pounds for the captains — something approaching eight hundred thousand pounds each. An enormous fortune; with that sum a captain could buy a landed estate and still have sufficient left over to provide an income on which to live in dignity when invested in the Funds. Hornblower could see that every one of the four other captains was working out that problem too.
“I see you all understand, gentlemen. Captain Moore will issue his orders to you to take effect in case of separation, and he will make his own plans to effect the interception. Captain Hornblower —” every eye came round “— will proceed immediately in Hotspur to Cadiz to obtain the latest information from His Britannic Majesty’s Consul there, before joining you at the position selected by Captain Moore. Captain Hornblower, will you be kind enough to stay behind after these gentlemen have left?”