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Hornblower knew that he must make up his mind about what to do with the Natividad, and more especially with his prisoners. He could not hand them over to the tender mercies of el Supremo; his own crew would hardly permit that. He tried to think about the problem. A long line of pelicans came flying by, more rigid in their formation that the Channel fleet at drill. A frigate bird, superb with its forked tail, came wheeling above them with motionless wings, and having obviously decided that they were not worth plundering, swooped away again towards the island where the cormorants were fishing industriously. The sun was already hot and the water of the bay was as blue as the sky above.

Hornblower cursed sun and pelicans and frigate birds as he tried to concentrate on the problems before him. He paced moodily up and down the deck another half dozen times. Then Midshipman Knyvett barred his way, touching his hat.

“What the devil is it now?” snapped Hornblower.

“Boat coming alongside, sir. Mr — Mr Hernandez on board.”

That was only to be expected.

“Very good,” said Hornblower, and went down the gangway to greet Hernandez as he came up the side. Hernandez wasted no time on felicitations for the late victory. In the service of el Supremo apparently even Spanish-Americans grew abrupt and businesslike.

“El Supremo wishes to see you at once, Captain,” said Hernandez. “My boat is waiting.”

“Indeed,” said Hornblower. He knew well that dozens of his brother captains in the British service would be infuriated at such a cavalier message. He toyed with the idea of sending back to tell el Supremo to come out to the ship himself if he wanted to interview her captain. But he knew that it would be foolish to imperil his cordial relations with the shore, upon which so much of his success depended, upon a mere question of dignity. The captain of the Natividad could afford to overlook the presumption of others.

A compromise suggested itself to him; he could keep Hernandez waiting for an hour or two so as to bolster up his own dignity. But his commonsense rejected the notion. Hornblower hated compromises, and this one would only (like most compromises) irritate one side and do no good to the other. Far better to put his pride in his pocket and to come at once.

“Certainly,” he said. “My duties leave me free at the moment.”

But this time, at least there was no need to dress up for the occasion. There was no call to put on his best silk stockings and his buckled shoes. The capture of the Natividad was a clearer proof of his bona fides than any gold-hilted sword.

It was only while giving final orders to Bush that Hornblower remembered that last night’s success gave him adequate grounds for not flogging the erring Jenkins and Poole, and for not reprimanding Galbraith. That was an enormous relief, anyway. It helped to clear away the clouds of depression which always tended to settle on him after every success. It cheered him up as he mounted the minute horse which awaited him on shore, and rode past the mountain of stinking animal intestines, and along the avenue of dead men, up to el Supremo’s house.

The appearance of el Supremo, sitting in his canopied chair on his dais, seemed for all the world to indicate that he had been sitting there, immobile, since the occasion four days ago (it seemed more like a month) when Hornblower had left him.

“So you have already done what I wished you to do, Captain?” were his opening words.

“I captured the Natividad last night,” said Hornblower.

“And the provisioning of your ship is, I understand, complete?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” said el Supremo, “you have done what I wanted. That is what I said before.”

In the face of such sublime self-assurance there was no point in arguing.

“This afternoon,” said el Supremo, “I shall proceed with my plan for the capture of the city of El Salvador and the man who calls himself Captain General of Nicaragua.”

“Yes?” said Hornblower.

“There are fewer difficulties before me now, Captain. You may not be aware that the roads between here and El Salvador are not as good as roads might be. At one place the path goes up one hundred and twenty seven steps cut in the lava between two precipices. It is difficult for a mule, to say nothing of a horse, to make the journey, and an evilly disposed person armed with a musket could cause much trouble.”

“I expect he could,” said Hornblower.

“However,” said el Supremo, “El Salvador lies less than ten miles from the sea, and there is a good road from the city to its port of La Libertad. This afternoon I shall sail with five hundred men in the two ships to La Libertad. As this town is no more than a hundred miles away I shall reach there at dawn tomorrow. Tomorrow evening I shall dine in El Salvador.”

“Ho-h’m,” said Hornblower. He was wondering how best to present in argument the difficulties he could see ahead.

“You killed very few of the crew of the Natividad, Captain?” asked el Supremo, and thereby approaching directly some of the difficulties Hornblower had in mind.

“Eleven killed,” said Hornblower. “And eighteen wounded, of whom four seem unlikely to recover.”

“So you left enough to work the ship?”

“Ample, seńor, if —”

“That is what I wanted. And, Captain, human beings in addressing me do not use the expression ‘seńor’. That is insufficiently honorific. I am el Supremo.”

Hornblower could only bow in reply. El Supremo’s marvellous manner was like a stone wall.

“The navigating officers are still alive?” went on el Supremo.

“Yes,” said Hornblower; and, because he could see trouble close ahead and was anxious to keep it to a minimum, he added, with a gulp, “Supremo.”

“Then,” said el Supremo, “I will take the Natividad into my service. I will kill the executive officers and replace them with men of my own. The others and the common sailors will serve me.”

There was nothing intrinsically impossible in what el Supremo suggested; Hornblower knew from experience that the Spanish navy, old fashioned as always, maintained a rigid distinction (such as was fast dying out in our own service) between the officers who worked the ship and the gentlemen who commanded it. And Hornblower had no doubt whatever as to what choice the seamen and sailing master would make if asked to choose between death by torture and serving el Supremo.

Nor could it be denied that el Supremo’s suggestion was in many ways a good one; to transport five hundred men in the Lydia alone would be difficult, to say the least, while the Lydia by herself would find it impossible to blockade completely all the thousand miles of coast — two ships would cause far more than twice as much trouble to the enemy in that way. Yet to hand over the Natividad meant starting an endless and probably unsuccessful argument with the lords of the Admiralty on the question of prize money. And he could not in honour hand over the Spanish officers to the death el Supremo had in mind for them. He had to think quickly.

“The Natividad is the prize of my King,” he said. “Perhaps he would not be pleased if I let her go.”

“He certainly would be displeased if he knew you had offended me,” said el Supremo. His eyebrows came closer together, and Hornblower heard Hernandez beside him take a quick breath. “I have noticed before, Captain Hornblower, that you have verged upon disrespect towards me, and I have been mild enough to attribute it to your foreign breeding.”

Hornblower was still thinking hurriedly. A little more opposition would cause this madman to order him out for execution, and if her captain were killed the Lydia would certainly not fight for el Supremo. There would indeed be a complicated situation in the Pacific, and the Lydia, with friends neither among the rebels nor among the government, would probably never reach home again — especially with the unimaginative Bush in command. England would lose a fine frigate and a fine opportunity. He must sacrifice his prize money, the thousand pounds or so with which he had wanted to dazzle Maria’s eyes. But at all costs he must keep his prisoners alive.