The two-decker was still swinging round; her shattered side was out of sight, now she was presenting her stern, and now her other side to the Sutherland’s bow. Hornblower watched her stupidly. And then-a bellowing roar, and her broadside came tearing into the Sutherland. A cloud of splinters flew from the shattered stump of the foremast, and the gun beside Hornblower rang like a bell to a glancing shot.
“Oh, stop!” muttered Hornblower. “For God’s sake!”
The men on the Sutherland’s deck were dragging themselves to the guns again. Gerard was nowhere to be seen, but Hooker—a good boy, that—was walking along the main deck apportioning the men to the guns so that some at least might be worked. But the men were faint with fatigue, and at present no gun would bear, while the dismasted Sutherland could do nothing to save herself. Another broadside, ripping and tearing through the ship. Hornblower became conscious of a faint undercurrent of noise—the feeble chorus of the wounded men huddled in every corner of the ship. The gunboats were working round cautiously with their sweeps to take up a position under the Sutherland’s stern; soon they would be firing their forty-two pounders into her on the water line. Sun and blue sea and blue sky; the grey-green mountains of Spain, the golden beach and white houses of Rosas—Homblower looked round him at them all, despairingly, and it was agony to look.
Another broadside; Hornblower saw two men knocked into a bloody mess at Hooker’s side.
“Strike,” he said to himself. “We must strike.”
But the Sutherland had no colours flying that she could strike, and Hornblower’s dazed mind wrestled with this problem as he walked aft. The forty-two pounder in one of the gun boats boomed out loudly, and Hornblower felt the jar as the shot smashed into the ship’s side below him. Hooker was on the quarterdeck now, and Crystal, and Howell the carpenter.
“There’s four feet of water in the well, sir,” said this last, “an’ no pump left.”
“Yes,” said Hornblower, dully. “I shall surrender.”
He read agreement in the grey faces of his officers, but they said nothing. If only the Sutherland would sink under them the problem would solve itself but that would be too much to hope for. She would only grow more and more waterlogged, sinking as each deck in turn was submerged, while the pitiless cannonade would continue. It might be as much as twenty-four hours before she sank completely and in that time the little wind would have drifted her aground under the guns of Rosas. All he could do was to surrender. He thought of the other British captains who had found themselves in similar positions. Thompson of the Leander and the captain of the Swiftsure and the unfortunate man under Saumarez’ command in Algeciras Bay; they, too, had hauled down their flags after a long fight against heavy odds.
Somebody was hailing from the two-decker; he could not understand what was said, but it must be a demand to surrender.
“Oui,” he shouted back. “Oui.”
For answer there came another broadside, smashing home with a splintering of timber and to the accompaniment of a shriek from below.
“Oh God!” said Hooker.
Hornblower realised that he must have misunderstood the question, and with the realisation came a solution of the difficulty. He ran as fast as his stiff legs would carry him down to the indescribable chaos which represented what was left of his cabin. Hurriedly he turned over the litter there, while the men at the guns watched him expressionless as animals. He found what he sought at last, and came up on the quarterdeck with his arms full of it.
“Here,” he said, giving it to Crystal and Howell. “Hang that over the side.”
It was the tricolour flag he had had made to deceive the batteries at Llanza. At sight of it the men in the gunboats bent to their oars to propel their craft alongside, while Hornblower stood with the sun shining on his bare head waiting for them. They would take his sword of honour away from him. And the other sword of honour was still in pawn to Duddingstone the ship chandler, and he would never be able to redeem it now, with his career wrecked. And the shattered hull of the Sutherland would be towed in triumph under the guns of Rosas—how long would it be before the Mediterranean fleet came down to avenge her, to retake her from the captors, or burn her in one vast pyre along with her shattered conquerors? And Maria was going to bear him a child, whom he would never see during all the years of his captivity. And Lady Barbara would read of his capture in the newspapers—what would she think of his surrendering? But the sun was hot on his head, and he was very weary.