The evening breeze carried the sound of the salutes round the bay, as Hotspur’s carronade spoke out and Santa Catalina replied, and while the Spanish pilot guided Hotspur between the Pigs and the Sows—Hornblower had a suspicion that the Pigs were Sea Pigs, Porpoises, in Spanish—and the hands stood by to take in sail and drop anchor. There were ships of war lying at anchor already in the bay, and not the Spanish navy, whose masts and yards Hornblower could just make out in the inner harbours.
“Estados Unidos,” said the Spanish naval officer, with a gesture towards the nearer frigate. Hornblower saw the Stars and Stripes, and the broad pendant at the main-topmast-head.
“Mr. Bush! Stand by to render passing honours.”
“Constitution. Commodore Preble,” added a Spanish officer.
The Americans were fighting a war of their own, at Tripoli far up the Mediterranean; and presumably this Preble—Hornblower could not be sure of the exact name as he heard it—was the latest of a series of American commanders-in-chief. Drums beat and men lined the side and hats were lifted in salute as Hotspur wept by.
“French frigate Felicite,” went on the Spanish officer, indicating the other ship of war.
Twenty-two ports on a side—one of the big French frigates, but there was no need to pay her further attention. As enemies in a neutral harbour they would ignore each other, cut each other dead, as gentlemen would do if by unlucky chance they met in the interval between the challenge and the duel. Lucky that he did not have to give her further thought, too, seeing that the sight of the Constitution was causing modification in his other plans—the bye plot was intruding on the main plot again.
“You can anchor here, Captain,” said the Spanish officer.
“Helm-a-lee! Mr. Bush!”
Hotspur rounded-to, her topsails were taken in with commendable rapidity, and the anchor cable roared out through the hawse. It was as well that the operation went through faultlessly, seeing that it was carried out under the eyes of the navies of three other nations. A flat report echoed round the bay.
“Sunset gun! Take in the colours, Mr. Bush.”
The Spanish officers were standing formally in line, hats in hand, as they bowed their farewells. Hornblower put on his politest manner and took off his hat with his politest bow as he thanked them and escorted them to the side.
“Here comes your consul already,” said the naval officer just before he went down.
In the gathering darkness a rowing skiff was heading out to them from the town, and Hornblower almost cut his final farewell short as he tried to recall what honours should be paid to a consul coming on board after sunset. The western sky was blood red, and the breeze dropped, and here in a bay it seemed breathless and stifling after the airy delights of the Atlantic. And now he had to deal with secrets of state and with Doughty.
Recapitulating his worries to himself revived another one. There would now be a break in his letters to Maria; it might be months before she heard from him again, and she would fear the worst. But there was no time to waste in thinking. He had to act instantly.
Chapter XXI
With the wind dropping Hotspur had swung to her anchors, and now from the stern window of the chart-room USS Constitution was visible, revealed by her lights as she rode idly in slack water.
“If you please, sir,” asked Doughty, as respectful as ever, “what is this place?”
“Cadiz,” replied Hornblower; his surprise was only momentary at the ignorance of a prisoner immured below—it was possible that some even of the crew still did not know. He pointed through the cabin window. “And that’s an American frigate, the Constitution.”
“Yes, sir.”
Until Hornblower had seen the Constitution at anchor he had been visualizing a drab future for Doughty, as a penniless refugee on the waterfront at Cadiz, not daring to ship as a hand before the mast in some merchant ship for fear of being pressed and recognized, starving at worst as a beggar, at best as a soldier enlisted in the ragged Spanish army. A better future than the rope, all the same. Now there was a better one still. Ships of war never had enough men, even if Preble did not need a good steward.
Bailey came in from the cabin with the last bottle of claret.
“Doughty will decant that,” said Hornblower. “And Doughty, see that those glasses are properly clean. I want them to sparkle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bailey, get for’ard to the galley. See that there’s a clear fire ready for the marrow bones.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
It was as simple as that as long as each move was well-timed. Doughty applied himself to decanting the claret while Bailey bustled out.
“By the way, Doughy, can you swim?”
Doughty did not raise his head.
“Yes, sir,” his voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you, sir.”
Now the expected knock on the door.
“Boat’s coming alongside, sir!”
“Very well, I’ll come.”
Hornblower hurried out on to the quarter-deck and down the gangway to greet the visitor. Darkness had fallen and Cadiz Bay was quite placid, like a dark mirror.
Mr. Carron wasted no time; he hurried aft ahead of Hornblower with strides that equalled Hornblower’s at his hastiest. When he sat in a chair in the chart-room he seemed to fill the little place completely, for he was a big heavily built man. He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and then readjusted his wig.
“A glass of claret, sir?”
“Thank you.” Mr. Carron still wasted no time, plunging into business while Hornblower filled the glasses.
“You’re from the Channel Fleet?”
“Yes, sir, under orders from Admiral Cornwallis.”
“You know about the situation then. You know about the flota?” Carron dropped his voice at the last words.
“Yes, sir. I’m here to take back the latest news to the frigate squadron.”
“They’ll have to act. Madrid shows no sign of yielding.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Godoy’s terrified of Boney. The country doesn’t want to fight England but Godoy would rather fight than offend him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure they’re only waiting for the flota to arrive and then Spain will declare war. Boney wants to use the Spanish navy to help out his scheme for invading England.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not that the Dons will be much help to him. There isn’t a ship here ready for sea. But there’s the Felicite here. Forty-four guns. You saw her, of course?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She’ll warn the flota if she gets an inkling of what’s in the wind.”
“Of course, sir.”
“My last news is less than three days old. The courier had a good journey from Madrid. Godoy doesn’t know yet that we’ve found out about the secret clauses in the treaty of San Ildefonso, but he’ll guess soon enough by the stiffening of our attitude.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So the sooner you get away the better. Here’s the despatch for the officer commanding the intercepting squadron. I prepared it as soon as I saw you coming into the Bay.”
“Thank you, sir. He’s Captain Graham Moore in the Indefatigable.”
Hornblower put the despatch into his pocket. He had been aware for some time of sounds and subdued voices from the cabin next door, and he guessed the reason. Now there was a knock and Bush’s face appeared round the door.