‘Greeting to the new allies,’ he said. ‘Señor, I am proud to be serving with Spain against the Corsican tyrant.’
The Spaniard bowed.
‘We were very much afraid, Captain,’ he said, ‘lest you should fall in with the Natividad before you heard the news, because she has not heard it either. In that case your fine frigate would have come to serious harm.’
‘Ha – h’m,’ said Hornblower. This was more embarrassing than ever; he turned and snapped out an order to the midshipman of the watch. ‘Bring the prisoners up from the cable tier. Quickly!’
The boy ran, and Hornblower turned back again to the Spanish officer.
‘I regret to have to tell you, señor, that by evil chance the Lydia met the Natividad a week ago.’
The Spanish captain looked his surprise. He stared round the ship, at the meticulous good order, the well set up rigging. Even a Spaniard frigate captain could see that the frigate had not been engaged in a desperate action lately.
‘But you did not fight her, Captain?’ he said. ‘Perhaps—’
The words died away on his lips as he caught sight of a melancholy procession approaching them along the gangway. He recognised the captain and the lieutenants of the Natividad. Hornblower plunged feverishly into an explanation of their presence; but it was not easy to tell a Spanish captain that the Lydia had captured a Spanish ship of twice her force without receiving a shot or a casualty – it was harder still to go on and explain that the ship was now sailing under the flag of rebels who had determined to destroy the Spanish power in the new world. The Spaniard turned white with rage and injured pride. He turned upon the captain of the Natividad and received confirmation of Hornblower’s story from that wretched man’s lips; his shoulders were bowed with sorrow as he told the story which would lead inevitably to his courtmartial and his ruin.
Bit by bit the newcomer from the lugger heard the truth about recent events, about the capture of the Natividad, and the success of el Supremo’s rebellion. He realised that the whole of the Spanish overlordship of the Americas was in jeopardy, and as he realised that, a fresh and harassing aspect of the situation broke in upon him.
‘The Manila galleon is at sea!’ he exclaimed. ‘She is due to arrive at Acapulco next month. The Natividad will intercept her.’
One ship a year crossed the wide Pacific from the Philippines, never bearing less than a million sterling in treasure. Her loss would cripple the bankrupt Spanish government hopelessly. The three captains exchanged glances – Hornblower was telling himself that this was why el Supremo had agreed so readily to the Lydia sailing south westward; he had doubtless been pleased at the thought of the Natividad to the north eastward acquiring this wealth for him. It would take the Spaniards months to bring round the Horn a ship capable of dealing with the Natividad, and in the interval el Supremo would enjoy all those advantages of sea power which Hornblower had foreseen for the Lydia. The rebellion would be so firmly rooted that nothing would put it down, especially as, apparently, the Spaniards of Spain were engaged in a life-and-death struggle with Bonaparte and would have neither ships nor men to spare for America. Hornblower could see where lay his duty.
‘Very well,’ he announced abruptly. ‘I will take my ship back to fight the Natividad.’
All the Spanish officers looked their relief at that.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ said the officer of the lugger. ‘You will call in at Panama to consult the Viceroy first?’
‘Yes,’ snapped Hornblower.
In a world where news took months to travel, and where complete upheavals of international relationships were not merely possible but likely, he had learned now by bitter experience to keep in the closest contact with the shore; his misery was in no way allayed by the knowledge that the present difficulties were occasioned merely by his strict obedience to orders – and he knew, too, that the Lords of the Admiralty would not allow that point to influence them in their opinion of a captain who could cause such terrible trouble.
‘Then,’ said the captain of the lugger. ‘I will bid you good-bye for the time. If I reach Panama first, I will be able to arrange a welcome for you. Perhaps you will allow my compatriots to accompany me?’
‘No I won’t,’ rasped Hornblower. ‘And you, sir, will keep under my lee until we drop anchor.’
The Spaniard shrugged and yielded. At sea one can hardly argue with a captain whose guns are run out and whose broadside could blow one’s ship out of the water, especially as all Englishmen were as mad and as domineering as el Supremo. The Spaniard had not enough intuition to enable him to guess that Hornblower still had a lurking fear that the whole business might be a ruse to inveigle the Lydia helpless under the guns of Panama.
IX
It was not a ruse at all. In the morning when the Lydia came stealing before a three knot breeze into the roadstead of Panama the only guns fired were the salutes. Boatloads of rejoicing Spaniards came out to greet her, but the rejoicing was soon turned to wailing at the news that the Natividad now flew el Supremo’s flag, that San Salvador had fallen, and that all Nicaragua was in a flame of rebellion. With cocked hat and gold-hilted sword (‘a sword of the value of fifty guineas’, the gift of the Patriotic Fund for Lieutenant Hornblower’s part in the capture of the Castilla six years ago) Hornblower had made himself ready to go ashore and call upon the Governor and the Viceroy, when the arrival of yet one more boat was announced to him.
‘There is a lady on board, sir,’ said Gray, one of the master’s mates, who brought the news.
‘A lady?’
‘Looks like an English lady, sir,’ explained Gray. ‘She seems to want to come aboard.’
Hornblower went on deck; close alongside a large rowing boat tossed and rolled; at the six oars sat swarthy Spanish Americans, bare armed and straw hatted, while another in the bows, boat hook in hand, stood waiting, face upturned for permission to hook on to the chains. In the stern sat a negress with a flaming red handkerchief over her shoulders, and beside her sat the English lady Gray had spoken about. Even as Hornblower looked, the bowman hooked on, and the boat closed in alongside, two men fending off. Somebody caught the rope ladder, and the next moment the lady, timing the movement perfectly, swung on to it and two seconds later came on deck.
Clearly she was an Englishwoman. She wore a wide shady hat trimmed with roses, in place of the eternal mantilla, and her grey-blue silk dress was far finer than any Spanish black. Her skin was fair despite its golden tan, and her eyes were grey-blue, of just the same evasive shade as her silk dress. Her face was too long for beauty and her nose too high arched, to say nothing of her sunburn. Hornblower saw her at that moment as one of the horsefaced mannish women whom he particularly disliked; he told himself that all his inclinations were towards clinging incompetence. Any woman who could transfer herself in that fashion from boat to ship in an open roadstead, and could ascend a rope ladder unassisted, must be too masculine for his taste. Besides, an Englishwoman must be unsexed to be in Panama without a male escort – the phrase ‘globe trotting’, with all its disparaging implications, had not yet been invented, but it expressed exactly Hornblower’s feeling about her.
Hornblower held himself aloof as the visitor looked about her. He was going to do nothing to help her. A wild squawk from overside told that the negress had not been as handy with the ladder, and directly afterwards this was confirmed by her appearance on deck wet from the waist down, water streaming from her black gown on to the deck. The lady paid no attention to the mishap to her maid; Gray was nearest to her and she turned to him.
‘Please be so good, sir,’ she said, ‘as to have my baggage brought up out of the boat.’
Gray hesitated, and looked round over his shoulder at Hornblower, stiff and unbending on the quarterdeck.
‘The captain’s here, ma’am,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said the lady. ‘Please have my baggage brought up while I speak to him.’
Hornblower was conscious of an internal struggle
. He disliked the aristocracy – it hurt him nowadays to remember that as the doctor’s son he had had to touch his cap to the squire. He felt unhappy and awkward in the presence of the self-confident arrogance of blue blood and wealth. It irritated him to think that if he offended this woman he might forfeit his career. Not even his gold lace nor his presentation sword gave him confidence as she approached him. He took refuge in an icy formality.
‘Are you the captain of this ship, sir?’ she asked, as she came up. Her eyes looked boldly and frankly into his with no trace of downcast modesty.
‘Captain Hornblower, at your service, ma’am,’ he replied, with a stiff jerk of his neck which might charitably be thought a bow.
‘Lady Barbara Wellesley,’ was the reply, accompanied by a curtsy only just deep enough to keep the interview formal. ‘I wrote you a note, Captain Hornblower, requesting a passage to England. I trust that you received it.’
‘I did, ma’am. But I do not think it is wise for your ladyship to join this ship.’
The unhappy double mention of the word ‘ship’ in this sentence did nothing to make Hornblower feel less awkward.
‘Please tell me why, sir.’
‘Because, ma’am, we shall be clearing shortly to seek out an enemy and fight him. And after that, ma’am, we shall have to return to England round Cape Horn. Your ladyship would be well advised to make your way across the Isthmus. From Porto Bello you can easily reach ’Jamaica and engage a berth in the West India packet which is accustomed to female passengers.’
Lady Barbara’s eyebrows arched themselves higher.
‘In my letter,’ she said, ‘I informed you that there was yellow fever in Porto Bello. A thousand persons died there of it last week. It was on the outbreak of the disease that I removed from Porto Bello to Panama. At any day it may appear here as well.’
‘May I ask why your ladyship was in Porto Bello, then?’
‘Because, sir, the West India packet in which I was a female passenger was captured by a Spanish privateer and brought there. I regret, sir, that I cannot tell you the name of my grandmother’s cook, but I shall be glad to answer any further questions which a gentleman of breeding would ask.’
Hornblower winced and then to his annoyance found himself blushing furiously. His dislike for arrogant blue blood was if anything intensified. But there was no denying that the woman’s explanations were satisfactory enough – a visit to the West Indies could be made by any woman without unsexing herself, and she had clearly come to Porto Bello and Panama against her will. He was far more inclined now to grant her request – in fact he was about to do so, having strangely quite forgotten the approaching duel with the Natividad and the voyage round the Horn. He recalled them just as he was about to speak, so that he changed at a moment’s notice what he was going to say and stammered and stuttered in consequence.
‘B-but we are going out in this ship to fight,’ he said. ‘Natividad’s got twice our force. It will be d-dangerous.’
Lady Barbara laughed at that – Hornblower noted the pleasing colour contrast between her white teeth and her golden sunburn; his own teeth were stained and ugly.
‘I would far rather,’ she said, ‘be on board your ship, whomsoever you have got to fight, than be in Panama with the vomita negro.’
‘But Cape Horn, ma’am?’
‘I have no knowledge of this Cape Horn of yours. But I have twice rounded the Cape of Good Hope during my brother’s Governor-Generalship, and I assure you, captain, I have never yet been seasick.’
Still Hornblower stammered and hesitated. He resented the presence of a woman on board his ship. Lady Barbara exactly voiced his thoughts – and as she did so her arched eyebrows came close together in a fashion oddly reminiscent of el Supremo although her eyes still laughed straight into his.
‘Soon, Captain,’ she said ‘I will come to think that I shall be unwelcome on board. I can hardly imagine that a gentleman holding the King’s commission would be discourteous to a woman, especially to a woman with my name.’
That was just the difficulty. No captain of small influence could afford to offend a Wellesley. Hornblower knew that if he did he might never command a ship again, and that he and Maria would rot on the beach on half pay for the rest of their lives. At thirty-seven he still was not more than one-eighth the way up the captain’s list – and the goodwill of the Wellesleys could easily keep him in employment until he attained flag rank. There was nothing for it but to swallow his resentment and to do all he could to earn that goodwill, diplomatically wringing advantage from his difficulties. He groped for a suitable speech.
‘I was only doing my duty, ma’am,’ he said, ‘in pointing out the dangers to which you might be exposed. For myself there would be nothing that would give me greater pleasure than your presence on board my ship.’
Lady Barbara went down in a curtsy far deeper than her first, and at this moment Gray came up and touched his cap.
‘Your baggage is all on board, ma’am,’ he said.
They had hove the stuff up with a whip from the main yardarm, and now it littered the gangway – leather cases, ironbound wooden boxes, dome-topped trunks.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Lady Barbara brought out a flat leather purse from her pocket, and took from it a gold coin. ‘Would you be so kind as to give this to the boat’s crew?’
‘Lord love you, ma’am, you don’t need to give those Dago niggers gold. Silver’s all they deserve.’
‘Give them this, then, and thank you for your kindness.’
Gray hurried off, and Hornblower heard him bargaining in English with a boat’s crew who knew no tongue but Spanish. The threat of having a cold shot hove down into the boat compelled it at length to shove off still spattering expostulation. A new little wave of irritation rose in Hornblower’s mind. He disliked seeing his warrant officers running to do a woman’s bidding, and his responsibilities were heavy, and he had been standing in a hot sun for half an hour.
‘There will be no room in your cabin for a tenth of that baggage, ma’am,’ he snapped.
Lady Barbara nodded gravely.
‘I have dwelt in a cabin before this, sir. That sea chest there holds everything I shall need on board. The rest can be put where you will – until we reach England.’
Hornblower almost stamped on the deck with rage. He was unused to a woman who could display practical common-sense like this. It was infuriating that he could find no way of discomposing her – and then he saw her smiling, guessed that she was smiling at the evident struggle on his face, and blushed hotly again. He turned on his heel and led the way below without a word.
Lady Barbara looked round the captain’s cabin with a whimsical smile, but she made no comment, not even when she surveyed the grim discomfort of the after-cabin.
‘A frigate has few of the luxuries of an Indiaman you see, ma’am,’ said Hornblower, bitterly. He was bitter because his poverty at the time when he commissioned the Lydia had allowed him to purchase none of the minor comforts which many frigate-captains could afford.
‘I was just thinking when you spoke,’ said Lady Barbara, gently, ‘that it was scandalous that a King’s officer should be treated worse than a fat John Company man. But I have only one thing to ask for which I do not see.’
‘And that is, ma’am—?’
‘A key for the lock on the cabin door.’
‘I will have the armourer make you a key, ma’am. But there will be a sentry at this door night and day.’
The implications which Hornblower read into this request of Lady Barbara’s angered him again. She was slandering both him and his ship.
‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’ said Lady Barbara. ‘It is not on my account, Captain, that I need a key. It is Hebe here whom I have to lock in unless she is directly under eye. She can no more keep from the men than a moth from a candle.’
The little negress grinned widely at this last speech, showing no resentment and a good deal of pride. She rolled her eyes at Polwheal, w
ho was standing silently by.
‘Where will she sleep, then?’ asked Hornblower, disconcerted once more.
‘On the floor of my cabin. And mark my words, Hebe, the first time I find you not there during the night I’ll lace you so that you will have to sleep on your face.’
Hebe still grinned, although it was evident that she knew her mistress would carry out her threat. What mollified Hornblower was Lady Barbara’s little slip in speaking of the ‘floor’ of her cabin instead of the deck. It showed that she was only a feeble woman after all.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Polwheal, take my things into Mr Bush’s cabin. Give Mr Bush my apologies and tell him he will have to berth in the wardroom. See that Lady Barbara has all that she wants, and ask Mr Gray with my compliments to attend to putting the baggage in my storeroom. You will forgive me, Lady Barbara, but I am already late in paying my call upon the Viceroy.’
X
The captain of the Lydia came on board again to the accompaniment of the usual twitterings of the pipes and the presenting of arms by the marine guard. He walked very carefully, for good news just arrived from Europe had made the Viceroy pressingly hospitable while the notification of the first case of yellow fever in Panama had made him apprehensive so that Hornblower had been compelled to drink one glass of wine too much. A naturally abstemious man, he hated the feeling of not being quite master of himself.
As always, he looked sharply round the deck as soon as his feet were on it. Lady Barbara was sitting in a hammock chair on the quarterdeck – someone must have had that chair made for her during the day; and someone had rigged for her a scrap of awning in the mizzen rigging so that she sat in the shade with Hebe crouching at her feet. She looked cool and comfortable, and smiled readily at him as he approached, but he looked away from her. He would not speak to her until his head was clearer.
‘Call all hands to weigh anchor and make sail,’ he said to Bush. ‘We leave at once.’
Captain Hornblower R. N. Page 39