“What about the inner harbour?”

“Four—no five ships moored there, sir. And two hulks.”

“What d’you make of them?”

“Four of the line, sir, and a frigate. No yards across. Laid up in ordinary, I should say, sir.”

In past years the Spanish government had built fine ships, but under the corruption and inefficiency of Godoy they were allowed to rot at their moorings for want of crews and stores. Four of the line and a frigate laid up at Cartagena was what had last been reported there, so there was no change; negative information for Collingwood again, but useful.

“She’s setting sail!”

That was the prince’s voice, highpitched and excited, screaming down. A moment later Horrocks and Smiley were supplementing the warning.

“The frigate, sir! She’s getting sail on her!”

“I can see her cross, sir!”

Spanish ships of war had the habit of hoisting huge wooden crosses at the mizzen peak when action seemed timely. The frigate must be intending to make a sortie, to chase away this inquisitive visitor. It was high time to beat a retreat. A big Spanish frigate such as the Castilla carried fortyfour guns, just twice as many as Atropos, and with three times their weight of metal. If only over the horizon Atropos had a colleague to whom she could lure the Castilla! That was something to bear in mind and to suggest to Collingwood in any case; this Spanish captain was enterprising and energetic, and might be rash—he might be smouldering with shame after Trafalgar, and he might be lured out to his destruction.

“She’s under way, sir!”

“Fore tops’l set! Main tops’l set, sir!”

No sense in courting danger, even though with this wind Atropos had a clear run to safety.

“Keep her away a point,” said Hornblower to the helmsman, and Atropos turned a little to show a clean pair of heels to the Spaniard.

“She’s coming out, sir!” reported Horrocks from the main topmast head. “Reefed tops’ls. Two reefs, I think, sir.”

Hornblower trained his glass over the quarter There it was, the white oblong just showing above the horizon as Atropos lifted—the reefed fore topsail of the Castilla.

“She’s pointing straight at us now, sir,” reported Smiley.

In a stern chase like this Atropos had nothing to fear, newly coppered as she was and with a pretty turn of speed. The high wind and the rough sea would favour the bigger ship, of course. The Castilla might contrive to keep the Atropos in sight even though she had no chance of overtaking her. It would be a useful object lesson to officers and men to see Atropos making the best use of her potentiality for speed. Hornblower looked up again at sails and rigging. Certainly now there could be no question of taking in a third reef. He must carry all possible sail, just as the Castilla was doing.

Mr. Still, as officer of the watch, we touching his hat to Hornblower with a routine question.

“Carry on, Mr. Still.”

“Up spirits!”

With a powerful enemy plunging along behind her the life of the Atropos went on quite normally; the men had their grog and went to their dinners, the watch changed, the wheel was relieved. Palos Point disappeared over the port quarter as Atropos went flying on into the open Mediterranean, and still that white oblong kept its position on the horizon astern. The Castilla was doing well for a Spanish frigate.

“Call me the moment there is any changes Mr. Jones,” said Hornblower, shutting his glass.

Jones was nervous—he might be imagining himself in a Spanish prison already. It would do him no harm to be left on deck with the responsibility, even though, down in his cabin, Hornblower found himself getting up from his dinner table to peer aft through the scuttle to make sure the Castilla was not gaining on them. In fact, Hornblower was not sorry when, with his dinner not yet finished, a knock at the door brought a messenger from the quarterdeck.

“Mr. Jones’s respects, sir, and the wind is moderating a little, he thinks, sir.”

“I’m coming,” said Hornblower, laying down his knife and fork.

In a moderate breeze Atropos ought to be able to run Castilla topsails-under in an hour or two, and any reduction in the wind was to the advantage of Atropos as long as she spread all the canvas she could carry. But it would call for judgement to shake out the reefs at the right time, without imperilling spars on the one hand or losing distance on the other. When Hornblower arrived on deck a glance told him that it was time.

“You are quite right, Mr. Jones,” he said—no harm in giving him a pat on the back—“we’ll shake out a reef.”

The order sped along the deck.

“Hands make sail!”

Hornblower looked aft through his glass; as Atropos lifted her stern he could get the Castilla’s fore topsail right in the centre of the field. The most painstaking thought could not bring a decision as to whether or not it was any nearer. She must be exactly maintaining her distance. Then as the topsail hung dizzily in the lens he saw—he was nearly sure he saw—the oblong broaden into a square. He rested his eye and looked again. No doubt about it. Castilla had decided that was the moment to shake out a reef too.

Hornblower looked up at the Atropos’ main topsail yard. The topmen, bent over the yard at that dizzy height, had completed the untying of the reef points. Now they came running in from the yard. Smiley had the starboard yardarm, and His Serene Highness the Prince of SeitzBunau the port. They were having their usual race, flinging themselves on to the backstays and sliding down without a thought for their necks. Hornblower was glad that boy had found his feet—of course he was wild with the excitement of the flight and pursuit; Hornblower was glad that Smiley had adopted that amused paternal attitude towards him.

With the letting out of the reef Atropos increased her speed again; Hornblower could feel the renewed thrust of the sail upon the fabric of the ship under his feet; he could feel the more frantic leap of the vessel on the wave crests. He directed a wary glance aloft. This would not be the moment to have anything carry away, not with Castilla tearing along in pursuit. Jones was standing by the wheel. The wind was just over the starboard quarter, and the little ship was answering well to her rudder, but it was as important to keep an eye on the helmsman as it was to see that they did not split a topsail. It called for some little resolution to leave Jones in charge again and go below to try to finish his dinner.

When the message came down again that the wind was moderating it was like that uncanny feeling which Hornblower had once or twice experienced of something happening again even though it had not happened before—the circumstances were so exactly similar.

“Mr. Jones’s respects, sir, and the wind is moderating a little, he thinks, sir.”

Hornblower had to compel himself to vary his reply.

“My compliments to Mr. Jones, and I am coming on deck.”

Just as before, he could feel that the ship was not giving her utmost. Just as before, he gave the order for a reef to be shaken out. Just as before, he swung round to train his glass on the Castilla’s topsail. And just as before he turned back as the men prepared to come in from the yard. But that was the moment when everything took a different course, when the desperate emergency arose that always at sea lies just over the horizon of the future.

Excitement had stimulated the Prince into folly. Hornblower looked up to see the boy standing on the port yardarm, not merely standing but dancing, taking a clumsy step or two to dare Smiley at the starboard yardarm to imitate him, one hand on his hip, the other over his head. Hornblower was going to shout a reprimand; he opened his mouth and inflated his chest, but before he could utter a sound the Prince’s foot slipped. Hornblower saw him totter, strive to regain his balance, and then fall, heavily through the air, and turning a complete circle as he fell.