He threw himself negligently into a chair and watched the preparations. Half way through them a knock at the door brought in Fell himself.

“Estrella’s clearly in sight now, My Lord. And there’s nothing visible under her stern.”

“Thank you, Sir Thomas.”

A cup of coffee was welcome at this time in the morning. Hornblower did not have to pretend eagerness to drink it. Daylight was creeping in through the cabin windows, making the lamplight garish and unnecessary. Another knock brought in a midshipman.

“Cap’n’s respects, My Lord, and Estrella’s casting off.”

“Very well.”

Soon she would be under way, and their device would be put to the test. Hornblower made himself bite and masticate another mouthful of toast.

“Can’t you young men sit still for even a moment?” he snapped. “Pour me some more coffee, Gerard.”

“Estrella’s warping out into the channel, My Lord,” reported the midshipman again.

“Very well,” said Hornblower, sipping fastidiously at his coffee, and hoping that no one could guess how much his pulse rate had accelerated. The minutes dragged by.

“Estrella’s preparing to make sail, My Lord.”

“Very well.” Hornblower put down his coffee cup, slowly, and as slowly as he could manage it rose from his chair, the eyes of the two young men never leaving him.

“I think,” he said, dragging out his words, “we might now go on deck.”

Pacing as slowly as when he had been a mourner at Nelson’s funeral he walked out past the sentry and up the ladder; behind him the young men had to curb their impatience. It was dazzling bright on deck; the sun was just over the Morro. In the centre of the fairway at less than a cable’s length distance lay the Estrella, gleaming in her white paint. As Hornblower’s eyes rested on her her jib extended itself upwards, to catch the wind and swing her round. Next moment her mainsail took the wind, and she steadied herself, gathering way; in a few seconds she was moving forward past the Clorinda. This was the moment. Fell was standing staring at her and muttering to himself; he was blaspheming in his excitement. Estrella dipped her colours; on her deck Hornblower was able to recognise the figure of Gomez, standing directing the handling of the schooner. Gomez caught sight of him at the same moment, and bowed, holding his hat across his chest, and Hornblower returned the compliment.

“She’s not making two knots through the water,” said Hornblower.

“Thank God for that,” said Fell.

Estrella glided on towards the entrance, preparatory to making the dog-legged turn out to sea; Gomez was handling her beautifully under her very easy sail.

“Shall I follow her now, My Lord?”

“I think it’s time, Sir Thomas.”

“Hands to the capstan, there! Headsail sheets, Mr. Field!”

Even at two knots there would be some strain on that length of spun yarn. It must not part—it must not—before Estrella was well out to sea. Lusty arms and sturdy backs were heaving Clorinda’s cable short.

“Clear away the saluting carronade, there!”

Estrella had made the turn; the last of her mainsail was vanishing round the corner. Fell was giving his orders to get Clorinda under way steadily and clearly, despite his excitement. Hornblower was watching him narrowly; this was not a bad test of how he would behave in action, of how he would take his ship down into the smoke and fury of a battle.

“Main tops’l braces!”

Fell was bringing the big frigate round in as neat a fashion as Gomez had handled Estrella. Clorinda steadied herself and gathered way, moving down the channel.

“Man the rail!”

Whatever was going on round the corner, whatever was happening to the Estrella out of sight, the compliments must be paid. Nine-tenths of Clorinda’s crew on deck could be spared for the purpose; with the ship creeping forward before the land breeze the other one-tenth sufficed to keep her under control. Hornblower drew himself up and faced the Spanish flag flying over the Morro, his hand to his hat brim, Fell beside him, the other officers in rank behind, while the salute banged out and was returned, the flags dipping respectfully.

“Carry on!”

They were approaching the turn. It was possible that at any moment one of those grinning cannons up there would pitch a warning shot at them—a shot warning them that a hundred other guns were ready to pound them into a wreck; that would be if the drogue had begun to take obvious effect on the Estrella.

“Main tops’l braces!” came Fell’s order again.

Already the big Atlantic rollers were making their effect felt; Hornblower could feel Clorinda’s bows lift momentarily to a dying surge.

“Hard a-starboard!” Clorinda turned steadily. “Meet her! Steady as you go.”

She had hardly settled on her new course when Estrella came in sight again a mile farther out to sea, her bows pointed in almost the opposite direction; she was still under very easy canvas, thank God, steadying herself for the final turn from the channel out into the ocean. Clorinda’s main topsail shivered briefly as the Morro height intercepted the land breeze, but drew again instantly. Estrella was turning again now. She was hardly within cannon shot of the Morro.

“Port!” came Fell’s order. “Steady!”

The land breeze was right aft now, but dying away, partly with their increased distance from land and partly with the growing heat of the sun.

“Set the mains’l.”

Fell was quite right; there was need to hasten, lest the ship be delayed in the belt of doldrums between the land breeze and the trade wind. The enormous sail area of the main course carried Clorinda forward boldly, and once more the sound of the ship’s way through the water became audible. Estrella was clear of the channel now; Hornblower, watching anxiously, saw her set foresail and staysails and jibs, all her fore and aft canvas in fact. She was holding her course northward, close-hauled, directly away from the land; she must have caught the trade wind and was making northing, very sensibly, because she would have to weather Haiti before next morning on her course to the Old Bahama Channel and Havana. They were far enough from the Morro now, and from Estrella, to incur no suspicion by staring through telescopes at her. Hornblower looked long and carefully. He could detect nothing unusual about her appearance. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Gomez had detected the drogue under his stern and had removed it. He might even now be exploding with laughter, along with his officers, looking back at the British frigate hopefully following them.

“Port!” came Fell’s order again, and Clorinda took the final turn.

“Leading marks in line, sir!” reported the master, looking aft at the land with his telescope to his eye.

“Very well. Steady as you go.”

Now the waves they were encountering were true Atlantic rollers, heaving up Clorinda’s starboard bow, and passing aft as the bows dipped to heave up the port quarter. Estrella right ahead was still close-hauled on a northerly course under fore and aft canvas.

“She’ll be making six knots,” estimated Gerard, standing with Spendlove a yard from Hornblower.

“That spun yarn should hold at six knots,” said Spendlove, meditatively.

“No bottom with this line!” reported the leadsman in the chains.

“All hands make sail!”

The order was being piped through the ship. Topgallants and royals were being spread; it was not long before Clorinda had every stitch of canvas set.

Yet the land breeze was dying fast. Clorinda was hardly making steerage way. Once, twice, the sails flapped like thunder, but she still held her course, creeping forward over the blue and white sea, with the sun blazing down upon her from a blue sky with hardly a fleck of cloud.