“You mean the Bride of Abydos, señor?”
“Naturally, milord.”
Hornblower saw a trap opening before him.
“You call her a pirate, señor?”
“What do you call her, milord?”
“I am waiting to hear your opinion, señor.” It was important not to commit himself.
“Her actions call for explanation, milord. She has captured and plundered a Dutch ship. That can be interpreted as an act of piracy. On the other hand it might be said she is operating under a so-called commission issued by the rebels in Venezuela. In the one case Captain Van der Maesen will seize her as a pirate. On the other, if she is a privateer, I will seize her as an enemy of my country.”
“In neither case, señor, has a court of law determined her status. In the meanwhile, gentlemen, she is in my possession.”
Hats were in the ring now. Hornblower met the eyes of the others with the least expression he could manage. Of one thing he was certain, that whatever might be eventually decided regarding the Bride of Abydos neither the British Government nor the British public would approve of his tamely allowing her to be taken out of his hands.
“Milord, I have assured Captain Van der Maesen of my support in any action he may decide to take, and he has given me the same assurance.”
The Dutch captain confirmed this with a nod and a half-intelligible sentence. Two to one, in other words; odds that Clorinda could not hope to face.
“Then I hope, gentlemen, I hope very sincerely indeed, that you decide upon approving of my course of action.”
It was the politest way of defying them that he could think of.
“I find it very hard to believe, milord, that you extend the I protection of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy to pirates, or to privateers in a war in which His Majesty is neutral.”
“You may have noticed, señor, that the Bride of Abydos is flying His Britannic Majesty’s flag. Of course, you understand that as a naval officer I cannot permit that flag to be hauled down.”
There it was, the ultimate defiance. Ten minutes from now and the guns might be firing. Ten minutes from now and this deck might be littered with dead and wounded. He might be dead himself. The Spaniard looked at the Dutchman and back to Hornblower.
“We would much regret taking strong action, milord.”
“I am delighted to hear that, señor. That confirms me in my decision. We can part the best of friends.”
“But—”
The Brigadier had not intended his last sentence to be interpreted as a sign of yielding. He had been uttering, he thought, a further threat. Hornblower’s interpretation of it left him speechless for a moment.
“I am overjoyed to find that we are in agreement, gentlemen. Perhaps we can drink the healths of our sovereigns in another glass of this wine, señor—and may I take this opportunity of acknowledging the debt the rest of the world owes to your country for such an exquisite production?”
By taking their withdrawal for granted he was giving them a chance of withdrawing gracefully. The bitter moment of admitting that they had been outfaced had come and gone before they had realised it. Once more the Spaniard and the Dutchman exchanged unavailing glances, and Hornblower seized the opportunity to pour more wine.
“To His Most Catholic Majesty, señor. To His Majesty the King of the Netherlands.”
He held his glass high. They could not refuse that toast, even though the Brigadier’s mouth still opened and shut as he struggled to find words for his emotions. Common politeness forced the Brigadier to complete the toast, as Hornblower waited, glass in hand.
“To His Britannic Majesty.”
They drank together.
“This has been a delightful visit, gentlemen,” said Hornblower. “Another glass? No? It cannot be that you are leaving so soon? But I expect you have many duties calling for your attention.”
As the side boys, white-gloved, formed up at the entry port, and the bosun’s mates pealed upon their whistles, and the ship’s company, still at their guns, stood to attention, in compliment to the departing visitors, Hornblower could spare a moment to glance round. Those side boys and bosun’s mates and gun’s crews might be facing imminent death at this moment if that interview had taken a more stormy course. He deserved their gratitude, but of course he would never receive it. Shaking hands with the Brigadier he made the final clarification of the situation.
“A prosperous voyage, señor. I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting you again. I shall be sailing for Kingston as soon as the land breeze serves.”
One of Barbara’s regular letters, received months later, helped to round off the incident.
My dearest husband, (wrote Barbara as usual, and, as usual Hornblower read those words with a smile. There were several sheets to the letter, and the first sheet contained much of interest to Hornblower, but it was not until the second sheet that Barbara began her usual society and professional gossip.)
Last night the Lord Chancellor was my left-hand partner at dinner, and he had much to say about the Bride of Abydos, and in consequence, to my great pleasure, much to say about my dear husband. The Spanish and Dutch governments, through their ambassador and minister, have naturally lodged protests with the Foreign Secretary, who has only been able to acknowledge receipt of the notes and to promise a further reply when the legal aspects of the case are made clear. And, in all the history of Admiralty law, said the Lord Chancellor, there never was a case as complicated as this one. The insurers plead negligence on the part of the assured (I hope that I have these technical terms right, my very dearest) because the captain of the Helmond took no steps to verify the bona fides of the Bride of Abydos, and they further plead negligence on the part of the Dutch government because the capture took place within Dutch territorial waters off Bonaire, and the Dutchmen deny hotly both that they were negligent and that the capture was really within their territorial waters. Further, the actual plundering and detention took place in Spanish territorial waters. And there seem to be untold complications arising from the fact that you found the Bride of Abydos abandoned by her crew—did you know, dearest, that it seems a matter of great legal importance as to whether her anchor was actually touching bottom or not? In any case, there has been no legal action in any court so far because no one seems to be able to decide which court has jurisdiction in the matter (I hope, dearest, you will give your wife all credit for listening attentively and taking note of these difficult expressions). Taking one thing with another, and allowing four months on the average for each necessary round trip to the West Indies to take evidence on commission, and taking into account demurrers and rebuttals and sur-rebuttals, the Lord Chancellor thinks that it will be thirty-seven years before any case reaches the House of Lords, and he went on to say, cackling into his soup, that our interest in the case will be greatly diminished by then.
This is by no means all the news, dearest. There is something further which would greatly distress me if it were not for the fact that I know my husband the Admiral will be delighted. Taking tea today with Lady Exmouth (I know how your dear eyes will open wide with horror at women being in possession of such secrets) I heard that Their Lordships take a most favourable view of your attitude towards the Spanish and Dutch naval authorities—dearest, I am so delighted, even though I could never doubt it. It has already been decided to extend your command for the extra year, and my pleasure in knowing how pleased you will be at this compliment almost—quite—allays my sorrow at the thought of our further separation. Dearest, there is no woman who could love you—there is no woman on earth who could love any man as much as I love you, the truest, the bravest, the boldest, the cleverest—I must not write like this because there is still further news to add.
This is that the Government has always, apparently, looked with favour at the attempt of the Spanish colonies to attain their independence, and with the greatest disfavour upon the decision of the Spanish government to attempt their reconquest with troops sent out from Europe. There have been hints that the other Powers, uneasy at the movement towards liberty, have been meditating giving military assistance to Spain in Spanish America. The victory at Carabobo, where poor Mr. Ramsbottom and his guns played such a part, had made this intervention more unlikely. It is a great State secret, so great that over the teacups it is mentioned only in whispers, that the British Government meditates making a declaration that it will not permit military intervention in Spanish America. And it appears that our Government is in accord with the Americans over this, for it is believed that President Monroe is planning to issue a declaration regarding a similar doctrine, and discussions regarding it are taking place. So that my dearest husband finds himself at the centre of world affairs as he has always been at the centre of his wife’s fondest affections.