A Ship of the Line. C. S. Forester

“I’ll have the guns loaded and run out, too, if you please, Mr Bush.”

More than half the men had never seen a cannon fired in their lives. This was the first time they had even heard the strange mad music of the gun trucks rumbling over the planking. Hornblower heard it with a catch in his breath — it called up many memories. The privateers gave no sign of flinching when the Sutherland showed her teeth, as Hornblower, watching them closely, saw. They held steadily on their course, heading closehauled to meet the convoy. But their appearance, Hornblower was glad to see, had done more to herd the merchantmen together than his orders had done. They were huddled together in a mass, each ship closer aboard its neighbour than any merchant captain could be induced to steer save under the impulse of fear. He could see boarding nettings being run up on board them, and they were running out their guns. The defence they could offer would only be feeble, but the fact that they could defend themselves at all was important in the present state of affairs.

A puff of smoke and a dull report from the leading privateer showed that she had opened fire; where the shot went Hornblower could not see, but the tricolour flag soared up each of the luggers’ main masts, and at a word from Hornblower the red ensign rose to the Sutherland’s peak in reply to this jaunty challenge. Next moment the luggers neared the Walmer Castle, the leading ship to port, with the evident intention of running alongside.

“Set the t’gallants, Mr Bush,” said Hornblower. “Helm a-starboard. Meet her. Steady.”

The Walmer Castle had sheered off in fright, almost running on board her starboard side neighbour, who had been forced to put her helm over as well. Then, in the nick of time, the Sutherland came dashing down. The luggers put up their helms and moved away to avoid the menace of her broadside, and their first clumsy rush had been beaten off.

“Main tops’l aback!” roared Hornblower.

It was of supreme importance to preserve his position of advantage to windward of the convoy, whence he could dash forward to the threatened point of danger. The convoy drew slowly ahead, with the luggers leading them. Hornblower watched them steadily, the practice of years enabling him to keep them in the focus of his telescope as he stood on the heaving deck. They spun round suddenly on the starboard tack again, moving like clockwork, leaping to meet the Lord Mornington on the starboard wing like hounds at the throat of a stag. The Lord Mornington sheered out of her course, the Sutherland came tearing down upon her, and the luggers went about, instantly, heading for the Walmer Castle again.

“Hard a-starboard,” rasped Hornblower. The Walmer Castle, to his vast relief, managed to throw her topsails aback, and the Sutherland reached her just in time. She swept across her stern; Hornblower could see her whiskered captain in his formal blue frockcoat beside her wheel, and half a dozen Lascar sailors leaping hysterically over her deck. The luggers wore away, just out of gunshot of the Sutherland. There was smoke eddying round one of the other Indiamen; apparently she had loosed off her broadside straight into the blue.

“They’re wasting powder there, sir,” volunteered Bush, but Hornblower made no reply, being too busy with his mental calculations.

“As long as they have the sense not to scatter —” said Crystal.

That was an important consideration; if the convoy once divided he could not hope to defend every portion of it. There was neither honour nor glory to be won in this contest between a ship of the line and two small privateers — if he beat them off the world would think nothing of it, while if any one of the convoy was lost he could imagine only too well the ensuing public outcry. He had thought of signalling to his charges that they should keep together, but he had rejected the idea. Signalling would only confuse them, and half of them would probably misread the signal. It was better to rely on their natural instinct of self-preservation.

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