“Masthead! What do you see of the boat?”
“She’s still pulling, sir, right in the wind’s eye!”
“Do you see anything of Mr. Prince?”
“No, sir, can’t say as I do.”
Not much chance in that tossing sea of seeing a floating man two miles away, not even from the masthead.
“Mr. Jones, tack the ship.”
It would be best to keep Atropos as nearly straight down wind from the boat as possible, allowing it an easy run to leeward when its mission was accomplished. Castilla would not be able to make anything of the manoeuvre.
“Deck there! The boat’s stopped pulling, sir. I think they’re picking up Mr. Prince, sir.”
Thank God for that. It was only now that Hornblower could realize what a bad ten minutes it had been.
“Deck there! Yes, sir, they’re waving a shirt. They’re pulling back to us now.”
“Heave‑to, Mr. Jones, if you please. Doctor Eisenbeiss, have everything ready in case Mr. Prince needs treatment.”
The Mediterranean at midsummer was warm enough; most likely the boy had taken no harm. The jolly boat came dancing back over the waves and turned under Atropos’ stern into the little lee afforded by her quarter as she rode with her starboard bow to the waves. Here came His Serene Highness, wet and bedraggled but not in the least hurt, meeting the concentrated gaze of all on deck with a smile half sheepish and half defiant. Eisenbeiss came forward fussily, talking voluble German, and then turned to Hornblower to explain.
“I have a hot blanket ready for him, sir.”
It was at that moment that the dam of Hornblower’s even temper burst.
“A hot blanket! I know what’ll warm him quicker than that. Bos’n’s mate! My compliments to the bos’n, and ask him to be kind enough to lend you his cane for a few minutes. Shut your mouth, doctor, if you know what’s good for you. Now, young man —”
Humanitarians had much to say against corporal punishment, but in their arguments, while pointing out the harm it might do to the one punished, they omitted to allow for the satisfaction other people derived from it. And it was some further training for the Blood Royal to display his acquired British imperturbability, to bite off the howl that a well-applied cane tended to draw forth, and to stand straight afterwards with hardly a skip to betray his discomfort, with hardly a rub at the smarting royal posterior, and with the tears blinked manfully back. Satisfaction or not, Hornblower was a little sorry afterwards.
Chapter XX
There was everything to be said in favour of keeping Castilla under observation for a while at least, and almost nothing to be said against it. The recent flight and pursuit had proved that Atropos had the heels of her even under reefed topsails, so that it could be taken for granted that she was safe from her in any lesser wind — and the wind was moderating. The Castilla was now a full thirty miles dead to leeward of Cartagena; it would be useful to know — Collingwood would certainly want to know — whether she intended to beat back there again or would fetch some easier Spanish port. Close‑hauled she could make Alicante to the north or perhaps Almeria to the south; she was close‑hauled on the starboard tack, heading south, at this moment. And there was the possibility to be borne in mind that she did not intend to return to Spain as yet, that her captain might decide to range through the Mediterranean for a while to see what prizes he could snap up. On her present course she could easily stretch over to the Barbary coast and pick up a victualler or two with grain and cattle intended for the Fleet.
Hornblower’s orders were that he should rejoin Collingwood in Sicilian waters after looking into Malaga and Cartagena; he was not the bearer of urgent despatches, nor, Heaven knew, was Atropos likely to be an important addition to the strength of the Fleet; while on the other hand it was the duty of every English captain, having once made contact with a ship of the enemy in open water, to maintain that contact as long as was possible. Atropos could not hope to face Castilla in battle, but she could keep her under observation, she might warn merchant shipping of danger, and she might with good fortune meet some big British ship of war — in actual fact, not make‑believe — to whom she could indicate the enemy.