“Ship cleared for action, sir,” reported Jones.
“Very well.”
Now his glass picked her up; the distant sail, far beyond Castilla. As he looked, as the top gallants appeared below the royals, the royals disappeared. Nightingale was shortening down to “fighting sails” ready for action. Hornblower knew a little about Ford. He had the reputation of a good fighting captain. Please God he had discretion as well. Ford was far his senior in the Navy list; there was no possibility of giving him orders to keep clear.
Castilla was still hurtling down upon Nightingale.
“Signal, sir. Number 72. ‘Engage the enemy more closely!'”
“Acknowledge.”
Hornblower was conscious of Jones’s and Turner’s eyes upon him. There might be an implied rebuke in that signal, a hint that he was not doing his best to get into action. On the other hand it might be a mere signal that action was imminent. Nightingale’s topsails were over the horizon now; close‑hauled, she was doing her best to come to meet Castilla. If only Ford would hold off for half an hour — Atropos was steadily gaining on Castilla. No, he was still hurrying to the encounter before Atropos could arrive; he was playing Castilla’s game for her. Now Castilla was clewing up her courses; she was taking in her royals, ready for the clash. The two ships were hastening together; white sails on a blue sea under a blue sky. They were right in line from where Hornblower stood staring at them through his glass; right in line so that it was hard to judge the distance between them. Now they were turning, Nightingale paying off before the wind as Castilla approached. All the masts seemed blended together. Ford must keep clear and try to shoot away a spar.
A sudden billowing of smoke round the ships; the first broadsides were being fired. It looked as if the ships were already close‑locked in action — surely it could not be. Not time yet to take in courses and royals; the sooner they got down into action the better. Now, heavily over the blue water, came the sound of those first broadsides, like the rumbling of thunder. The smoke was blowing clear of the fight, drifting away from the ships in a long bank. More smoke billowing up; the guns had been reloaded and were firing away, and still the masts were close together — had Ford been fool enough to lock yardarms? Again the long rumble of the guns. The ships were swinging round in the smoke cloud; he could see the masts above it changing their bearing, but he could not distinguish ship from ship. There was a mast falling, yards, sails and all; it must be Nightingale’s main topmast, hideous though the thought was. This seemed like a lifetime, waiting to get into action. Cannon smoke and cannon thunder. He did not want to believe the glass was really revealing the truth to him as he looked, the details becoming clearer as he approached. The two ships were locked together, no doubt about it. And that was Nightingale, main topmast gone. She was lying at an angle to Castilla’s side, bows towards her. The wind was still turning the two ships, and it was turning them as if they were one. Nightingale must be locked against Castilla, bowsprit or possibly anchor hooked into Castilla’s fore chains. All Castilla’s guns could bear, practically raking Nightingale with every broadside, and Nightingale’s fire must be almost ineffectual. Could she tear herself loose? There went her foremast, everything, over the side; almost impossible to tear herself loose now.
The men at the guns were yelling at the sight.
“Silence! Mr. Jones, get the courses in.”
What was he to do? He ought to cross Castilla’s bows or stern and rake her, come about and rake her again. Not so easy to fire into Castilla’s bows without hitting Nightingale; not so easy to cross her stern; that would put him to leeward and there would be delay in getting back into action again. And the two ships were still swinging considerably, not only with the wind but with the recoil of their guns. Supposing that as he took Atropos to lie a little clear they swung so that Nightingale intercepted his fire and he had to work back again to windward to get back into action? That would be shameful, and other captains hearing the story would think he had deliberately stayed out of fire. He could lay his ship alongside Castilla on her unoccupied side, but her slender scantlings would bear little of Castilla’s ponderous broadside; his ship would be a wreck in a few minutes. And yet Nightingale was already a wreck. He must bring her instant, immediate relief.