“Yes, sir.”
It was irksome being dependent on Turner to interpret for him. With Spanish authorities, or French, Hornblower could have conducted his own negotiations, but not with Turks.
“Remember, that’s the first thing you ask, the very first. Have two French ships touched here? Then you can go on to get permission to fill the water casks. We’ll buy fresh vegetables, too, and a couple of bullocks, if we can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep it in your mind all the time that we’re scouting for Admiral Harvey. Don’t forget it for a moment, and then everything will be all right.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The lateen boat was nearing them fast, making surprising speed with the small evening wind; there was a respectable bubble of foam under her bow. She came running close alongside and hove‑to, the lateen sail flapping until they brailed up the upper portion.
“Turks, sir, not Greeks,” said Turner.
Hornblower could have guessed that without Turner’s help; the boat’s crew was dressed in dirty white gowns; they wore on their heads round red hats wreathed in dirty white turbans. The gray‑bearded man who stood up in the stern wore a red sash about his waist, from which hung a curved sword. He hailed Atropos in a thin high voice. Turner hailed back; the jargon he spoke was the lingua franca of the Levant, and Hornblower tried to guess at what was being said. Italian, French, English, Arabic, Greek, all contributed to the language, he knew. It was a little strange to hear the words “Horatio Hornblower” come clearly through the incomprehensible remainder.
“Who is this fellow?” he asked.
“The Mudir, sir. The local Jack‑in‑office. Harbour master — preventive officer. He is asking about our bill of health, sir.”
“Don’t forget to ask about the French ships,” said Hornblower.
“Aye aye, sir.”
The shouted conversation went on; Hornblower caught the word “fregata” more than once. The gray‑beard in the boat extended his hands in a negative gesture and went on to supplement it with a further sentence.
“He says there have been no French ships in here for years, sir,” said Turner.
“Ask him if he has heard about any along the coast or in the islands?”
The gray‑beard clearly disclaimed all knowledge.
“Tell him,” said Hornblower, “I’ll give him five pieces of gold for news of the French.”
There was something infectious in the atmosphere, in this Oriental talk — that was the only explanation Hornblower could think of for his using the outlandish expression “pieces of gold”. There was no reason why he should not have said “guineas” to Turner. The gray‑beard shook his head again; Hornblower, looking keenly at him fancied that the offer impressed him nevertheless. He asked another question and Turner answered.
“I’ve told him about the British squadron in the offing, sir,” he reported.
“Good.”
There was no harm in having the Turks believe he had a powerful force to back him up. Now the gray‑beard was gesturing with the fingers of one hand outstretched as he answered some question of Turner’s.
“He says he wants five piastres a hogshead for us to fill our water casks, sir,” said Turner. “That’s a shilling each.”
“Tell him — tell him I’ll give him half.”
The conversation continued; the western sky was beginning to redden with the sunset as the sun sank lower. At last the gray‑beard waved in farewell, and the boat turned away and unfurled her sail to the dying wind.
“They’ve gone back to spread their mats for the evening prayer, sir,” said Turner. “I’ve promised him ten guineas for everything. That gives us the right to land at the jetty over there, to fill our water casks, and to buy in the market that he’ll open in the morning. He’ll take his share of what we pay there, you can be sure, sir.”
“Very well, Mr. Turner. Mr. Jones!”
“Sir!”
“With the first light in the morning I’m going to start sweeping for the wreck. I’ll have the sweep prepared now.”
“Er — aye aye, sir.”
“A hundred fathoms of one‑inch line, if you please, Mr. Jones. Two nine‑pounder shot. Have a net made for each, and attach them ten fathoms apart at equal distances from the ends of the line. Is that clear?”