“Luff a little,” said Hornblower to the quartermasters; his mind was simultaneously recording the cries of the men at the leads. “Mr Bush! Stand by with the port‑side guns as we luff.”
Hotspur came to the wind; on the main‑deck there were creakings and groanings as the guns’ crews laboured with handspike and crowbar to train their weapons round.
“Take your aim!” shouted Bush, and after some pregnant seconds, “Fire!”
The guns went off almost together, and Hornblower thought — although he was sure he was wrong — that he could hear instantly afterwards the crash of the shot upon the coasters’ hulls. Certainly after that he heard shouts and cries from that direction while the smoke blinded him, but he had no time to spare for that. There was only half an hour of floodtide left. No more coasters could be coming along the channel, for if they did they would not be able to round the Council Rocks before the ebb set in. And it was full time to extricate Hotspur from the reefs and shoals that surrounded her. She needed what was left of the flood to carry her out, and even at half‑tide she was likely to touch bottom and be left ignominiously stranded, helpless in daylight under the fire of the Toulinguet battery.
“Time to say good‑bye,” he said to Prowse. He realized with a shock that he was on the edge of being lightheaded with strain and excitement, for otherwise he would not have said such a ridiculous thing. He must keep himself under control for a long while to come. It would be far more dangerous to touch bottom on a falling tide than on a rising one. He gulped and steadied himself, regaining his self‑command at the cost of one more fierce effort.
“I’ll handle the ship, Mr Prowse.” He raised the trumpet.
“Hands to the braces! Hands wear ship.”
A further order to the wheel brought the ship round on the other tack, with Prowse at the binnacle calling her heading. Now he had to thread his way out through the perils that encompassed her. The hands, completely carefree, were inclined to show their elation by noisy skylarking, but one single savage reproof from Bush silenced them, and Hotspur fell as quiet as a church as she crept out.
“Wind’s backed three points since sunset, sir,” reported Prowse.
“Thank you.”
With the wind just abaft the beam Hotspur handled easily, but by this time instinct had to take the place of calculation. Hornblower had come in to the very limit of safety at high water over shallows hardly covered at high tide. He had to feel his way out, by the aid of the lead, by what could be seen of the shore and the shoals. The wheel spun over and back again as the ship nosed her way out. For a few perilous seconds she was sailing by the lee, but Hornblower was able to order the helm over again in the nick of time.
“Slack water now, sir,” reported Prowse.
“Thank you.”
Slack water, if any of the incalculable factors had not intervened. The wind had been slight but steady for several days from the southeastward. He had to bear that in mind along with all the other factors.
“By the mark five!” called the leadsman.
“Thank God!” mustered Prowse.
For the first time Hotspur had nearly twenty feet of water under her keel, but there were still some outlying pinnacles of rock to menace her.
“Starboard a point,” ordered Hornblower.
“Deep six!”
“Mr Bush!” Hornblower must stay steady and calm. He must betray no relief, no human feelings, although within him the desire to laugh like an idiot welled up in combat with the frightful exhaustion he felt. “Kindly secure the guns. Then you may dismiss the hands from general quarters.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I must thank you, Mr Prowse, for your very able assistance.”
“Me, sir?” Prowse went on in incoherent self‑depreciation. Hornblower could imagine the lantern-jaws working in surprise, and he ignored the mumblings.
“You may heave the ship to, Mr Prowse. We don’t want dawn to find us under the guns of Petit Minou.”
“No, sir, of course not, sir.”