“I’ll give the order within a week,” said Hornblower.
No gale could be expected to blow for a month continuously, but a second gale might follow the first before the water‑hoys could beat down from Plymouth to refill the casks. It was a tribute to the organization set up by Cornwallis that during nearly six continuous months at sea Hotspur had not yet had to go on short allowance for water. Should it become necessary, it would be one more irksome worry brought about by the passage of time.
“Thank you, sir,” said Bush, touching his hat and going off about his business along the darkened reeling deck.
There were worries of all sorts. Yesterday morning Doughty had pointed out to Hornblower that there were holes appearing in the elbows of his uniform coat, and he only had two coats apart from full dress. Doughty had done a neat job of patching, but a search through the ship had not revealed any material of exactly the right weather‑beaten shade. Furthermore the seats of nearly all his trousers were paper‑thin, and Hornblower did not fancy himself in the baggy slop‑chest trousers issued to the lower‑deck; yet as that store was fast running out he had had to secure a pair for himself before they should all go. He was wearing his thick winter underclothing; three sets had appeared ample last April, but now he faced the prospect, in a gale, of frequent wettings to the skin with small chance of drying anything. He cursed himself and went off to try to make sure of some sleep in anticipation of a disturbed night. At least he had a good dinner inside him; Doughty had braised an oxtail, the most despised and rejected of all the portions of the weekly ration bullock, and had made of it a dish fit for a king. It might be his last good dinner for a long time if the gale lasted — winter affected land as well as sea, so that he could expect no other vegetables than potatoes and boiled cabbage until next spring.
His anticipation of a disturbed night proved correct. He had been awake for some time, feeling the lively motion of the Hotspur and trying to make up his mind to rise and dress or to shout for a light and try to reads when they came thundering on his door.
“Signal from the Flag, sir!”
“I’ll come.”
Doughty was really the best of servants; he arrived at the same moments with a storm lantern.
“You’ll need your pea jacket, sir, and oilskins over it. Your sou’wester, sir. Better have your scarf, sir, to keep your pea jacket dry.”
A scarf round his neck absorbed spray that might otherwise drive in between sou’wester and oilskin coat and soak the pea jacket. Doughty tucked Hornblower into his clothes like a mother preparing her son for school, while they reeled and staggered on the leaping deck. Then Hornblower went out into the roaring darkness.
“A white rocket and two blue lights from the Flag, sir,” reported Young. “That means ‘take offshore stations’.”
“Thank you. What sail have we set?” Hornblower could guess the answer by the feel of the ship, but he wanted to be sure. It was too dark for his dazzled eyes to see as yet.
“Double reefed tops’ls and main course, sir.”
“Get that course in and lay her on the port tack.”
“Port tack. Aye aye, sir.”
The signal for offshore stations meant a general withdrawal of the Channel Fleet. The main body took stations seventy miles to seaward off Brest, safe from that frightful lee shore and with a clear run open to them for Tor Bay — avoiding Ushant on the one hand and the Start on the other — should the storm prove so bad as to make it impossible to keep the sea. The Inshore Squadron was to be thirty miles closer in. They were the most weatherly ships and could afford the additional risk in order to be close up to Brest should a sudden shift of wind enable the French to get out.
But there was not merely the question of the French coming out, but of other French ships coming in. Out in the Atlantic there were more than one small French squadron — Bonaparte’s own brother was on board one of them, with his American wife — seeking urgently to regain a French port before food and water should be completely exhausted. So Naiad and Doris and Hotspur had to stay close in, to intercept and report. They could best encounter the dangers of the situation. And they could best be spared if they could not. So Hotspur had to take her station only twenty miles to the west of Ushant, where French ships running before the gale could be best expected to make their landfall.