Hornblower forced himself to bargain; he did not want the Breton captain to know that his recent piece of information was worth further gold. He suggested that the cider, of an unknown quantity, should be given him for nothing extra, and the captain with an avaricious gleam in his peasant’s eye, indignantly refused. For some minutes the argument proceeded while the rum sank lower in the captain’s glass.
“One franc, then,” offered Hornblower at last. “Twenty sous.”
“Twenty sous and a glass of rum,” said the captain, and Hornblower had to reconcile himself to that much further delay, but it was worth it to retain the captain’s respect and to allay the captain’s suspicions.
So that it was with his head swimming with rum – a sensation he detested – that Hornblower sat down at last to write his urgent despatch, having seen his guest down the side. No mere signal could convey all that he wanted to say, and no signal would be secret enough, either. He had to choose his words as carefully as the rum would permit, as he stated his suspicions that the French might be planning an invasion of Ireland, and as he gave his reasons for those suspicions. He was satisfied at last, and wrote ‘H. Hornblower, Commander,’ at the foot of the letter. Then he turned over the sheet and wrote the address: ‘Rear Admiral William Parker, Commanding the Inshore Squadron,’ on the other side, and folded and sealed the letter. Parker was one of the extensive Parker clan; there were and had been admirals and captains innumerable with that name, none of them specially distinguished; perhaps this letter would alter that tradition.
He sent it off – a long and arduous trip for the boat, and waited impatiently for the acknowledgement.
Sir,
Your letter of this date has been received and will be given my full attention.
Your ob’d serv’t,
Wm. Parker.
Hornblower read the few words in a flash; he had opened the letter on the quarter-deck without waiting to retire with it to his cabin, and he put it in his pocket hoping that his expression betrayed no disappointment.
“Mr Bush,” he said, “we shall have to maintain a closer watch than ever over the Goulet, particularly at night and in thick weather.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Probably Parker needed time to digest the information, and would later produce a plan; until that time it was Hornblower’s duty to act without orders.
“I shall take the ship up to the Little Girls whenever I can do so unobserved.”
“The Little Girls? Aye aye, sir.”
It was a very sharp glance that Bush directed at him. No one in his senses – at least no one except under the strongest compulsion – would risk his ship near those navigational dangers in conditions of bad visibility. True; but the compulsions existed. Three thousand well-trained French soldiers landing in Ireland would set that distressful country in a flame from end to end, a wilder flame than had burned in 1798.
“We’ll try it tonight,” said Hornblower.
“Aye aye, sir.”
The Little Girls lay squarely in the middle of the channel of the Goulet; on either side lay a fairway a scant quarter of a mile wide, and up and down those fairways raced the tide; it would only be during the ebb that the French would be likely to come down. No, that was not strictly true, for the French could stem the flood tide with a fair wind – with this chill easterly wind blowing. The Goulet had to be watched in all conditions of bad visibility and Hotspur had to do the watching.
CHAPTER 16
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Bush, lingering after delivering his afternoon report, and hesitating before taking the next step he had clearly decided upon.
“Yes, Mr Bush?”
“You know, sir, you’re not looking as well as you should.”
“Indeed?”
“You’ve been doing too much, sir. Day and night.”
“That’s a strange thing for a seaman to say, Mr Bush. And a King’s officer.”
“It’s true, all the same, sir. You haven’t had an hour’s sleep at a time for days. You’re thinner than I’ve ever known you, sir.”