The possibilities of prize money bulked large in the thoughts of every naval officer.
“Maybe we will,” said Hornblower. He thought of Maria and his allotment of pay; even a few hundreds of pounds would make a huge difference.
“Maybe, sir,” said Bush, clearly discounting the possibility.
“And there’s another side to the picture,” added Hornblower, pointing round the horizon.
There were half a dozen other sails all visible at this time, all British. They marked the enormous extent of British maritime commerce. They bore the wealth that could support navies, sustain allies, maintain manufactories of arms – to say nothing of the fact that they provided the basic training for seamen who later would man the ships of war which kept the seas open for them and closed them to England’s enemies.
“They’re only British, sir,” said Prowse, wonderingly. He had not the vision to see what Hornblower saw. Bush had to look hard at his captain before it dawned upon him.
The heaving of the log, with the changing of the watch, relieved Hornblower of the temptation to preach a sermon.
“What’s the speed, Mr Young?”
“Three knots and a half, sir.”
“Thank you.” Hornblower turned back to Prowse. “Keep her on her present course.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower was training his telescope out over the port bow. There was a black dot rising and falling out there towards Molene Island. He kept it under observation.
“I think, Mr Prowse,” he said, his glass still at his eye, “we might edge in a little more inshore. Say two points. I’d like to pass that fishing-boat close.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
She was one of the small craft employed in the pilchard fishery, very similar to those seen off the Cornish coast. She was engaged at the moment in hauling in her seine; as Hotspur approached more closely the telescope made plain the rhythmical movements of the four men.
“Up with the helm a little more, Mr Prowse, if you please. I’d like to pass her closer still.”
Now Hornblower could make out a little area of water beside the fishing-boat that was of a totally different colour. It had a metallic sheen quite unlike the rest of the grey sea; the fishing-boat had found a shoal of pilchards and her seine was now closing in on it.
“Mr Bush. Please try to read her name.”
They were fast closing on her; within a few moments Bush could make out the bold white letters on her stern.
“From Brest, sir. Duke’s Freers.”
With that prompting Hornblower could read the name for himself, the Deux Frères, Brest.
“Back the maintops’l, Mr Young!” bellowed Hornblower to the officer of the watch, and then, turning back to Bush and Prowse, “I want fish for my supper tonight.”
They looked at him in ill-concealed surprise.
“Pilchards, sir?”
“That’s right.”
The seine was close in alongside the Deux Frères, and masses of silver fish were being heaved up into her. So intent were the fishermen on securing their catch that they had no knowledge of the silent approach of the Hotspur, and looked up in ludicrous astonishment at the lovely vessel towering over them in the sunset. They even displayed momentary panic, until they obviously realized that in time of peace a British ship of war would do them less harm than a French one might, a French one enforcing the Inscription Maritime.
Hornblower took the speaking-trumpet from its beckets. He was pulsing with excitement now, and he had to be firm with himself to keep calm. This might be the first step in the making of the history of the future; besides, he had not spoken French for a considerable time and he had to concentrate on what he was going to say.
“Good day, captain!” he yelled, and the fishermen, reassured, waved back to him in friendly fashion. “Will you sell me some fish?”
Hurriedly they conferred, and then one of them replied.
“How much?”
“Oh, twenty pounds.”
Again they conferred.
“Very well.”
“Captain,” went on Hornblower, searching in his mind not only for the necessary French words but also for an approach to bring about the situation he desired. “Finish your work. Then come aboard. We can drink a glass of rum to the friendship of nations.”