“Take in the tops’ls and topgallants!”
Hands rushed aloft. In the gentle night the vibration of the shrouds as fifty men ran up the ratlines could be distinctly heard.
“Now, Mr Bush, wear the ship, if you please. Course sou’ by west.”
“Sou’ by west, sir.”
Soon it was time for the next order.
“Send the topgallant masts down!”
This was the time when drill and practice revealed their value. In the dark night what had once been a mere toilsome exercise was performed without a hitch.
“Set the fore and main topmast stays’ls. Get the fores’l in.”
Hornblower walked over to the binnacle.
“How does she handle under this sail?”
There was a pause while the almost invisible figure at the wheel spun it tentatively this way and that. “Well enough, sir.”
“Very well.”
Hornblower had altered the silhouette of the Hotspur as entirely as he could. With only her fore and aft sails and her main course set, and her topgallant masts sent down, even an experienced seaman on this dark night would have to look twice or thrice to recognize what he saw. Hornblower peered at the chart in the faint light of the binnacle. He concentrated on it, to find the effort unnecessary. For two days now he had been studying it and memorizing this particular section; it was fixed in his mind and it seemed as if he would be able to visualize it to his dying day – which might be today. He looked up, to find, as he expected, that exposure to that faint light had temporarily made his eyes quite blind in the darkness. He would not do it again.
“Mr Prowse! You can keep your eye on the chart from now on when you think it necessary. Mr Bush! Choose the best two hands you know with the lead and send them aft to me.” When the two dark figures reported Hornblower gave them curt orders. “Get into the main chains on each side. I don’t want you to make a sound more than you can help. Don’t make a cast unless I order it. Haul your lines in and then let ’em out to four fathoms. We’re making three knots through the water, and when the flood starts we’ll be making next to nothing over the ground. Keep your fingers on your lines and pass the word quietly about what you feel. I’ll station hands to pass the word. Understand?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Four bells struck to mark the end of the second dog watch.
“Mr Bush, that’s the last time I want the bell to strike. Now you may clear for action. No, wait a moment, if you please. I want the guns loaded with two rounds of shot each and run out. Have the coigns in and the guns at extreme depression. And as soon as the men are at their quarters I don’t want to hear another sound. Not a word, not a whisper. The man who drops a hand-spike on the deck will get two dozen. Not the slightest sound.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Very well, Mr Bush. Carry on.”
There was a roar and a rattle as the hands went to their quarters, as the gun-ports opened and the guns were run out. Then silence closed in upon the ship. Everything was ready, from the gunner down in the magazine to the look-out in the foretop, as the Hotspur reached silently down to the southward with the wind one point abaft the beam.
“One bell in the first watch, sir,” whispered Prowse, turning the sand-glass by the binnacle. An hour ago the flood tide had started to make. In another half-hour the clustered coasters to the southward, huddled under the shelter of the batteries at Camaret, would be casting off; no, they would be doing that at this moment, for there should be just enough water for them. They would be sweeping and hedging out, to run with the flood up the dangerous Toulinguet Passage, round the point and up the Goulet. They would hope to reach the Little Girls and safety, as the tide carried them into Brest Roads where the provisions and the cordage and the canvas with which they were laden were so eagerly awaited by the French fleet. To the north, back at the Petit Minou, Hornblower could imagine the bustle and the excitement. The movements of the Inshore Squadron must have been noted. Sharp eyes on the French shore had told anxious minds of the insufficiently concealed preparations for a concentration of force and a heavy blow. Four ships of the line and two big frigates could muster a landing force – even without drawing on the main fleet – of a thousand men or more. There were probably twice as many French infantry and artillery-men along the coast there, but, spread out along five miles, they were vulnerable to a sharp attack launched at an unexpected point on a dark night. There was a large accumulation of coasting vessels there as well, sheltering under the batteries on the far side of Cape Matthew. They had crept from battery to battery for hundreds of miles – spending weeks in doing so – and now were huddled in the little creeks and bays waiting for a chance to complete the last and most dangerous run into Brest. The menacing approach of the inshore squadron would make them nervous in case the British meditated some new attack, a cutting-out expedition, or fireships, or bombvessels, or even these newfangled rockets. But at least this concentration of the British strength to the north left the south unwatched, as the signal station of Petit Minou would report. The coasters round Camaret – chasse-marees, tide-chasers – would be able to take advantage of the tide run through the horribly dangerous Toulinguet Passage up into the Goulet. Hornblower was hoping, in fact he was confident, that Hotspur had not been seen to turn back to stop this bolt hole. She drew six feet of water less than any frigate, hardly more than the big chasse-marees, and were she boldly handled her arrival among the rocks and shoals of Toulinguet would be totally unexpected.