“Perhaps that’s what we’re waiting for, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower.
“As likely as not, My Lord. Masthead, there! How’s the sail heading? Mr Sefton, bring the ship to the wind.”
Hornblower backed away to the weather-rail. He felt he could never grow used to his situation as Admiral, and having to stand by and be no more than an interested spectator while the ship he was in was being handled at decisive moments. It was quite painful to be a spectator, but it would be more painful still to go below and remain in ignorance of what was going on – and much more painful than to postpone breakfast again.
“Deck, there! She’s a two-master. Heading straight down for us. All sail to the royals. Captain, sir, she’s a schooner! A big schooner, sir. Still running down for us.”
Young Gerard, the flag-lieutenant, had come running on deck at the first hail from the masthead, to his place beside his Admiral.
“A tops’l schooner,” he said. “A big one. She could be what we’re looking for, My Lord.”
“Plenty of other things she could be,” said Hornblower, doing his best to conceal his absurd excitement.
Gerard had his telescope pointing to windward.
“There she is! Coming down fast, right enough. Look at the rake of those masts! Look at the cut of those tops’ls! My Lord, she’s no Island schooner.”
It would not be a very remarkable coincidence if she should be a slaver; he had brought Clorinda here to the windward of San Juan in the full expectation that slave cargoes would be hurrying here. Spain was meditating joining in the suppression of the slave trade, and every slaver would be tempted to run cargoes and take advantage of enhanced prices before the prohibition should take effect. The main slave market for the Spanish colonies was at Havana, a thousand miles to leeward, but it could be looked upon as certain that Spanish slavers, making their passage from the Slave Coast, would touch first at Puerto Rico to refill with water if not to dispose of part of their cargo. It had only been logical to station Clorinda to intercept them.
Hornblower took the telescope and trained it on the fast-nearing schooner. He saw what Gerard had spoken about. Hull up now, he could see how heavily sparred she was, and how built for speed. With those fine lines it would only pay for her to carry highly perishable cargo – human cargo. As he looked he saw the rectangles of her square sails narrow vertically; the small distance between her masts widened greatly. She was wheeling away from the waiting Clorinda – a final proof, if any was needed, that she was what she appeared to be. Laying herself on the starboard tack, she proceeded to keep at a safe distance, and to increase that distance as fast as possible.
“Mr Sefton!” shouted Fell. “Fill the main tops’l! After her, on the starboard tack! Set the royals!”
In an orderly and disciplined rush some of the hands hurried to the braces while others scurried aloft to set more sail. It was only a matter of moments before Clorinda, as close-hauled as she would lie, was thrashing to windward in pursuit. With everything braced up sharp, and carrying every inch of sail that the brisk trade wind would allow, she lay steeply over, plunging through the sea, each wave in turn bursting on her weather bow with the spray flying aft in sheets, and the taut weather-rigging shrieking in the wind. It was a remarkable transition from the quiet that had reigned not so long ago.
“Hoist the colours,” ordered Fell. “Let’s see what she says she is.”
Through the telescope Hornblower watched the schooner hoist her colours in reply – the red and yellow of Spain.
“You see, My Lord?” asked Fell.
“Pardon, Cap’n,” interposed Sefton, the officer of the watch, “I know who she is. I saw her twice last commission. She’s the Estrella.”
“The Australia?” exclaimed Fell, mishearing Sefton’s Spanish pronunciation.
“The Estrella, sir. The Estrella del Sur – the Star of the South, sir.”
“I know about her, then,” said Hornblower. “Her captain’s Gomez – runs four hundred slaves every passage, if he doesn’t lose too many.”