Hornblower in the West Indies. C. S. Forester

It was all he could do to thank Stuart politely for his information, without betraying the excitement he felt, and without terminating the interview with suspicious abruptness. A word to Fell made certain that Stuart would receive the business of supplying the Clorinda, and Hornblower waved away Stuart’s thanks. Hornblower turned away with as great an appearance of nonchalance as he could manage.

There was plenty of bustle over there by the Estrella, just as there was round the Clorinda, with preparations being made for filling the water casks. It was hard to think in the heat and the noise. It was hard to face the cluttered deck. And darkness was approaching, and then would come eight o’clock, when he would be making his call upon the Captain-General, and obviously everything must be thought out before that. And there were complications. Successive ideas were arising, one out of another, like Chinese boxes, and each one in turn had to be examined for flaws. The sun was down into the hills, leaving a flaming sky behind, when he came to his final resolution.

“Spendlove!” he snapped; excitement made him curt. “Come below with me.”

Down in the big stern cabin it was oppressively hot. The red sky was reflected in the water of the harbour, shining up through the stern windows; the magnificent effect was dissipated with the lighting of the lamps. Hornblower threw himself into his chair; Spendlove stood looking at him keenly, as Hornblower was well aware. Spendlove could be in no doubt that his temperamental Commander-in-Chief had much on his mind. Yet even Spendlove was surprised at the scheme that was sketched out to him, and at the orders he received. He even ventured to protest.

“My Lord -” he said.

“Carry out your orders, Mr Spendlove. Not another word.”

“Aye aye, My Lord.”

Spendlove left the cabin, with Hornblower sitting there alone, waiting. The minutes passed slowly – precious minutes; there were few to spare – before the knock came on the door that he expected. It was Fell, entering with every appearance of nervousness.

“My Lord, have you a few minutes to spare?”

“Always a pleasure to receive you, Sir Thomas.”

“But this is unusual, I fear, My Lord. I have a suggestion to make – an unusual suggestion.”

“Suggestions are always welcome too, Sir Thomas. Please sit down and tell me. We have an hour at least before we go ashore. I am most interested.”

Fell sat bolt upright in his chair, his hands clutching the arms. He swallowed twice. It gave Hornblower no pleasure to see a man who had faced steel and lead and imminent death apprehensive before him; it made him uncomfortable.

“My Lord -” began Fell, and swallowed again.

“You have all my attention, Sir Thomas,” said Hornblower, gently.

“It has occurred to me,” said Fell, growing more fluent with each word until at last he spoke in a rush, “that we still might have a chance at the Estrella.”

“Really, Sir Thomas? Nothing could give me greater pleasure, if it were possible. I would like to hear what you suggest.”

“Well, My Lord. She’ll sail tomorrow. Most likely at dawn, with the land breeze. Tonight we might – we might fix some kind of drogue to her bottom. Perhaps to her rudder. She’s no more than a knot or two faster than we are. We could follow her out and catch her at sea -”

“This is brilliant, Sir Thomas. Really ingenious – but nothing more than could be expected of a seaman of your reputation, let me add.”

“You are too kind, My Lord.” There was a struggle only too perceptible in Fell’s expression, and he hesitated before he went on at last – “It was your secretary, Spendlove, who put the idea in my mind, My Lord.”

“Spendlove? I can hardly believe it.”

“He was too timid to make the suggestion to you, My Lord, and so he came to me with it.”

“I’m sure he did no more than set the wheels of your thought turning, Sir Thomas. In any case, since you have assumed the responsibility the credit must be yours, of course, if credit is to be awarded. Let us hope there will be a great deal.”

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