Whereas – it began – notice has been received by the Lords Commissioners for executing the office of the Lord High Admiral from the Right Honourable Viscount Castlereagh, one of His Britannic Majesty’s Principal Secretaries of State, concerning the need to establish a Blockade of the Coast of His Most Catholic Majesty’s Dominion of Venezuela, and of the Islands pertaining to the Dominion of His Majesty the King of the Netherlands, namely and to wit Curaçao, Aruba, and Bonaire.
Therefore I, Horatio Lord Hornblower, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Rear-Admiral of the White Squadron, Commanding His Britannic Majesty’s Ships and Vessels in West Indian Waters,
Hereby Proclaim that
The Coast of the Continent of South America from Cartagena to the Dragon’s Mouth and
The Dutch Islands aforesaid of Curaçao, Aruba, and Bonaire
Are now in a state of blockade, and that
Any vessel of whatever description, whether carrying materials of war or not, found attempting to enter any port harbour or roadstead within the Territory so defined, or
Hovering with the intent to enter any such port harbour or roadstead
Will be boarded and sent in for adjudication under His Britannic Majesty’s High Court of Admiralty and
Will be condemned and seized without compensation to owners, freight owners, charterers, captain, or crew.
Given under my hand this First Day of June 1821,
Hornblower, Rear-Admiral
Having read this document Hornblower was able to spare a second glance at the other. It was a vigorous protest from the Dutch Governor at Curaçao demanding explanations, apologies, the immediate withdrawal of the blockade, and exemplary compensation. Hornblower stared at Hooper in astonishment.
“This is in legal form,” he said, indicating the proclamation, “but I never signed it. This is not my signature.”
“Then – ?” spluttered Hooper. “I thought you might be acting under secret orders from London.”
“Of course not, sir.” Hornblower stared at Hooper for another long second before the explanation came to him. “Ramsbottom!”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been posing as me, or as one of my officers at least. Is the Dutch officer who brought this available?”
“He’s waiting in the next room. There’s a Spaniard there, too, sent over in a fishing boat by Morillo from La Quaira.”
“Can we have them in, sir?”
The Dutchman and the Spaniard were men full of indignation, which was not abated in the least by their presentation to the Admiral responsible, in their minds, for this trouble. The Dutchman spoke fluent English, and it was to him that Hornblower first addressed himself.
“How was this proclamation delivered?” he asked.
“By one of your ships. By one of your officers.”
“What ship?”
“The brig-of-war Desperate.”
“I have no such ship. There’s none in the Navy List. Who brought it?”
“The captain.”
“Who was he? What was he like?”
“He was an officer. A Commander, with epaulettes.”
“In uniform?”
“In full uniform.”
“Young? Old?”
“Very young.”
“Small? Slender? Handsome?”
“Yes.”
Hornblower exchanged a glance with Hooper.
“And this brig, the Desperate. About a hundred and seventy tons, bowsprit sieved nearly level, mainmast stepped rather far aft?”
“Yes.”
“That settles it, sir,” said Hornblower to Hooper, and, to the Dutchman, “you’ve been fooled, I’m sorry to say. This man was an impostor. This proclamation is a forgery.”
The Dutchman stamped with annoyance. He was unable to find words to express himself in a foreign tongue for some moments. Finally from his splutterings emerged a name, which he repeated until it was understandable.
“The Helmond! The Helmond!”
“What is the Helmond, sir?” asked Hornblower.
“One of our ships. Your ship – this Desperate – captured her.”
“A valuable ship?”
“She had on board the guns for the Spanish Army. Two batteries of field artillery, guns, limbers, ammunition, everything.”
“Piracy!” exclaimed Hooper.
“It sounds like it,” said Hornblower.
The Spanish officer had been standing by impatiently, apparently only half understanding the English conversation. Hornblower turned to him, and, after desperately trying to recapture his half-forgotten Spanish, entered upon a limping explanation. The Spaniard replied volubly, so volubly that more than once Hornblower had to ask him to speak more slowly. Ramsbottom had come sailing into La Guaira and had brought his precious proclamation with him. At the merest hint that the British Navy was instituting a blockade no ship had dared to stir on the South American coast, except for the Helmond. She had been badly needed. Bolivar was marching on Caracas; a battle was imminent on which depended the entire Spanish control of Venezuela. Morillo and the Spanish army were in need of artillery. Now not only were they left destitute, but with this news it could be taken as certain that those guns, those two batteries of field artillery, were in Bolivar’s hands. The Spanish officer wrung his hands in despair.