“Buoy on the starboard bow, sir,” reported Crawley.
That would mark the middle ground — it was the only buoy the French had left on the approaches to Le Havre. Hornblower watched it pass close alongside and then astern; the flowing tide was heeling it a little and piling up against the seaward side of it. They were nearing the entrance.
“Listen to me, you men,” said Hornblower, loudly. “Not a shot is to be fired without my orders. The man who fires a gun, for no matter what reason, unless I tell him to, I will not merely flog. I’ll hang him. Before sunset today he’ll be at the yardarm. D’you hear me?”
Hornblower had every intention of executing his threat — at least at that moment — and as he looked round him his expression showed it. A few muttered Aye aye, sir’s showed him he had been understood.
“Qui va là?” screamed a voice through the fog from close overside; Hornblower could just see the French boat which habitually rowed guard over the entrance in thick weather. The guard-boat, as Hornblower and Lebrun had agreed, would not be easily diverted from its duty.
“Despatches for M. le Baron Momas,” hailed Hornblower in return.
The confident voice, the fluent French, the use of Momas’ name, might all gain time for the squadron to enter.
“What ship?”
It was inconceivable that the seamen in the guard-boat did not recognise the Flame — the question must be a merely rhetorical one asked while the puzzled officer in command collected his thoughts.
“British brig Flame,” called Hornblower; he had the helm put over at that moment to make the turn past the point.
“Heave-to, or I will fire into you!”
“If you fire, you will have the responsibility,” replied Hornblower. “We bear despatches for Baron Momas.”
It was a fair wind now for the quay. The turn had brought the guard-boat close alongside; Hornblower could see the officer standing up in the bows beside the bow-gun, a seaman at his shoulder with a glowing linstock in his hand. Hornblower’s own full-dress uniform must be visible and cause some delay, too, for men expecting to fight would not be expected to wear full dress. He saw the officer give a violent start, having caught sight of the Porta Coeli looming up in the mist astern of the Flame. He saw the order given, saw the spark thrust on the touchhole. The three-pounder roared, and the shot crashed into the Flame’s side. That would give the alarm to the batteries at the point and above the quay.
“We do not fire back,” he hailed — maybe he could gain a little more time, and maybe that tune would be of use, although he doubted it.
Here inside the harbour the mist was not so thick. He could see the shadowy shape of the quay rapidly defining itself. In the next few seconds he would know if this were a trap or not, if the batteries should open in a tempest of flame. One part of his mind raced through the data, while another part was working out how to approach the quay. He could not believe that Lebrun was playing a double game, but if it were so only he and the Flame would be lost — the other vessels would have a chance to get clear.
” Luff!” he said to the helmsman. There were a few busy seconds as he applied himself to the business of bringing the Flame alongside the quay as speedily as possible and yet without damaging her too severely. She came alongside with a creak and a clatter, the fenders groaning as if in agony. Hornblower sprang onto the bulwark and from there to the quay, sword, cocked hat, epaulettes and all. He could not spare time to look round, but he had no doubt that the Porta Coeli had anchored, ready to give assistance where necessary, and that the Nonsuch in her turn was nearing the quay, her marines drawn up ready for instant landing. He strode up the quay, his heart pounding. There was the first battery, the guns glaring through the embrasures. He could see movement behind the guns, and more men running to the battery from the guardhouse in the rear. Now he had reached the edge of the moat, his left hand held up in a gesture to restrain the men at the guns.