It was then that Hornblower, looking forward, saw the Indefatigable again. She was tearing down towards them with all sail set; as the Pique lifted he could see the white bow wave foaming under her bowsprit. There was no question about surrender, for under the menace of that row of guns no ship of the Pique’s force, even if uninjured, could resist. A cable’s length to windward the Indefatigable rounded-to, and she was hoisting out her boats before even she was fully round. Pellew had seen the smoke, and had deduced the reason for the Pique’s heaving to, and had made his preparations as he came up. Longboat and launch had each a pump in their bows where sometimes they carried a carronade; they dropped down to the stern of the Pique to cast their jets of water up into the flaming stern without more ado. Two gigs full of men ran straight aft to join in the battle with the flames, but Bolton, the third lieutenant, lingered for a moment as he caught Hornblower’s eye.
“Good God, it’s you!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Yet he did not stay for an answer. He picked out Neuville as the captain of the Pique, strode aft to receive his surrender, cast his eyes aloft to see that all was well there, and then took up the task of combating the fire. The flames were overcome in time, more because they had consumed everything within reach of them than for any other reason; the Pique was burnt from the taffrail forward for some feet of her length right to the water’s edge, so that she presented a strange spectacle when viewed from the deck of the Indefatigable. Nevertheless, she was in no immediate danger; given even moderate good fortune and a little hard work she could be sailed to England to be repaired and sent to sea again.
But it was not her salvage that was important, but rather the fact that she was no longer in French hands, would no longer be available to prey on English commerce. That was the point that Sir Edward Pellew made in conversation with Hornblower, when the latter came on board to report himself. Hornblower had begun, at Pellew’s order, by recounting what had happened to him from the time he had been sent as prize master on board the Marie Galante. As Hornblower had expected — perhaps as he had even feared — Pellew had passed lightly over the loss of the brig. She had been damaged by gunfire before surrendering, and no one now could establish whether the damage was small or great. Pellew did not give the matter a second thought. Hornblower had tried to save her and had been unsuccessful with his tiny crew — and at that moment the Indefatigable could not spare him a larger crew. He did not hold Hornblower culpable. Once again, it was more important that France should be deprived of the Marie Galante’s cargo than that England should benefit by it. The situation was exactly parallel to that of the salvaging of the Pique.
“It was lucky she caught fire like that,” commented Pellew, looking across to where the Pique lay, still hove-to with the boats clustering about her but with only the thinnest trail of smoke drifting from her stern. “She was running clean away from us, and would have been out of sight in an hour. Have you any idea how it happened, Mr Hornblower?”
Hornblower was naturally expecting that question and was ready for it. Now was the time to answer truthfully and modestly, to receive the praise he deserved, a mention in the Gazette, perhaps even appointment as acting-lieutenant. But Pellew did not know the full details of the loss of the brig, and might make a false estimate of them even if he did.
“No, sir,” said Hornblower. “I think it must have been spontaneous combustion in the paint-locker. I can’t account for it otherwise.”
He alone knew of his remissness in plugging that shot-hole, he alone could decide on his punishment, and this was what he had chosen. This alone could re-establish him in his own eyes, and when the words were spoken he felt enormous relief, and not one single twinge of regret.