“Johnny Jervis would say amen to that,” said Sir Hew. “A bumper to the Dons then, gentlemen, and may they come out from Cadiz.”
The ladies left them then, gathered together by Lady Dalrymple, and as soon as it was decently possible Hornblower made his excuses and slipped away, determined not to be heavy with wine the night before he sailed in independent command.
Maybe the prospect of the coming on board of the duchess was a useful counter-irritant, and saved Hornblower from worrying too much about his first command. He was up before dawn — before even the brief Mediterranean twilight had begun — to see that his precious ship was in condition to face the sea, and the enemies who swarmed upon the sea. He had four popgun four-pounders to deal with those enemies, which meant that he was safe from no one; his was the weakest vessel at sea, for the smallest trading brig carried a more powerful armament. So that like all weak creatures his only safety lay in flight — Hornblower looked aloft in the half-light, where the sails would be set on which so much might depend. He went over the watch bill with his two watch-keeping officers, Midshipman Hunter and Master’s Mate Winyatt, to make sure that every man of his crew of eleven knew his duty. Then all that remained was to put on his smartest seagoing uniform, try to eat breakfast, and wait for the duchess.
She came early, fortunately; Their Excellencies had had to rise at a most unpleasant hour to see her off. Mr Hunter reported the approach of the governor’s launch with suppressed excitement.
“Thank you, Mr Hunter,” said Hornblower coldly — that was what the service demanded, even though not so many weeks before they had been playing follow-my-leader through the Indefatigable’s rigging together.
The launch swirled alongside, and two neatly dressed seamen hooked on the ladder. Le Rêve had such a small freeboard that boarding her presented no problem even for ladies. The governor stepped on board to the twittering of the only two pipes Le Rêve could muster, and Lady Dalrymple followed him. Then came the duchess, and the duchess’s companion; the latter was a younger woman, as beautiful as the duchess must once have been. A couple of aides-de-camp followed, and by that time the minute deck of Le Rêve was positively crowded, so that there was no room left to bring up the duchess’s baggage.
“Let us show you your quarters, Your Grace,” said the governor.
Lady Dalrymple squawked her sympathy at sight of the minute cabin, which the two cots almost filled, and every one’s head, inevitably, bumped against the deck-beam above. “We shall live through it,” said the duchess stoically, “an’ that’s more than many a man makin’ a little trip to Tyburn could say.”
One of the aides-de-camp produced a last minute packet of despatches and demanded Hornblower’s signature on the receipt; the last farewells were said, and Sir Hew and Lady Dalrymple went down the side again to the twittering of the pipes.
“Man the windlass!” bellowed Hornblower the moment the launch’s crew bent to their oars.
A few seconds’ lusty work brought Le Rêve up to her anchor.
“Anchor’s aweigh, sir,” reported Winyatt.
“Jib halliards!” shouted Hornblower. “Mains’l halliards!”
Le Rêve came round before the wind as her sails were set and her rudder took a grip on the water. Everyone was so busy catting the anchor and setting sail that it was Hornblower himself who dipped his colours in salute as Le Rêve crept out beyond the mole before the gentle south-easter, and dipped her nose to the first of the big Atlantic rollers coming in through the Gut. Through the skylight beside him he heard a clatter and a wail, as something fell in the cabin with that first roll, but he could spare no attention for the woman below. He had the glass to his eye now, training it first on Algeciras and then upon Tarifa — some well-manned privateer or ship of war might easily dash out to snap up such a defenceless prey as Le Rêve. He could not relax while the forenoon watch wore on. They rounded Cape Marroqui and he set a course for St Vincent, and then the mountains of Southern Spain began to sink below the horizon. Cape Trafalgar was just visible on the starboard bow when at last he shut the telescope and began to wonder about dinner; it was pleasant to be captain of his own ship and to be able to order dinner when he chose. His aching legs told him he had been on his feet too long — eleven continuous hours; if the future brought him many independent commands he would wear himself out by this sort of behaviour.