“Good,” said the captain at length; and when Hornblower had given the necessary orders permitting the release of the crew he shouted for the cook and entered into an urgent discussion regarding dinner. Soon smoke was issuing satisfactorily from the galley chimney.
Then the captain looked up at the grey sky, at the close reefed topsails, and glanced into the binnacle at the compass.
“A foul wind for England,” he remarked.
“Yes,” said Hornblower shortly. He did not want this Frenchman to guess at his trepidation and bitterness.
The captain seemed to be feeling the motion of the brig under his feet with attention.
“She rides a little heavily, does she not?” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Hornblower. He was not familiar with the Marie Galante, nor with ships at all, and he had no opinion on the subject, but he was not going to reveal his ignorance.
“Does she leak?” asked the captain.
“There is no water in her,” said Hornblower.
“Ah!” said the captain. “But you would find none in the well. We are carrying a cargo of rice, you must remember.”
“Yes,” said Hornblower.
He found it very hard at that moment to remain outwardly unperturbed, as his mind grasped the implications of what was being said to him. Rice would absorb every drop of water taken in by the ship, so that no leak would be apparent on rounding the well — and yet every drop of water taken in would deprive her of that much buoyancy, all the same.
“One shot from your cursed frigate struck us in the hull,” said the captain. “Of course you have investigated the damage?”
“Of course,” said Hornblower, lying bravely.
But as soon as he could he had a private conversation with Matthews on the point, and Matthews instantly looked grave.
“Where did the shot hit her, sir?” he asked.
“Somewhere on the port side, forrard, I should judge.”
He and Matthews craned their necks over the ship’s side.
“Can’t see nothin’, sir,” said Matthews. “Lower me over the side in a bowline and I’ll see what I can find, sir.”
Hornblower was about to agree and then changed his mind.
“I’ll go over the side myself,” he said.
He could not analyse the motives which impelled him to say that. Partly he wanted to see things with his own eyes; partly he was influenced by the doctrine that he should never give an order he was not prepared to carry out himself — but mostly it must have been the desire to impose a penance on himself for his negligence.
Matthews and Carson put a bowline round him and lowered him over. He found himself dangling against the ship’s side, with the sea bubbling just below him; as the ship pitched the sea came up to meet him, and he was wet to the waist in the first five seconds; and as the ship rolled he was alternately swung away from the side and bumped against it. The men with the line walked steadily aft, giving him the chance to examine the whole side of the brig above water, and there was not a shot hole to be seen. He said as much to Matthews when they hauled him on deck.
“Then it’s below the waterline, sir,” said Matthews, saying just what was in Hornblower’s mind. “You’re sure the shot hit her, sir?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” snapped Hornblower.
Lack of sleep and worry and a sense of guilt were all shortening his temper, and he had to speak sharply or break down in tears. But he had already decided on the next move — he had made up his mind about that while they were hauling him up.
“We’ll heave her to on the other tack and try again,” he said.
On the other tack the ship would incline over to the other side, and the shot‑hole, if there was one, would not be so deeply submerged. Hornblower stood with the water dripping from his clothes as they wore the brig round; the wind was keen and cold, but he was shivering with expectancy rather than cold. The heeling of the brig laid him much more definitely against the side, and they lowered him until his legs were scraping over the marine growths which she carried there between wind and water. They then walked aft with him, dragging him along the side of the ship, and just abaft the foremast he found what he was seeking.