“My pistols, Jackson,” he said.
Jackson handed him the pistols and with the same callous care he thrust them into his belt. He turned back to Oldroyd, the Spaniards watching every movement fascinated.
“Stay by the tiller, Oldroyd. Jackson, follow me. Do nothing without my orders.”
With the sun pouring down on his face, he strode down the companion ladder, walked to the gangway, and approached the Spaniards along it. On either side of him the hairy heads and naked bodies of the galley slaves still swung with the oars. He neared the Spaniards; swords and muskets and pistols were handled nervously, but every eye was on his face. Behind him Jackson coughed. Two yards only from the group, Hornblower halted and swept them with his glance. Then, with a gesture, he indicated the whole of the group except the overseer; and then pointed to the forecastle.
“Get forrard, all of you,” he said.
They stood staring at him, although they must have understood the gesture.
“Get forrard,” said Hornblower with a wave of his hand and a tap of his foot on the gangway.
There was only one man who seemed likely to demur actively, and Hornblower had it in mind to snatch a pistol from his belt and shoot him on the spot. But the pistol might misfire, the shot might arouse the Spaniards out of their fascinated dream. He stared the man down.
“Get forrard, I say.”
They began to move, they began to shamble off. Hornblower watched them go. Now his emotions were returning to him, and his heart was thumping madly in his chest so that it was hard to control himself. Yet he must not be precipitate. He had to wait until the others were well clear before he could address himself to the overseer.
“Stop those men,” he said.
He glared into the overseer’s eyes while pointing to the oarsmen; the overseer’s lips moved, but he made no sound.
“Stop them,” said Hornblower, and this time he put his hand to the butt of his pistol.
That sufficed. The overseer raised his voice in a high’ pitched order, and the oars instantly ceased. Strange what sudden stillness possessed the ship with the cessation of the grinding of the oars in the tholes. Now it was easy to hear the bubbling of the water round the galley as her way carried her forward. Hornblower turned back to hail Oldroyd.
“Oldroyd! Where away’s the gig?”
“Close on the starboard bow, sir!”
“How close?”
“Two cable’s lengths, sir. She’s pulling for us now.”
“Steer for her while you’ve steerage way.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
How long would it take the gig under oars to cover a quarter of a mile? Hornblower feared anticlimax, feared a sudden revulsion of feeling among the Spaniards at this late moment. Mere waiting might occasion it, and he must not stand merely idle. He could still hear the motion of the galley through the water, and he turned to Jackson.
“This ship carries her way well, Jackson, doesn’t she?” he said, and he made himself laugh as he spoke, as if everything in the world was a matter of sublime certainty.
“Aye, sir, I suppose she does, sir,” said the startled Jackson; he was fidgeting nervously with his pistols.
“And look at the man there,” went on Hornblower, pointing to a galley slave. “Did you ever see such a beard in your life?”
“N‑no, sir.”
“Speak to me, you fool. Talk naturally.”
“I — I dunno what to say, sir.”
“You’ve no sense, damn you, Jackson. See the welt on that fellow’s shoulder? He must have caught it from the overseer’s whip not so long ago.”
“Mebbe you’re right, sir.”
Hornblower was repressing his impatience and was about to make another speech when he heard a rasping thump alongside and a moment later the gig’s crew was pouring over the bulwarks. The relief was inexpressible. Hornblower was about to relax completely when he remembered appearances. He stiffened himself up.
“Glad to see you aboard, sir,” he said, as Lieutenant Chadd swung his legs over and dropped to the maindeck at the break of the forecastle.
“Glad to see you,” said Chadd, looking about him curiously.