“By the mark ten!” called the leadsman.
“Raven in sight beyond the chase, sir,” reported a midshipman. “Heading to cut her off.”
“Very good,” said Hornblower.
“Rügen in sight, too, sir,” said Bush. “That’s Stubbenkammer, or whatever they call it – a white cliff, anyway.”
Hornblower swung his glass round the horizon; fate was closing in on the Blanchefleur, unless she took refuge in the waters of Swedish Pomerania. And that was clearly what she was intending to do. Bush had the chart spread out before him and was taking bearings on the distant white streak of the Stubbenkammer. Hornblower studied the chart, looked over at the distant ships, and back at the chart again. Stralsund was a fortress – it had stood more than one siege lately. If Blanchefleur got in there she would be safe if the Swedes saw fit to protect her. But the rest of the coast ahead was merely shoals and sandbanks; a couple of bays had water enough for coasting vessels – there were batteries marked in the chart to defend their entrances. Something might be attempted if Blanchefleur ran in one of those – she was probably of light enough draught – but it would be hopeless if she reached Stralsund.
“Signal Lotus,” he said. “‘Set course to cut chase off from Stralsund’.”
In the course of the interminable war every aid to navigation had disappeared. There was not a buoy left to make the deep-water channel – the Bodden, the chart called it – up to Stralsund. Vickery in the lotus would have to look lively with the lead as he found his way into it.
“By the mark seven!” called the leadsman; Nonsuch was in dangerously shoal water already; Bush was looking anxious.
“Shorten sail, if you please, Captain Bush.”
There was no chance of Nonsuch overhauling Blanchefleur, and if they were going to run aground they might as well do so as gently as possible.
“Chase is hauling her wind, sir,” said Hurst.
So she was; she was clearly giving up the attempt to reach Stralsund. That was thanks to Vickery, who had gone charging with gallant recklessness under full sail through the shoals to head her off.
“Raven’ll have a chance at her if she holds that course long!” said Bush in high excitement.
“Chase is going on the other tack!” said Hurst.
“And a half five!” called the leadsman.
Bush was biting his lips with anxiety; his precious ship was entangling herself among the shoals on a lee shore, and there was only thirty-three feet of water under her now.
“Heave to, Captain Bush,” said Hornblower. There was no reason to run any farther now until they could see what Blanchefleur intended. Nonsuch rounded-to and lay with her port bow breasting the gentle swell. The sun was pleasantly warm.
“What’s happened to Raven?” exclaimed Bush.
The sloop’s foretopmast, with yard and sail and everything, had broken clear off and was hanging down in a frightful tangle among her headsails.
“Aground, sir,” said Hurst, glass to eye.
The force with which she had hit the sand had snapped her topmast clean off.
“She draws eight feet less than us, sir,” said Bush, but all Hornblower’s attention was directed again to Blanchefleur.
Obviously she was finding her way up a channel to the shelter of Hiddensoe. On the chart there was a single sounding marked there, a laconic ’21/2′. Fifteen feet of water, and a battery at the head of the long peninsula. Blanchefleur could reckon herself safe if the Swedes would defend her. On the horizon to windward Hornblower saw the queer topsails of the bomb-ketches; Duncan and Mound, after blundering about in the fog, must have caught sight of Nonsuch while on their way to the rendezvous off Cape Arcona.
“Send the boats to assist Raven, if you please, Captain Bush,” said Hornblower.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hoisting longboat and cutter off their chocks and overside was an evolution calling for a couple of hundred hands. Pipes squealed and the bos’un’s cane stirred up the laggards. The sheaves squeaked in the blocks, bare feet stamped the decks, and even Nonsuch’s massive bulk heeled a little with the transfer of weight. Hornblower betook himself to his telescope again.