He addressed several more questions rapidly, one after the other, to the lookout, and was answered with nods and gesticulations and a torrent of Indian speech.
“He says,” went on Hernandez, “that he has often seen the Natividad before, and he is sure this is the same ship, and she is undoubtedly coming in here.”
“How far off is she?” asked Hornblower and Hernandez translated the answer.
“A long way, seven leagues or more,” he said. “She is coming from the south eastward — from Panama.”
Hornblower pulled at his chin, deep in thought.
“She’ll carry the sea breeze down with her until sunset,” he muttered to himself, and glanced up at the sun. “That will be another hour. An hour after that she’ll get the land breeze. She’ll be able to hold her course, close hauled. She could be here in the bay by midnight.”
A stream of plans and ideas was flooding into his mind. Against the possibility of the ship’s arrival in the dark must be balanced what he knew of the Spanish habit at sea of snugging down for the night, and of attempting no piece of seamanship at all complicated save under the best possible conditions. He wished he knew more about the Spanish captain.
“Has this ship, the Natividad, often come into this bay?” he asked.
“Yes, Captain, often.”
“Is her captain a good seaman?”
“Oh yes, Captain, very good.”
“Ha‑h’m,” said Hornblower. A landsman’s opinion of the seamanship of a frigate captain might not be worth much, but still it was an indication.
Hornblower tugged at his chin again. He had fought in ten single ship actions. If he took the Lydia to sea and engaged the Natividad on open water the two ships might well batter each other into wrecks. Rigging and spars and hulls and sails would be shot to pieces. The Lydia would have a good many casualties which would be quite irreplaceable here in the Pacific. She would expend her priceless ammunition. On the other hand, if he stayed in the bay and yet the plan he had in mind did not succeed — if the Natividad waited off shore until the morning — he would have to beat his way out of the bay against the sea breeze, presenting the Spaniards with every possible advantage as he came out to fight them. The Natividad’s superiority of force was already such that it was rash to oppose the Lydia to her. Could he dare to risk increasing the odds? But the possible gains were so enormous that he made up his mind to run the risk.
Chapter VI
Ghostlike in the moonlight, with the first puffs of the land breeze, the Lydia glided across the bay. Hornblower had not ventured to hoist sail, lest a gleam of canvas might be visible to the distant ship at sea. The launch and the clutter towed the ship, sounding as they went, into the deep water at the foot of the island at the entrance of the bay — Manguera Island, Hernandez called it when Hornblower had cautiously sketched out his plan to him. For an hour the men laboured at the oars, although Hornblower did his best to aid them, standing by the wheel and making as much use as possible of the leeway acquired by the ship through the force of the puffs of wind on the Lydia’s rigging. They reached the new anchorage at last, and the anchor splashed into the water.
“Have that cable buoyed and ready to slip, Mr Bush,” said Hornblower.
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Call the boats alongside. I want the men to rest.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Mr Gerard, you have charge of the deck See that the lookouts keep awake. I want Mr Bush and Mr Galbraith to come below with me.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The ship was seething quietly with excitement. Everyone on board had guessed the captain’s plan, even though the details of its execution, which he was now explaining to his lieutenants, were still unknown. In the two hours which had elapsed since the arrival of the news of the Natividad’s approach Hornblower’s mind had worked busily at the perfection of his plan. Nothing must go wrong. Everything that could possibly contribute to success must be done.