What is it? said Hornblower, water streaming off him. He could not return the salute.
Mr. Montgomery sent me, sir. Lotus signals Sail to leeward, sir.
Very good.
Hornblower snatched the towel from Brown, but the message was too important for time to be wasted drying himself, and he ran up the companion still wet and naked, with Brown following with his dressing-gown. The officer of the watch touched his hat as Hornblower appeared on the quarter-deckit was like some old fairy story, the way everybody rigidly ignored the Commodores lack of clothes.
New signal from Lotus, sir. Chase has tacked. Chase is on the port tack, bearing east-by-north, half east.
Hornblower leaped to the compass; only the topsails of the Lotus were in sight from the deck as he took the bearing by eye. Whatever that sail was, he must intercept it and gather news. He looked up to see Bush hastening on deck, buttoning his coat.
Captain Bush, Ill trouble you to alter course two points to starboard.
Aye aye, sir.
Lotus signalling again, sir. Chase is a ship. Probably British merchantman.
Very good. Set all sail, Captain Bush, if you please.
Aye aye, sir.
The pipes shrilled through the ship, and 400 men went pouring up the ratlines to loose the royals and set studding-sails. Hornblower raised a professional eye to watch the operation, carried out under a storm of objurgation from the officer of the watch. The still clumsy crew was driven at top speed by the warrant officers through the evolution, and it was hardly completed before there was a yell from the mast-head.
Sail on the starboard bow!
Must be the ship Lotus can see, sir, said Bush. Mast-head there! What can you see of the sail?
Shes a ship, sir, close-hauled an coming up fast. Were headin to meet her.
Hoist the colours, Mr. Hurst. If she was beating up for the Sound, sir, she would have tacked whether she saw Lotus or not.
Yes, said Hornblower.
A shriek came from the mast-head, where one of the midshipmen of the watch, an urchin who had not yet mastered his changing voice, had run up with a glass.
British colours, sir!
Hornblower remembered he was still wet and naked; at least, he was still wet in those parts of him which did not offer free play for the wind to dry him. He began to dab at these inner corners with the towel he still held, only to be interrupted again.
There she is! said Bush; the ships upper sails were over the horizon, in view from the deck.
Lay a course to pass her within hail, if you please, said Hornblower.
Aye aye, sir. Starboard a point, Quartermaster. Get those stunsls in again, Mr. Hurst.
The ship they were approaching held her course steadily; there was nothing suspicious about her, not even the fact that she had gone about immediately on sighting Lotus.
Timber from the South Baltic, I expect, sir, said Bush, training his glass. You can see the deck cargo now.
Like most ships bound out of the Baltic her decks were piled high with timber, like barricades along the bulwarks.
Make the merchant ships private signal if you please, Captain, said Hornblower.
He watched the reply run up the ships halliards.
ATnumeralfiveseven, sir, read Hurst through his glass. Thats the correct reply for last winter, and she wont have received the new code yet.
Signal her to heave to, said Hornblower.
With no more delay than was to be expected of a merchant ship, inept at reading signals, and with a small crew, the ship backed her main-topsail and lay-to. The Nonsuch came hurtling down upon her.
Thats the yellow Q shes hoisting now, sir, said Hurst, suddenly. The fever flag.
Very good. Heave to, Captain Bush, if you please.
Aye aye, sir. Ill keep to windard of her, too, if youve no objection, sir.
The Nonsuch laid her topsails to the mast and rounded-to, rocking in the gentle trough of the waves a pistol-shot to windward. Hornblower took his speaking-trumpet.
What ships that?
Maggie Jones of London. Eleven days out from Memel!
In addition to the man at the wheel there were only two figures
visible on the poop-deck of the Maggie Jones ; one of them, wearing white duck trousers and a blue coat, was obviously the captain. It was he who was answering by speaking-trumpet.
Whats that yellow flag for?
Smallpox. Seven cases on board, and two dead. First case a week ago.
Smallpox, by God! muttered Bush. A frightful mental picture came up before his minds eye, of what smallpox would do, let loose in his precious Nonsuch, with 900 men crammed into her restricted space.
Why are you sailing without convoy?
None available at Memel. The rendezvous for the trades off Langeland on the twenty-fourth. Were beating up for the Belt now.
Whats the news? Hornblower had waited patiently during all these interminable sentences before asking that question.
The Russian embargo still holds, but were sailing under licence.
Sweden?
God knows, sir. Some say theyve tightened up their embargo there.
A curious muffled howl came from below decks in the Maggie Jones at that moment, just audible in the Nonsuch.
Whats that noise? asked Hornblower.