Chapter 1
"Masthead there!" hailed Hornblower. "Can you see anything of the flagship?"
"No, sir. Nothing but Cassandra."
Hornblower could see the Cassandra's royals himself, from the deck, pearly white on the horizon; the Pluto and Caligula must still be nearly twenty miles away—possibly becalmed. The tiny breeze which was urging the Sutherland into the bay was probably a sea breeze; the day was hot enough for that. Leighton would hardly arrive in time to take part in this battle. Hornblower could put his ship about now, and tack into safety, beating off the two other enemies if they interfered with him, or he could throw himself into their path; and with every second carrying him a yard nearer Rosas he must decide quickly. If he fought, there was the faintest possible chance that Leighton might be brought up in time to pick up the cripples, but so faint as to be negligible.
The Sutherland would be destroyed, but her enemies would be so knocked about as to be detained in Rosas for days or even weeks. And that was desirable, because it would be several days before preparations could be made to attack them in their anchorage, and during those days there would always be the chance of their escaping—three of them at least—from Rosas as they had escaped from Toulon.
Hornblower began to balance the loss of a seventy-four gun ship to England against the certain loss of four French ships of the line, but then realized something. Was there another way? Need he sacrifice his ship, his men, and himself to bring about a victory? Or was there a way to win without bringing such a fate upon himself. He thought for a moment, then made up his mind. He would never forgive himself he wasted lives meaninglessly. He had to risk his career for the sake of his men.
"Lay the ship on the port tack, if you please, Mr. Bush," he said.
The crew cheered again, the poor fools, when they saw that they were about to face the rest of the French. Hornblower ignored them. At least not all of them would die if everything went according to plan.
As the Sutherland slowed the ship she had battered into a wreck came drifting down on her. The English ship's port side guns burst out in smoke and flame, sending iron balls smashing into the almost defenseless two-decker. Three broadsides were fired into the enemy ship, whilst she barely returned a single gun. Hornblower turned around to look behind now.
Here came the great flagship of the French squadron, majestic in her canvas, and bristling with guns. Hornblower judged her armament at a hundred and twenty cannons mounted on three decks. Her thirty-two-pounders would make short work of the Sutherland if they were broadside to broadside.
"Helm a-weather," he snapped.
The Sutherland rounded to port, crossing the three-decker's bow in time to release a full raking broadside. The Frenchman made no attempt to avoid the punishing fire, but simply went on, counting on a chance of a rake herself if the British vessel continued on its course.
Hornblower stared intently at the French broadside as it bore, and as the Southerland tacked around, almost against the wind, he saw the entire side of the enemy flagship disappear in a gush of smoke. Almost seventy guns released their charge into the tumble-home of the Sutherland. Most glanced off the side of the ship at that angle, but a few smashed through the unprotected stern, destroying the windows in Hornblower's cabin, as well as the stern gallery which he loved so much.
The Sutherland took some time to catch the wind again. When her sails filled on the starboard tack she moved forward, close-hauled. The gun carriages rolled out to be presented to the seventy-four that was in the rear of the French line. Hornblower glanced astern to look at the other French ships. They were all continuing towards Rosas, but slowly. He had time. Now for the seventy-four.
As the two ships passed one another they exchanged a furious broadside. Hornblower stared, concentrating. Calculations rushed through his mind.
The seventy-four showed no sign that it knew what he had planned for it. It simply continued blindly towards Rosas.
"Put us before the wind, Mr. Bush," Hornblower directed calmly.
Bush had a furious light in his eyes. He could guess at Hornblower's plan. The Sutherland turned to port, her guns rolling out once more.
"Fire as you bear Mr. Gerard!" Hornblower called. The officer waved his hat in reply. The rigorous training to which the crew had been subjected now paid off. The French ship's decorative stern was ripe for the taking. First one, then several guns on the Sutherland fired, sending their charge into the glass windows and thence down the entire length of the ship. In this way forty balls were discharged into the belly of the enemy, and Hornblower saw rigging part and splinters fly.
"Put us about," Hornblower snapped. "Starboard guns, Mr. Gerard!"
The Sutherland began her turn. Hornblower stared. Nothing inhabited his mind save for calculation and determination. He would destroy this ship if it was the last thing he did on this earth. There was still some distance between the French and Rosas, and the pasting Hornblower had given the foremost ships had slowed them down considerably.
Hornblower watched intently as the Sutherland made another pass across the stern of the two-decker. Shot after shot was sent skimming down the length of the Frenchman. She seemed to groan with each blow, and Hornblower knew what devastating carnage he was creating among the packed crews in the lower decks. All of a sudden the last few guns of the Sutherland exploded in dazzling light, and their elevated shots smashed into the rigging and wood of the mizzenmast. Hornblower stared, his heart leaping. He heard an ear-splitting crack and down came the mast of the French ship, taking with it the main topmast as well.
"Beautiful. Glorious!" Bush exclaimed excitedly.
"Put us about," Hornblower ordered.
The Sutherland swung round for her last pass across the ship's stern. Two stern-chasers on the French ship banged out in defiance, only to receive the shocking weight of another forty balls. Hornblower felt satisfaction as he saw them smash what remained of the stern windows, and take away even more rigging. He nodded unconsciously. That was enough. The two-decker would never make it into Rosas. She had half of her masts standing, and from those all sails had been torn. She could hardly move in this light wind. Even the Pluto and the Caligula would arrive before she made it.
"Will she strike?" Bush wondered aloud. Hornblower ignored him.
"Put us on the port tack if you please," he directed.
The Sutherland turned once more, passing by the French ship and releasing yet another broadside from her port guns. As the French ship replied in kind from her starboard battery, Hornblower saw the fore-topmast and bowsprit go by the board. The two-decker was no longer a concern. She was simple prey for even the Cassandra.
Thinking of his British comrades twenty or more miles away, Hornblower turned to stare over the seas. He could barely make out the Cassandra's sails. She had piled on everything she had. Whether she hoped to get in on the fighting, or if she saw what was transpiring and wished to be in sight so she could share the prize money, Hornblower could only guess. But now was no time to think of such things.
"Port your helm," Hornblower ordered. "Stand by on the starboard guns."
They were approaching the three-decker. She showed no signs of damage from the single broadside the Sutherland had exchanged with her, and she had almost caught up with the two-decker ahead. Atop her masts fluttered the flag of a vice-admiral.
The Sutherland swung around menacingly, and the Frenchman, seeing its impending fate, attempted to turn away to port. This was the best move to avoid raking. However, since that was the direction of the wind, she soon found herself flat aback, and helpless.
"Don't waste this, boys," Girard shouted, his voice cracking with excitement.
The Sutherland was swinging as tightly as she could to port, and all guns were careened over in the same direction. Girard ran down the deck, directing each gun to be fired in its turn. The shots ripped into the stern of the Frenchman, smashing the ornamental glass and dealing out death and destruction. The target was so close it was impossible to miss. The Sutherland's guns were a bare ten feet off their mark. Hornblower heard Bush and the other officers shout and yell in triumph as they saw the smoke go up and the wood splinter.
"Aim for the masts, Mr. Gerard!" Hornblower called.
The Sutherland swung around, the wind filling her sails. She was a poor sailor, but with a nearly stationary target that was a full fifty percent larger than her there was no need for speed. Her guns rippled out one by one as they passed by. Hornblower saw the passage of shot through her rigging and striking the masts. The three-decker's stern chasers banged out, but the result was only a few casualties among the lower deck crews.
"We have 'em by God," Bush cried exultantly.
The Sutherland put about, slowly as usual, and presented her port broadside once more. The guns there were rolled out, and their aim elevated to fire at the masts. Hornblower stared at the French ship, which was moving slightly to starboard as she broke herself out of being against the wind.
"Starboard a little," Hornblower ordered, concentrating mightily.
Bush, beside him, stared intensely as they drew closer and closer. Girard crouched at the bow guns, prepared to give the order to fire. If they wanted to knock away a mast, they would have to aim perfectly.
The enemy flagship's stern bore slowly, and Hornblower heard Girard give the first order to fire. The guns jerked back one by one as each fired as it came to bear. Shot after shot tore its way through the air and found a home in the mast or cutting through rigging. The quarterdeck carronades did most of the work. As the Sutherland passed astern of the French ship the carronades wrought death and destruction on the enemy quarterdeck and poop. All of a sudden a great sagging was heard. On the starboard side the Frenchman's rigging sagged, while on the port side it tightened and snapped. The mizzenmast shattered all up to the topmast, then came crashing down on the starboard side. The Sutherland's crew cheered wildly, and Hornblower knew that it was time to finish the job.
"Hard a-port," he snarled viciously.
The Sutherland swung around, her sails filling as she took up the same tack that the three-decker was struggling on.
"Prepare to board," Hornblower roared to the crew. "Grape Mr. Gerard!"
Hundreds of men rushed to their weapons, prepared to leap aboard the French ship the moment the bilges touched. The cannons, now manned with skeleton crews, were run out loaded with grapeshot. The marines all along the rails and in the tops fired away at the three-decker, attempting to even the odds before the British swarmed onto the enemy vessel. The smoke was so thick that Hornblower could only see what remained of the Frenchman's towering fore and mainmasts.
The Sutherland came crashing into the side of the French flagship. The vessels creaked and groaned together. The guns, loaded to the muzzle with grape, were fired into the belly of the French ship, tearing their way threw the packed enemy crews. Hornblower could imagine the devastation effect they would have. But now was no time for imagination. He nodded to the officers on the quarterdeck, who knew what he had in mind. Together they drew their swords, and rushed to the side.
The ships were being tied together with grappling hooks and ropes. The great bower anchor on the forecastle was thrown onto the enemy main deck. The vessels were locked in a death grip. Hornblower found himself looking into the guns of the French quarterdeck, which towered above that the Sutherland. Bush, beside him, leapt onto the bulwark and thence into the rigging of the enemy vessel. Hornblower, not as athletic, was hesitant to follow, but he had to.
On the enemy quarterdeck Hornblower found chaos and mayhem. Bodies lay everywhere along with splinters and wounded officers and men. A French lieutenant, screaming like a madman, came running at Hornblower, saber drawn. Hornblower ducked under a wild swung, and thrust up viciously. Blade met flesh and bone, and blood spurted onto Hornblower's uniform. He withdrew the blade, and turned to look for another opponent. None were present. His crew were already swarming onto every part of the French ship, overwhelming it from bow to stern. He turned to look up at the poop deck, and realized that, even in the frenzy of the raking broadside and the grape, the French had raised a tricolor flag atop their quarterdeck. That had to come down. If it did, the French would believe that their officers had surrendered.
Hornblower rushed up the poop ladder, grateful that the day was so calm, preventing the ship from lurching and putting him off balance. He soon found himself climbing over the fallen mizzenmast, which had not been cut away. A quick glance told him that it had snapped off a few feet away, which was the reason it had not prevented the Sutherland from laying alongside. He turned his attention to the flag.
There were several Frenchman around it, and Hornblower saw two of his seamen trying to dislodge them. He rushed up behind one of them and pushed his saber through the man's back. He turned in time to deflect a thrust from a boarding pike, then slashed and hit his attacker in the face. The man fell.
At that fell, little midshipman Longley leapt up to the poop at the head of a line of seamen. These quickly attacked the few French who remained. Those who did not immediately surrender were cut down mercilessly. The poop was clear.
Hornblower walked over to the flagstaff and cut at it. His blade bit into the wood, but did not sever it. He swung again, and it fell. A moment later Bush arrived, producing a British flag which some optimistic seaman must have brought over during the attack. It was quickly attached to the stump of the mizzenmast, and hoisted into the clearing smoke. Hornblower stared at it in pride. In his old, Dutch-built, ugly little seventy-four, he had defeated a French two-decker that was larger than himself, and taken a French flagship, which must have been among the ten mightiest ships afloat. His career was saved, as were most of his men. All around the ship he heard the clatter of steel on the decks. The French outnumbered his men two to one, but they were disorganized, and leaderless, and had no desire to fight. They were surrendering, and throwing down their arms.
"Look, sir," Bush suddenly exclaimed, pointing astern through the smoke with his cutlass.
Hornblower turned in the appointed direction, and he saw what Bush did. The French seventy-four which Hornblower had wasted was now coming up on the three-decker's port side.
"The guns," Hornblower snapped, "get the guns."
Everyone looked confused. Hornblower rushed over to the side where a few French carronades stood, loaded and run out.
"Stand by the guns," he roared at Bush and the men on the poop.
It quickly dawned on them and they passed the order along. The men manned the guns on the French ship, loaded and running out those that were unprepared. Hornblower took up the lanyard of the carronade and looked down the breach. The French ship, more drifting than sailing, was now very close to being in range.
Now Hornblower understood the excited men. The men who wanted to simply yank the lanyard and let fly. There was an almost inhuman urge to do it. To throw prudence to the winds, and fire prematurely. His palm sweated; his forehead perspired. He damn near pulled it. But no. He waited until the ship was in his sights, then fired. The gun jerked back on its carriage, and all of a sudden, one by one as they bore, the guns all along the decks erupted in smoke, sending nearly seventy iron balls smashing into the side of the seventy-four as it passed by. The effect was amazing. What remained of the masts and yards were ripped away. Planks and cordage flew, and the ship began to slow. She would never make it into Rosas. The day was won.
A voice drifted over the water from the two-decker. "Nous nous rendons!" it cried.
"They're surrendering," Hornblower muttered. He turned to Bush. "Sending a boarding party aboard her. Signal the Cassandra to the effect that we have taken two enemy ships."
Bush nodded. "Yes sir. Good God sir. Glorious. Brilliant."
"Thank you. Ha-hmm."
Hornblower turned and looked astern. He felt his pocket, and realized that his glass was still there. He took it out and looked through at the Cassandra in the distance. The Pluto and Caligula were nowhere to be seen.
The prize money garnered from the capture of two great warships would be substantial. The little frigate would take a small share, as would Admiral Leighton. However, most of it would go the brave crew of the Sutherland, and to Hornblower himself as the other two ships of the squadron had not been in sight. He could not wait for Maria to learn of his victory. As for Lady Barbara, well, she was Leighton's wife. He would no longer be ashamed of himself before her. His victory was greater than any her husband had ever achieved, and the whole country would know. He dropped his sword to the deck, exhausted. Then he glanced over the bow and looked at the other two vessels of the French fleet. They would make it into Rosas, but his devastating rake of one and the furious duel he had fought with the other had ensured that they would have to remain in Rosas which had hardly any dockyard facilities. There would be plenty of time to deal with them later, the French squadron was no more.
"Captain Hornblower." It was Gerard, escorting a wizened old Frenchman onto the poop.
Hornblower recognized the uniform. It was the French vice-admiral. The man bowed his bald-capped head and presented his ornamental sword to the British captain. Hornblower looked at it and felt like refusing it like a gentlemen. He would say some words about the man having fought gallantly. But suddenly he realized, the man had not fought gallantly. His fleet had been destroyed by a single British ship of the line.
Hornblower reached out and took the sword. His first thought was of how many swords he could un-pawn with that one. At that moment he realized that, in a single hour, his life had turned around completely, just because he had made a better choice.
