csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第38节

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immense　pyramids　of　flame。
　'Starboard　a　point；'　said　Foster。　'We'll　lay　her　aground　on　the　shoal　by　the　Neutral　Ground。'
　'Starboard　a　point；'　responded　Hornblower。
　He　was　being　borne　along　on　a　wave　of　the　highest　exaltation；　the　roar　of　the　fire　was　intoxicating；　and　he　knew　not　a　moment's　fear。　Then　the　whole　deck　only　a　yard　or　two　forward　of　the　wheel　opened　up　in　flame。　Fire　spouted　out　of　the　gaping　seams　and　the　heat　was　utterly　unbearable；　and　the　fire　moved　rapidly　aft　as　the　seams　gaped　progressively　backward。
　Hornblower　felt　for　the　loopline　to　lash　the　wheel；　but　before　he　could　do　so　the　wheel　spun　idly　under　his　hand；　presumably　as　the　tiller　ropes　below　him　were　burned　away；　and　at　the　same　time　the　deck　under　his　feet　heaved　and　warped　in　the　fire。　He　staggered　back　to　the　taffrail。　Foster　was　there。
　'Tiller　ropes　burned　away；　sir；'　reported　Hornblower。
　Flames　roared　up　beside　them。　His　coat　sleeve　was　smouldering。
　'Jump！'　said　Foster。
　Hornblower　felt　Foster　shoving　him…everything　was　insane。　He　heaved　himself　over；　gasped　with　fright　as　he　hung　in　the　air；　and　then　felt　the　breath　knocked　out　of　his　body　as　he　hit　the　water。　The　water　closed　over　him；　and　he　knew　panic　as　he　struggled　back　to　the　surface。　It　was　cold…the　Mediterranean　in　December　is　cold。　For　the　moment　the　air　in　his　clothes　supported　him；　despite　the　weight　of　the　sword　at　his　side；　but　he　could　see　nothing　in　the　darkness；　with　his　eyes　still　dazzled　by　the　roaring　flames。　Somebody　splashed　beside　him。
　'They　were　following　us　in　the　boat　to　take　us　off；'　said　Foster's　voice。　'Can　you　swim？'
　'Yes；　sir。　Not　very　well。'
　'That　might　describe　me；'　said　Foster；　and　then　he　lifted　his　voice　to　hail；　'Ahoy！　Ahoy！　Hammond！　Harvey！　Ahoy！'
　He　tried　to　raise　himself　as　well　as　his　voice；　fell　back　with　a　splash；　and　splashed　and　splashed　again；　the　water　flowing　into　his　mouth　cutting　short　something　he　tried　to　say。　Hornblower；　beating　the　water　with　increasing　feebleness；　could　still　spare　a　thought…such　were　the　vagaries　of　his　wayward　mind…for　the　interesting　fact　that　even　captains　of　much　seniority　were　only　mortal　men　after　all。　He　tried　to　unbuckle　his　sword　belt；　failed；　and　sank　deep　with　the　effort；　only　just　succeeding　in　struggling　back　to　the　surface。　He　gasped　fair　breath；　but　in　another　attempt　he　managed　to　draw　his　sword　half　out　of　its　scabbard；　and　as　he　struggled　it　slid　out　the　rest　of　the　way　by　its　own　weight；　yet　he　was　not　conscious　of　any　noticeable　relief。
　It　was　then　that　he　heard　the　splashing　and　grinding　of　oars　and　loud　voices；　and　he　saw　the　dark　shape　of　the　approaching　boat；　and　he　uttered　a　spluttering　cry。　In　a　second　or　two　the　boat　was　up　to　them；　and　he　was　clutching　the　gunwale　in　panic。
　They　were　lifting　Foster　in　over　the　stern；　and　Hornblower　knew　he　must　keep　still　and　make　no　effort　to　climb　in；　but　it　called　for　all　his　resolution　to　make　himself　hang　quietly　onto　the　side　of　the　boat　and　wait　his　turn。　He　was　interested　in　this　overmastering　fear；　while　he　despised　himself　for　it。　It　called　for　a　conscious　and　serious　effort　of　willpower　to　make　his　hands　alternately　release　their　death…like　grip　on　the　gunwale；　so　that　the　men　in　the　boat　could　pass　him　round　to　the　stern。　Then　they　dragged　him　in　and　he　fell　face　downward　in　the　bottom　of　the　boat；　on　the　verge　of　fainting。　Then　somebody　spoke　in　the　boat；　and　Hornblower　felt　a　cold　shiver　pass　over　his　skin；　and　his　feeble　muscles　tensed　themselves；　for　the　words　spoken　were　Spanish…at　any　rate　an　unknown　tongue；　and　Spanish　presumably。
　Somebody　else　answered　in　the　same　language。　Hornblower　tried　to　struggle　up；　and　a　restraining　hand　was　laid　on　his　shoulder。　He　rolled　over；　and　with　his　eyes　now　accustomed　to　the　darkness；　he　could　see　the　three　swarthy　faces　with　the　long　black　moustaches。　These　men　were　not　Gibraltarians。　On　the　instant　he　could　guess　who　they　were…the　crew　of　one　of　the　fire　ships　who　had　steered　their　craft　in　past　the　Mole；　set　fire　to　it；　and　made　their　escape　in　the　boat。　Foster　was　sitting　doubled　up；　in　the　bottom　of　the　boat；　and　now　he　lifted　his　face　from　his　knees　and　stared　round　him。
　'Who　are　these　fellows？'　he　asked　feebly…his　struggle　in　the　water　had　left　him　as　weak　as　Hornblower。
　'Spanish　fire　ship's　crew；　I　fancy；　sir；'　said　Hornblower。　We're　prisoners。'
　'Are　we　indeed！'
　The　knowledge　galvanized　him　into　activity　just　as　it　had　Hornblower。　'He　tried　to　get　to　his　feet；　and　the　Spaniard　at　the　tiller　thrust　him　down　with　a　hand　on　his　shoulder。　Foster　tried　to　put　his　hand　away；　and　raised　his　voice　in　a　feeble　cry；　but　the　man　at　the　tiller　was　standing　no　nonsense；　He　brought　out；　in　a　lightning　gesture；　a　knife　from　his　belt。　The　light　from　the　fire　ship；　burning　itself　harmlessly　out　on　the　shoal　in　the　distance；　ran　redly　along　the　blade；　and　Foster　ceased　to　struggle。　Men　might　call　him　Dreadnought　Foster；　but　he　could　recognize　the　need　for　discretion。
　'How　are　we　heading？'　he　asked　Hornblower；　sufficiently　quietly　not　to　irritate　their　captors。
　'North；　sir。　Maybe　they're　going　to　land　on　the　Neutral　Ground　and　make　for　the　Line。'
　'That's　their　best　chance；'　agreed　Foster。
　He　turned　his　neck　unfortably　to　look　back　up　the　harbour。
　'Two　other　ships　burning　themselves　out　up　there；'　he　said。　'There　were　three　fire　ships　came　in；　I　fancy。'
　'I　saw　three；　sir。'
　'Then　there's　no　damage　done。　But　a　bold　endeavour。　Whoever　would　have　credited　the　Dons　with　making　such　an　attempt？'
　'They　have　learned　about　fire　ships　from　us；　perhaps；　sir；'　suggested　Hornblower。
　'We　may　have　〃nursed　the　pinion　that　impelled　the　steel；〃　you　think？'
　'It　is　possible；　sir。'
　Foster　was　a　cool　enough　customer；　quoting　poetry　and　discussing　the　naval　situation　while　being　carried　off　into　captivity　by　a　Spaniard　who　guarded　him　with　a　drawn　knife。　Cool　might　be　a　too　accurate　adjective；　Hornblower　was　shivering　in　his　wet　clothes　as　the　chill　night　air　blew　over　him；　and　he　felt　weak　and　feeble　after　all　the　excitement　and　exertions　of　the　day。
　'Boat　ahoy！'　came　a　hail　across　the　water；　there　was　a　dark　nucleus　in　the　night　over　there。　The　Spaniard　in　the　sternsheets　instantly　dragged　the　tiller　over；　heading　the　boat　directly　away　from　it；　while　the　two　at　the　oars　redoubled　their　exertions。
　'Guard　boat…'　said　Foster；　but　cut　his　explanation　short　at　a　further　threat　from　the　knife。
　Of　course　there　would　be　a　boat　rowing　guard　at　this　northern　end　of　the　anchorage；　they　might　have　thought　of　it。
　'Boat　ahoy！'　came　the　hail　again。　'Lay　on　your　oars　or　I'll　fire　into　you！'
　The　Spaniard　made　no　reply；　and　a　second　later　came　the　flash　and　report　of　a　musket　shot。　They　heard　nothing　of　the　bullet；　but　the　shot　would　put　the　fleet…towards　which　they　were　heading　again…on　the　alert。　But　the　Spaniards　were　going　to　play　the　game　out　to　the　end。　They　rowed　doggedly　on。
　'Boat　ahoy！'
　This　was　another　hail；　from　a　boat　right　ahead　of　them。　The　Spaniards　at　the　oars　ceased　their　efforts　in　dismay；　but　a　roar　from　the　steersman　set　them　instantly　to　work　again。　Hornblower　could　see　the　new　boat　almost　directly　ahead　of　them；　and　heard　another　hail　from　it　as　it　rested　on　its　oars。　The　Spaniard　at　the　tiller　shouted　an　order；　and　the　stroke　oar　backed　water　and　the　boat　turned　sharply；　another　order；　and　both　rowers　tugged　ahead　again　and　the　boat　surged　forward　to　ram。　Should　they　succeed　in　overturning　the　intercepting　boat　they　might　make　their　escape　even　now；　while　the　pursuing　boat　stopped　to　pick　up　their　friends。
　Everything　happened　at　once；　with　everyone　shouting　at　the　full　pitch　of　his　lungs；　seemingly。　There　was　the　crash　of　the　collision；　both　boats　heeling　wildly　as　the　bow　of　the　Spanish　boat　rode　up　over　the　British　boat　but　failed　to　overturn　it。　Someone　fired　a　pistol；　and　the　next　moment　the　pursuing　guard　boat　came　dashing　alongside；　its　crew　leaping　madly　aboard　them。　Somebody　flung　himself　on　top　of　Hornblower；　crushing　the　breath　out　of　him　and　threatening　to　keep　it　out　permanently　with　a　hand　on　his　throat。　Hornblower　heard　Foster　bellowing　in　protest；　and　a　moment　later　his　assailant　released　him；　so　that　he　could　hear　the　midshipman　of　the　guard　boat　apologizing　for　this　rough　treatment　of　a　post　captain　of　the　Royal　Navy。　Someone　unmasked　the　guard　boat's　lantern；　and　by　its　light　Foster　revealed　himself；　bedraggled　and　battered。　The　light　shone　on　their　sullen　prisoners。
　'Boats　ahoy！'　came　another　hail；　and　yet　another　boat　emerged　from　the　darkness　and　pulled　towards　them。
　'Cap'n　Hammond；　I　believe！'　hailed　Foster；　with　an　ominous　rasp　in　his　voice。
　'Thank　God！'　they　heard　Hammond　say；　and　the　boat　pulled　into　the　faint　circle　of　light。
　'But　no　thanks　to　you；'　said　Foster　bitterly。
　'After　your　fire　ship　cleared　the　Santa　Barbara　a　puff　of　wind　took　you　on　faster　than　we　could　keep　up　with　you；'　explained　Harvey。
　'We　followed　as　fast　as　we　could　get　these　rock　scorpions　to　row；'　added　Hammond。
　'And　yet　it　called　for　Spaniards　to　save　us　from　drowning；'　sneered　Foster。　The　memory　of　his　struggle　in　the　water　rankled；　apparently。　'I　thought　I　could　rely　on　two　brother　captains。'
　'What　are　you　implying