When Hornblower came up again to the battery Bush pointed to the retreating schooner.
“He thought better of it, did he?” commented Hornblower. “Yes, and those other two have anchored, I should say.”
His fingers were twitching for the one telescope again, and Bush handed it over.
“The other two aren’t moving either,” said Hornblower, and then he swung round and trained the telescope down the bay towards the sea. “ Renown ’s gone about. She’s caught the wind. Six miles? Seven miles? She’ll be rounding the point in an hour.”
It was Bush’s turn to grab for the telescope. There was no mistaking the trim of those topsails. From the Renown he transferred his attention to the opposite shore of the bay. There was the other battery with the Spanish flag above it—the flag was now drooping, now flapping lazily in the light wind prevailing over the shore. He could make out no sign of activity whatever, and there was some finality in his gesture as he closed the telescope and looked at his second in command.
“Everything’s quiet,” he said. “Nothing to be done until Renown comes down.”
“That is so,” agreed Hornblower.
It was interesting to watch Hornblower’s animation ebb away. Intense weariness was obvious in his face the moment he was off his guard.
“We can feed the men,” said Bush. “And I’d like to have a look at the wounded. Those damned prisoners have to be sorted out—Whiting’s got ‘em all herded in the casemate, men and women, captains and drum boys. God knows what provisions there are here. We’ve got to see about that. Then we can set a watch, dismiss the watch below, and some of us can get some rest.”
“So we can,” said Hornblower; reminded of the necessary activities that still remained, he resumed his stolid expression. “Shall I go down and start attending to it, sir?”