“I think Mr. Hornblower deserves every credit,” he said.
“Of course,” said Buckland—but the slight hint of surprise in his voice seemed to indicate that he did not really believe it; and he changed the subject without pursuing it further. “We’ll start tomorrow—I’ll get both launches out as soon as the hands’ve had breakfast. By noon—now what’s the matter with you, Mr. Hornblower?”
“Well, sir—”
“Come on. Out with it.”
“Ortega comes back tomorrow morning to hear our terms again, sir. I suppose he’ll get up at dawn or not long after. He’ll have a bite of breakfast. Then he’ll have a few words with Villanueva. Then he’ll row across the bay. He might be here at eight bells. Later than that, probably, a little—”
“Who cares when Ortega has his breakfast? What’s all this rigmarole for?”
“Ortega gets here at two bells in the forenoon. If he finds we haven’t wasted a minute; if I can tell him that you’ve rejected his terms absolutely, sir, and not only that, if we can show him the gun mounted, and say we’ll open fire in an hour if they don’t surrender without conditions, he’ll be much more impressed.”
“That’s true, sir,” said Bush.
“Otherwise it won’t be so easy, sir. You’ll either have to temporise again while the gun’s being got into position, or you’ll have to use threats. I’ll have to say to him if you don’t agree, then we’ll start hoisting a gun up. In either case you’ll be allowing him time, sir. He might think of some other way out of it. The weather might turn dirty—there might even be a hurricane get up. But if he’s sure we’ll stand no nonsense, sir—”
“That’s the way to treat ‘em,” said Bush.