A squall came down and blotted out the horizon. The Renown had to pay off momentarily before its impact. The rain rattled on the deck as the ship lay over, and then the wind abruptly moderated, the sun came out again, and the squall was past. Bush busied himself with the task of regaining station, of laying the Renown her exact two cables’ length astern of her next ahead. She was last in the line of three, and the flagship was the first. Now the strange sail was well over the horizon. She was a sloop of war as the telescope showed at once; Bush thought for a moment that she might be the Retribution, returned after a very quick double passage, but it only took a second glance to make sure she was not. Truscott read her number and referred to the list.
“ Clara, sloop of war: Captain Ford,” he announced.
The Clara had sailed for England with despatches three weeks before the Retribution, Bush knew.
“ Clara to Flag,” went on Truscott. “Have despatches.”
She was nearing fast. Up the flagship’s halliards soared a string of black balls which broke into flags at the top.
“All ships,” read Truscott, with excitement evident in his voice, for this meant that the Renown would have orders to obey. “Heaveto.”
“Main tops’l braces!” yelled Bush. “Mr. Abbott! My respects to the captain and the squadron’s heavingto.”
The squadron came to the wind and lay heaving easily over the rollers. Bush watched the Clara ’s boat dancing over the waves towards the flagship.
“Keep the hands at the braces, Mr. Bush,” said Captain Cogshill. “I expect we’ll fill again as soon as the despatches are delivered.”
But Cogshill was wrong. Bush watched through his glass the officer from the Clara go up the flagship’s side, but the minutes passed and the flagship still lay hoveto, the squadron still pitched on the waves. Now a new string of black balls went up the flagship’s halliards.