Pellew saw the first bundle of grain sacks rise slowly into the air from the lighter, and swung over and down the Caroline 's hatchway.
'He'll be all right,' he decided. 'Man the capstan and get under way, if you please, Mr Bolton.'
Hornblower, directing the work on the tackles, heard Pellew's voice come to him through the speaking trumpet.
'Good luck, Mr Hornblower. Report in three weeks at Gibraltar.'
'Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.'
Hornblower turned back to find a seaman at his elbows knuckling his forehead.
'Beg pardon, sir. But can you hear those cattle bellerin', sir? 'Tis mortal hot, an' 'tis water they want, sir.'
'Hell,' said Hornblower.
He would never get the cattle on board before nightfall. He left a small party at work transferring cargo, and with the rest of the men he began to extemporize a method of watering the unfortunate cattle in the lighter. Half Caroline 's hold space was filled with water barrels and fodder, but it was an awkward business getting water down to the lighter with pump and hose, and the poor brutes down there surged about uncontrollably at the prospect of water. Hornblower saw the lighter heel and almost capsize; one of his men — luckily one who could swim — went hastily overboard from the lighter to avoid being crushed to death.
'Hell,' said Hornblower again, and that was by no means the last time.