'We're in the middle of a fleet, by God!' whispered Hunter.
'Big ships, too, sir,' supplemented Winyatt who had joined them with the calling of all hands. 'I could hear half a dozen different pipes when they called the watch.'
'The Dons are out, then,' said Hunter.
And the course I set has taken us into the midst of them, thought Hornblower bitterly. The coincidence was maddening, heartbreaking. But he forbore to waste breath over it. He even suppressed the frantic gibe that rose to his lips at the memory of Sir Hew's toast about the Spaniards coming out from Cadiz.
'They're setting more sail,' was what he said. 'Dagos snug down at night, just like some fat Indiaman. They only set their t'gallants at daybreak.'
All round them through the fog could be heard the whine of sheaves in blocks, the stamp-and-go of the men at the halliards, the sound of ropes thrown on decks, the chatter of a myriad voices.
'They make enough noise about it, blast 'em,' said Hunter.
The tension under which he laboured was apparent as he stood straining to peer through the mist.
'Please God they're on a different course to us,' said Winyatt, more sensibly. 'Then we'll soon be through 'em.'
'Not likely,' said Hornblower.