“At this moment, My Lord,” said Sharpe, “a raw hand newly brought from the Slave Coast is selling for eighty pounds in the Havana baracoons—and he cost no more than a pound in trade goods at Whydah. Those profits are tempting, My Lord.”

“Naturally,” said Hornblower.

“I have reason to believe that ships of both British and American registry are engaged in the traffic, My Lord.”

“So have I.”

The First Sea Lord had tapped ominously on the table in that interview when touching on this part of his instructions to Hornblower. Under the new law British subjects who engaged in the slave trade could be hanged, and the ships seized. But care would be necessary in dealing with ships flying American colours. If they refused to heave-to on the high seas for examination the utmost tact would have to be employed. To shoot away an American spar or to kill an American citizen would mean trouble. America had gone to war with England only nine years before over matters very similar.

“We want no trouble, My Lord,” said Sharpe. He had a pair of hard, intelligent, grey eyes deep-set in his puffy face.

“I am aware of that, sir.”

“And in this connection, My Lord, I must employ special emphasis in calling Your Lordship’s attention to a vessel making ready for sea here in New Orleans.”

“Which ship is this?”

“She is visible from the deck, My Lord. In fact”—Sharpe struggled out of his chair and walked to the cabin window—“Yes, there she is. What do you make of her, My Lord?”

Hornblower looked out from beside Sharpe. He saw a beautiful ship of eight hundred tons or more. Her fine lines, the lofty rake of her masts, the wide spread of her yards, were all clear indications of speed, for which some sacrifice of cargo-carrying capacity had been made. She was flush decked, with six painted gun-ports along each side. American shipbuilders had always evinced a tendency towards building fast ships, but this was an advanced example of the type.