Hornblower dashed back into his gig to supervise the final operation. The heavier line was bent on to the light one which had been thrown on shore, and Homblower stood up again with his speaking trumpet.

“Tirez! Tirez!” he yelled, and waved the instrument at the crowd.

They understood him and began to pull in. The heavy rope crept in after the line, and then the long string of casks followed. Hornblower watched their course anxiously enough, as the big ungainly objects, black in the white foam under the dazzling sun, crept towards the shore. But even without watching them he could have guessed at their safe arrival, for as each one reached the beach, there was a wild swirl in the crowd as the starving men smashed the casks to pieces with rocks and fought over the contents.

Hornblower did not wait to see the end. He wanted no further reminder of the beastliness and horror of it all, and he had himself rowed back to his ship and the boats hoisted in. He would not look back again at the island as the Sutherland braced her yards round and went on to her delayed rendezvous. The Spanish victuallingbrig was coming down towards them under full sail. She passed the Sutherland close astern, and an irate officer hailed through a speaking trumpet:

“What you mean, sir?” he shouted. “What you mean interfering? Cabrera our country—you not must go there!”

“God damn you!” said Bush beside Hornblower as the words reached him. “Shall I give him a shot, sir?”

After what they had seen, the crew of the Sutherland would have thoroughly approved of such an action, but Hornblower felt he had done enough towards provoking an international incident between England and her ally as it was.