by Dudley Pope
"We can 'ope," Stafford said. "Well - 'ere, wotch it!"
He leapt up and a moment later a mass of water a foot deep swept forward along the deck.
Jackson and Rossi scrambled up, cursing, and Stafford, clinging to the mast, roared with laughter as water poured out of the bottoms of their trousers.
Jackson watched a seaman scrambling aft, working his way hand over hand along the lifeline.
"That's Luckhurst, one of the lookouts!"
With that he followed the man the last few feet to where Ramage stood with Southwick.
"Lookout, larboard bow, sir - reckon that merchantman over the larboard bow's in trouble, sir."
Jackson saw Ramage stiffen; at once, he noticed, the hand went instinctively to rub the scar over the brow, forgetting the sou'wester.
"What trouble, man?"
"Only glimpsed her, sir, just as we was on a crest: looks as though her main yard's come adrift."
Ramage nodded and signalled to Jackson, pointing aloft. - "Up, quick look at the Topaz and down again to report!"
It seemed to Ramage he had hardly had time to think of the problem, let alone work out the answer, before Jackson was standing in front of him again.
"Her fore yard's already down, sir, and the main yard's swinging on the jears: lifts and braces gone. Bowsprit end also gone. Men working everywhere."
"Does she look under control?"
"Four men at the wheel. I think she's under control - as much as anyone."
"Very well," Ramage said.
"Shall I go back aloft, sir?"
Ramage paused, looking up the mast. The wind was so strong it was a miracle Jackson could climb up. It was unbelievable he was volunteering again. "Yes, take a couple of men with you as messengers."
Jackson worked his way to the foot of the mainmast, stirred Stafford and Rossi with his foot and jerked his thumb upwards.
Cursing, the two men followed him, and a couple of minutes later the trio were trying to make themselves comfortable in the maintop with the mast gyrating wildly as the ship pitched and rolled.
As soon as he'd wriggled himself into position, Stafford looked round at the horizon, and, overwhelmed at what he saw, could only mutter, "Cor!"
By now it was quite light but the horizon was hidden by the rain and spray which reduced visibility to a few hundred yards. The sea was like nothing Stafford had ever seen before. It had no regular shape, nor did it seem to have regular substance: instead it twisted and curled like molten marble boiling in a huge cauldron.
Each man had to hold on with both hands and the wind was now so strong that it was impossible to breathe facing into it: they had to turn their faces to leeward, breathe and then look again. The noise in their ears was a combination of a high-pitched scream and a deep roar; a noise they'd never heard before and would never forget.
Their eyes soon became raw because the spray was so fine at this height that their eyelids did not close instinctively and there was no way of sheltering. Forced by the pressure of the wind to breathe through their mouths, their saliva began to taste salty.
Jackson carefully passed the telescope to Stafford and pointed to the Topaz, gesturing to Rossi to help hold onto the Cockney so he could have both hands free for the telescope.
As soon as Stafford finished his examination, Jackson looked slowly round the whole horizon, making sure Stafford also saw everything he'd spotted, particularly another mule astern - making three - and two more on the larboard quarter. Then he signalled Stafford to go down and report to the Captain.
Six mules, including the Topaz, and the Greyhound. Jackson thought of the rest as he looked round again. Forty-four mules, a line-of-battle ship, two frigates and a lugger out of sight. He did not know much about navigation, but they couldn't have dispersed much in the few hours that had passed since the whole convoy was lying becalmed ... Were these seven ships, and the Triton, the only ones to survive this bloody awful night?
By the time Stafford reached the deck his brain was numb from the noise and buffeting of the wind. He clutched one of the shrouds and looked around him, saw the Captain clinging to the binnacle, and gradually realized that Mr Ramage was waving to him; making sweeping movements with his arm.
Stafford seized the lifeline rigged along the deck and hauled himself aft. The wind had increased while he had been aloft he was certain. He was not holding the rope to keep his balance: he had to use it to move aft.
Stafford was exhausted by the time he crouched down beside the binnacle with Ramage, bellowing his report. Finally he reached the Topaz: "Main yard swinging but I think they're managing to rig new braces. Fore yards gone over the side: it's smashed twenty feet of bulwark, starboard side. Jibboom's gone but the bowsprit's safe now from the look of it and -"
He broke off as Rossi appeared beside them. The Italian, whitefaced from weariness and cold, reported that the main yard had fallen to starboard and parted several shrouds, and Jackson was afraid the mainmast would go by the board.
For a few moments Ramage looked at Rossi as though he was a ghost; then he nodded and stood up, looking over the larboard bow.
Stafford glimpsed a vague pale shape fine on the bow and nearer than he expected it, and pointed.
Ramage nodded and shouted: "One of you fetch Jackson down: nothing more he can do up there."
Then he inched his way to Southwick, who now had a rope round his waist, made fast to the wheel pedestal.
The need to break off every few seconds while Southwick - who was looking astern and watching every wave as it swept up to the ship - shouted and signalled orders to the helmsmen, gave Ramage extra seconds to think, but when he'd finished and stood there looking at the Master, his mind was empty of everything but the bare facts.
Finally Southwick gave his opinion in rushes between helm orders.
"Up to them ... nothing we can do ... couldn't even throw a heaving line over, even if we dare turn a point either side of the course ... Only a matter of time before something like it happens to us ... Every rope must be chafing badly ... miracle anyone's afloat ... If the Topaz loses her masts she probably stands more chance of surviving than with 'em - less windage ... Up to us to stay afloat and pick up survivors after this has blown out..."
As he listened Ramage felt both relief and guilt: the Master was shouting aloud exactly what he thought himself. This had been his first reaction, and he'd discarded it. But he and Southwick were right: even if they saw the Topaz sinking, the Triton could do nothing to help: it wasn't a question of wish, will or skill; it was physically impossible.
Southwick was shaking his arm.
"It's a good thing we're not closer: we couldn't avoid running aboard her if she was ahead."
The Master was right.
"I'm sure Mr Yorke understands. He knows he couldn't help us either."
The Master was right. The Master was right. The Master - Ramage felt as if he were falling, but it was only that he was so tired and dazed by the wind. He had almost gone to sleep as he stood listening to Southwick. Gone to sleep while Yorke was fighting to save the Topaz; sleeping while Maxine and her parents prayed for their lives; while ... steady!
He took several deep breaths and knew he was wearier than he ever believed a man could be and still function. He knew now how unwise he'd been at the beginning of the hurricane: he'd stayed on deck far longer than was necessary - instead of getting some sleep. Now, when the lives of everyone in the Triton depended on his alertness, he was asleep on his feet. When had he last slept? Yesterday or last night or the night before? What day was it, anyway? He couldn't remember, but it hardly mattered. He had no idea of the time, but Southwick must be exhausted: he would have to take over the conn soon and give the old man a spell. As he shouted his intention, the Master answered: "Appleby, sir; let him stand a watch!"
"Not enough experience!"
"He'll be as good as you or me! He's fresh. We're both worn out: only a matter of time before we make a bad mistake."
"Very well, he can re
lieve you."
"Let him take the conn and I'll walk the deck for an hour," Southwick said. "I've had a lot more sleep than you."
Ramage shook his head, but Southwick bellowed: "You're asleep on your feet, sir. You'll make mistakes. The Topaz depends on you too and after an hour in your cot you'll be some use again..."
His voice and the noise of the wind and sea faded and again Ramage felt himself falling asleep and knew Southwick was right.
"All right, send for Appleby."
"He'll be glad, sir. It's too much to expect a man to stay below in this weather if he can't sleep."
It took Ramage ten minutes to get to his cabin and he found everything wet: drips from the deckhead showed how much the ship was working. The noise of the wind was too loud for the creaking of frames and timbers to be very noticeable.
He sprawled himself over the table, felt a tugging at one leg and looked down to see his steward trying to get a boot off. It was all such an effort; it was all so useless; anyway he was so tired...
Hours later his steward shook him awake. The cot was wonderfully warm and, although it swung so wildly it almost made him dizzy, the motion was definitely less than before and the wind less loud.
"Captain, sir, Mr Southwick's compliments and it seems to be easing up. I brought you some food, sir."
Ramage saw a big metal basin jammed in the seat of the armchair.
"And I've put some dry clothes out, sir."
The wind easing? The eye of the hurricane must be approaching!
Quickly he scrambled out of the cot, took the glass carafe of drinking water from its rack, poured it over his head and towelled vigorously. Then he dressed as the steward passed dry clothes to him.
As he began eating slices of cold meat, bananas, an orange, biscuit and a small carafe of fruit juice, he realized he had been so hungry he had a pain in his stomach. When he had finished he saw he had made very little impression on the food and he had a pain from eating too fast.
"Put it in Mr Southwick's cabin. Wedge it well," he told the steward, "so that..."
He broke off: stewards were experts in wedging articles so they did not capsize as the ship rolled.
He wrapped a thick towel round his neck and pulled on his oilskin coat. The steward handed him his sou'wester and Ramage ducked out of the cabin.
The wind had certainly eased a lot. Appleby was tired but alert; Southwick's eyes were bright though bloodshot from a combination of salt and weariness.
Southwick greeted him with a grin.
"The eye of the storm will give us a wink soon, sir."
"Thanks for letting me have a sleep first!"
They were in the eye now: there was no doubt about that. The rain had stopped, the wind was blowing now at about fifteen knots, and the cloud was breaking up overhead.
There was a curious noise, a distant roaring. He looked questioningly at Southwick.
"It's coming from all round us, sir. Heard it just as the rain stopped and the wind began to ease. Could it be the wind blowing outside the eye?"
Ramage found it hard to imagine, but realized they were inside a sort of cylinder forming the eye where the wind was little more than a breeze, and overhead patches of blue sky showed up, while outside the cylinder the wind would still be hurricane strength. The Triton would be back there as soon as the eye moved ... Ramage reached for the telescope in the binnacle drawer and Southwick said: "The Topaz is still there, sir; nothing else has parted - not that I can see, anyway."
He could see the Topaz now, and more light was getting through as the blanket of thick cloud broke up overhead.
For a moment he was shocked at the way the merchantman was labouring. He watched her stern appear to dig into the forward side of a big wave, then saw the crest rushing forward, balancing the ship for a brief moment like a seesaw as the crest held her amidships, and then the bow dropping and digging into the after side as the wave swept on. Then he realized she was not labouring much more than the Triton; no more than one would expect with a heavy cargo down in the holds. In heavy weather it always looked as if the other ship was suffering more than one's own - but she rarely was.
Southwick should have a rest. He worked his way along the lifeline.
"Have a spell below."
"No thanks, sir; I'd sooner be on deck till this has passed."
"What, the hurricane?"
"No, sir, the eye."
"Don't worry, Appleby and I..."
"Not exactly worried, sir: I don't like the idea of being below while it's passing - I shouldn't sleep, and I'm learning something up here."
"I know what-"
Ramage broke off, appalled by the look on Southwick's face. The Master was staring over Ramage's left shoulder at something a long way off, and the only distant thing in that direction was the Topaz.
Swinging round, the telescope still in one hand, Ramage looked over the larboard bow, but stinging spray blinded him for a moment. He wiped his eyes and saw what by now he expected: the Topaz had been dismasted. She was just a stubby log, with her masts and yards lying alongside in the water in a tangle of rope and spars.
Gradually the wreckage, along the starboard side and acting as a sea anchor, made the ship swing round to starboard like a dog on a leash until she was lying broadside to the waves and rolling so violently it seemed she must capsize.
Plans flashed through Ramage's mind and were rejected as fast as a card player shuffling a pack. Finally one idea kept recurring. It was probably hopeless; but he tugged Southwick's arm, shouting: "Main storm trysail - can we hoist it?"
"We can try, sir."
"Do so, then."
As Southwick waddled forward holding the lifelines (the wind inside his oilskins inflating them like a bladder), Ramage doubted if the men could get it done in time. If they can get the sail hoisted, would the flax stand when the eye passed?
With the sail hoisted and holding, he hoped he could turn the Triton and heave-to near the Topaz. He was not sure there was really any point in doing so. It all seemed hopeless, almost stupid. There was no hope of passing a hawser to tow, and in this sea the idea of towing was ludicrous anyway. Could he take everyone off? The odds on a ship o' war surviving were slight; the chances for one of her boats was minuscule. But no one knew how long the calm of the eye would last. He might have half an hour.
Southwick was signalling and Ramage was surprised to see that he had a couple of dozen men on deck, each with a rope round his waist secured to something solid. The trysail was slowly going up the stay.
The Topaz was abeam: now every moment would put her that much farther to windward.
He turned to Appleby.
"I'll take over here: check that the men at the relieving tackles are standing by. Tell them to be ready for a turn to larboard. Then stand where you can see me and when I signal - I'll point to larboard with my arm - the helm goes over. Then we heave-to on the larboard tack."
Appleby staggered below and Ramage looked at the four ratings at the wheel. They were strong and steady men. He told them what to expect in a minute or so, saw Southwick looking aft and indicated by signs what he was going to do, and then noticed Appleby standing halfway up the companionway.
Ramage turned to look aft and suddenly realized that the distant roar of wind, which had been coming from all round the horizon, was now much louder from right astern. He couldn't work out the reason for it, and anyway he now had to wait for a smooth - a sequence of one or two, and hopefully three, waves less high than the others, so that he could start the turn.
From watching the tumbling waves astern he glanced up to see the main trysail was hoisted and sheeted home. It was tiny, only a handkerchief, but it had an immediate effect - he could see the wheel reacting to it. Then he looked aft again. The wave crest immediately astern was lower, and so were the ones beyond: he jerked out his left arm for Appleby's benefit, pointing to larboard, and bellowed at the men at the wheel.
They struggled and strained to turn it. After a f
ew moments it became easier as Appleby passed the order to the men at the relieving tackles. The distant roaring was getting louder, and he glanced up to see that the few patches of clear sky had vanished : the thick low cloud was back.
The rudder, the wind on the main trysail - which was abaft the ship's centre of balance - and the wind blowing on her quarter, were all working together now to shove the Triton's stern violently over to starboard and pivot the bow round to larboard. The seas, too, were now on the larboard quarter and adding their quota of thrust; in a few moments the Triton would be beam on to the seas and as she continued turning they'd be on the bow. There, with the helm hard over to counteract the main trysail, she should lie hove-to.
Ramage watched her turning, alarmed by the roaring, which seemed to be getting very near, and glanced back aft to see if - then the wind came: it suddenly increased and simultaneously veered twenty or thirty degrees: instead of coming from the quarter it was abeam; its sudden and enormous pressure was trying to capsize the brig. The eye had passed; they were back in the hurricane.
Looking astern, Ramage knew his manoeuvre was doomed. It was like staring up from a valley at the side of a mountain collapsing on to him: a series of great waves was sweeping down on the quarter. They might not have been bigger than the worst of the earlier waves, but because they were coming on the quarter and would catch the brig when she was completely vulnerable, halfway through her turn, they were potentially lethal. Catching the little Triton on the quarter, adding their quota to the beam wind on the spars and trysail, they would make her broach.
"Stand fast everyone!" he found himself bellowing, although only the helmsmen could hear him. As he looked forward he was glad to see that several of the men had already seen the danger and were grabbing rigging, eyebolts on the deck, the carronades or anything that was firm.
When the first of the great waves arrived, the whole larboard side, as high as Ramage could see, seemed to be a wall of water. He found himself fighting for his life, gasping, swallowing water, blinded by the salt in his eyes, coughing, winded by a tremendous blow on the chest, swimming upside down in the dark, suddenly snatched into light, drowning, kicking and struggling, clutching a thick rope with all the strength he had. He just managed to wrap his legs round the rope before there was the sharp cracking of breaking timbers. The rope he was holding went bar taut, then slack, and then taut again ... The deck, already moving wildly under his feet, seemed to have slid up vertically and back again.