Was he doing the correct thing? The squall might blow itself out in minutes, in which case he would be better to lie-to under a close-reefed main topsail. But if it did not pass as quickly as it had come upon them, he must drive ahead of it. It was their only chance. Even then, the rudder might carry away, or the pumps might be unable to contain the steady intake of water. And until daylight it was impossible to learn the extent of the damage, or their true plight.
Meheux bellowed, “Ready, sir!”
Bolitho recalled Broughton’s comment. So be it. How long ago that seemed now. But he knew it could be little more than three hours since their flag had shown itself above the Navarra’s deck.
From forward he heard the jib cracking wildly, the impatient rattle of blocks, and imagined the men on the yards, strung out like limpets on driftwood, and just as helpless.
“Loose fore tops’l!” He saw Meheux swing away to relay his order. “Put the helm up, Mr Grindle!” He waved his arm urgently. “Easy there! Take the strain on those new rudder lines!”
Ahead, through the darkness he heard the sudden clamour of billowing canvas, the muffled cries from far above the heeling deck.
“Lee braces!” He slipped on the unfamiliar deck as he strained his eyes forward. “Loose the main tops’l!”
Grindle yelled excitedly, “She’s answerin’, sir!”
Reeling and fighting back against the thrust of rudder and braced topsails the Navarra was sliding drunkenly in a steep beam sea, her masts leaning over further and still further to the unwavering pressure.
“Hard over, Mr Grindle!” Bolitho ran back to the rail to watch as the main topsail showed faintly in the darkness, holding the ship over.
The wheel continued to turn, while Bolitho shouted to the invisible men below him at the braces until his throat felt like raw flesh.
But she was coming round. Slowly and painfully, her sails thundering and booming like live things, the solitary jib a pale crescent through the black lines of shrouds and stays.
He dashed the spray from his eyes and ran to the weather side. Already the angle of the waves had altered, and the angry, broken crests were now coming straight for the larboard quarter. All about him he could hear the protesting groan of wood and hemp, the clatter of broken gear, and waited for something to come tearing down from aloft to signal his failure.
But nothing fell, nor did the helmsmen lose control of their wheel. Whoever had designed the Navarra had known a thing or two, he thought dazedly.
“We will steer due east, Mr Grindle.” He had to repeat it to make himself heard. Or perhaps like him the others were too stunned, too battered by noise and weather, to make sense of anything any more.
“Braces there!” Without light it was like yelling at an empty deck. A ghost ship in which he was alone and without hope. “Let go and haul!” The strain and gloom were playing tricks with his vision, and he had to count the seconds, gauging the swing of the yards rather than trusting his streaming eyes.