The Victory (54 page)

The axemen were cutting away the wreckage on the deck, the topmen performing the same task aloft, balancing on the
footropes up in the corkscrewing tops, where the wind
battered at them, trying to snatch them away into the
howling darkness. At last the splintered mass of masts, yards
and rigging came free and fell away overboard into the black,
racing sea, and the
Cetus
righted herself, leaping more
extravagantly without the weight, which had acted like a kind
of sea-anchor.

Now here were lights, thank God! Here was the
Nemesis
flying down to them like a dancer, and as she passed they
could see a man on the quarterdeck with the octopus shape of
the grapple and line in his hands, ready to fling it on to the
fo'c'sl of the
Cetus.
The boatswain was there with his mates,
ready to pass the line down, haul in the cable, and make
it
fast when the grapple struck.

The first throw missed them, and the second, and
Nemesis
had to beat back to windward for another pass.

‘Breakers, sir!' cried Webb suddenly. 'Breakers on the lee bow!'
The coast of Spain; waves leaping to fantastic height
against the waiting rocks.

Nemesis again,
and the flying starfish of the grapple, and a
cheer, instantly whipped away, as it struck.

‘Line fast, sir. They're pulling in the cable now.’

With the wreckage gone,
Cetus
had developed a quick and
vicious movement, and without her tophamper she rolled, too.
It would be a horribly dangerous operation for the
Nemesis
to
get her under way. When that colossal drag came on the line,
the strain on the frigate's masts would be frightful.

‘Breakers on the starboard bow!'

‘Breakers dead ahead!’

White as bared teeth in the darkness. No, it was not quite
so dark now. Was dawn coming? They longed for dawn more
than a thirsty man longs for water.

‘
Nemesis
signals: ready to get under way, sir.'

‘
Acknowledge.' The word was passed rapidly down the ship
to the signals rating on the fo'c'sl. 'Stand by, at the wheel.’

The cable rose out of the sea, -spouting water as it
tightened; the breakers flashed white, distractingly, at the
corners of vision. They watched the frigate's sails with horrid fascination. If they were to split under the strain, all would be lost.

‘
Nemesis
signals, sir: prepare to go about.'

‘Acknowledge.'

‘Signal's down, sir!'

‘Helm a starboard!'
For a long, frightful moment there seemed no response. To Weston, standing on the raised poop, the better to view the
situation, the
Cetus
seemed to hang like a deadweight, sulkily
refusing to move, as though the sea held her in a kind of
suction, and the loom of the grey shore and the breakers were
close, so close that there seemed no escaping them.

Beside him, Davie Reid was cursing the big ship rhythmi
cally under his breath, exhorting her with a string of Scottish
oaths to yield. Weston could hear
Nemesis's
masts groaning
with the strain of the drag astern, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Osborne's hands twitching as he watched the taut sails, longing to cast off the tow-line which was endangering
his precious ship.

Then the party which had been working frantically on the
fo'c's'l of the
Cetus
managed to haul out a new flying jib, and the scrap of sail gave the extra leverage needed for the rudder
to bite. She began to come round, turning her head away
from the terrible ro:ks and the white water, and someone,
somewhere, raised a feeble cheer.

Weston lifted the speaking-trumpet. 'We'll shake out a reef
in the foretops'l,' he shouted. He saw Osborne open his mouth
to protest, and then think better of it as he realised, as Weston
had, that it would help to counteract the tremendous drag of
the
Cetus
astern. The big ship began to move slowly forward,
still rolling with the ugly movement of a mastless vessel.
Weston could see another party working as fast as they could
to fish a spare jib-boom to the stump of the mizzen-mast so
that they could rig a sail of some sort. Any canvas they could
shew would help.

And then suddenly the wind gusted again, so violently that
it actually checked the
Nemesis's way
for an instant, driving
her sideways over the surface of the water as the sea dropped
away under her stern and her rudder was exposed; pushing
her into the path. of the
Cetus.
She was still turning. Weston saw the bowsprit come plunging towards them, forwards and
sideways, like a giant unicorn's horn, and without time for
thought he flung himself at Reid, bearing him to the deck, as
the massive spar, big as a tree, smashed into them, pinning
them against the transom.

He heard himself scream, felt a terrible agony of dissolution
inside him, knew he was to die, crushed between the two
immovable masses of wood. He heard the rending crash as the
bows struck, splintering the quarter galleries, and then the
pressure on him was gone. Above him there was a rush of air
as the bowsprit, lifted by the sea, continued its sideways
career of destruction, smashing away the transom rail and
dropping clear.

Pain battered him. He fought to retain consciousness, to
understand what had happened. It had all taken only an instant. He was sinking into darkness, and he struggled
against it, angrily, feeling no pain now, only a bitter fury. Not
now, not like this! his mind cried. There were people calling him, come to rescue him now, when it was too late. A sound
came from his mouth that he did not recognise, and the
darkness overtook him, black and suffocating and absolute.

*

On the
Cetus
they watched in grim silence, waiting to know their fate.
Nemesis
hung helpless, wallowing in the troughs,
pale gashes on her splintered stern where new wood was
exposed, but her masts and sails were intact, and they could
see the flurry of activity on her decks as they worked to bring
her to the wind again.

One man on the quarterdeck was throwing over loops of
the towing cable, to give them room to gather steerage way
before the drag came on her.

‘
Signal to
Nemesis: cast
off tow if necessary,' said Haworth.
‘Aye aye, sir.’

A figure on the quarterdeck waved in response to their
signal. They were all too busy to hoist a reply.

‘
Someone was injured, sir. Two people. I can see them
carrying them below,' said Pitcairn. 'Poor devils.’

Haworth nodded. He had heard that thin, inhuman scream even through the din of the crash, but it was too dark to see
who it was.

Nemesis
was gathering way again, taking up the strain,
hauling
Cetus away
from the hostile shore. The darkness was
definitely less, greyness seeping, unwillingly into the sky.
Cetus
managed to hoist a staysail on the jury mizzen as a kind
driver, easin
^g
the task both of the
Nemesis
and the quarter
masters, but still the storm shewed no sign of abating, and
their progress was painfully slow. The sun had long risen over
the battered fleet before they were close enough for Haworth
to signal to the Admiral and report
Cetus's
condition.

The Admiral did not hesitate. To lose a prize was one
thing, but to lose one of their own ships would be intolerable.
The flags rushed up
Euryalus's
halliards:
Nemesis
was to tow
Cetus
to Gibraltar for repair, leaving immediately.

*

There was sunshine at Gibraltar, and blue skies, fantastic
after so many days of howling storm. There was the rock, like
a great bony forehead, crowned with a green wig of veget
ation; and the town, climbing over the lower slopes; and the
battery, with the Union Flag flying bravely, watching over
the shipping anchored in the bay.

‘
There's the
Belleisle,
sir,' said Tyler. The
Naiad,
who had
towed her in, had gone straight back to the fleet. They had
passed her on her way back the previous day.

‘
I'll bet she caused a stir,' Pitcairn commented. 'That will
have been the first news they had of the battle.'

‘
Mr Tyler, there will be salutes to be fired. Have the
larboard foredeck gun cleared away, and send for Mr
Partridge, if you please,' said Haworth.

‘Aye aye, sir.'

‘
And send word to Mr Parry to have the certificate ready
for the port officer, and ask him to make his arrangements for sending
the
wounded ashore to the hospital. Mr Webb, signal
to
Nemesis,
if you please: can you spare an anchor cable?'

‘Aye aye, sir.'

‘
Mr Morpurgo, run below and give my compliments to the
French officers, and tell them that we have reached Gibral
tar, and that I shall be transferring them to the charge of the
Governor. And pass the word for my servant to have my dress uniform ready.'

‘Aye aye, sir.’

There was so much to be done, including finding time to
complete the report he had been writing over the past several
days. The warmth, now that they were stationary and in an
enclosed bay, was enough to make his hands sweat, and the
ink ran and smeared on the damp paper. Africa, holding her
toy lamb perilously by the tail, was wildly excited, and
begging to be allowed to go ashore with him; and Dipton was
mourning over the wreck of his dress-coat, though Haworth's
hasty glance could not discern the repair he had had to make
to it.

And then, in the midst of all this, Lieutenant Dugasse came
to interrupt him with an enquiry about cartels of exchange
which Haworth could not possibly answer, and Midshipman
Rose, appearing innocently at the door with a message,
almost had his head bitten off.

‘
Mr Tyler's respects, sir, and the boat's come from the
Nemesis,
and could you come, sir?'