“Mr. Jones, hands to the braces and head sail sheets, if you please.” The gunners on Ada would be able to see the ship plainly enough now, silhouetted against the moon; they would be waiting for her to turn. Passage Island and Sari Point were still blended together. He held on.
“Breakers on the port bow!”
That was Turner hailing from forward.
“Breakers ahead!” A long pause, and then Turner’s high, thin voice again, sharpened with anxiety. “Breakers ahead!”
“Mr. Jones, we’ll be wearing ship soon.”
He could see well enough. He carried the chart before his mental eyes, and could superimpose it upon the shadowy landscape before him.
“Breakers ahead!”
The closer he came the better. That shore was steep‑to.
“Now, Mr. Jones. Quartermaster — hard a‑starboard.”
She was coming round on her heel like a dancer. Too fast!
“Meet her! Steady!”
He must hold on for a moment; and it would be as well, too, for then Atropos could regain the way and handiness of which the sharp turn had deprived her.
“Breakers ahead! Breakers on the starboard bow! Breakers to port! ” A chain of long, bright flashes over port quarter; a thunder‑roll of reports, echoing again from the hills.
“Hard a‑starboard. Brace her up, Mr. Jones. Full and by!”
Coming round now, with Sari Point close alongside; not merely alongside but right ahead with the hollow curve of it.
“Keep your luff!”
“Sir — sir —”
The quartermaster at the wheel was croaking with anxiety; she would be in irons in a moment. The headsails were flapping. From the feel of her she was losing her way, sagging off to leeward; she would be aground before long.
“Port a little.”
That would keep her going for a moment. The black bulk of Kaia was plainly visible to port. Sari was ahead and to starboard, and the wind was in their teeth. They were creeping forward to destruction. But there must be — there must be — a back lash of wind from Sari Point. It could not be otherwise with that land formation. The headsails flapped again as the quartermaster at the wheel vacillated between going aground and being taken aback.
“Keep her going.”
“Sir — !”
It would be close under the land that air would be found if at all. Ah! Hornblower could feel the transition with the acute sensitivity of the seaman; the cessation of wind and then the tiny gentle breath on the other cheek. The headsails flapped again, but in a different mood from before; before Hornblower could speak the quartermaster was turning the wheel in agonized relief. It would only be a second or two that would be granted them, small enough time in which to gather steerage way to get the ship under command again, to gain distance from the cliffs.
“Stand by to go about!”
Steerage way so that the rudder would bite; that was what was wanted now. A flash and a roar from Passage Island — Kaia Rock nearly intercepted the flash; perhaps the shot was intercepted as well. That would be the first gun to be reloaded. The others would undoubtedly follow soon. Another flash, another roar, but no time to think about them, for Hornblower’s perceptions told him of the fresh alteration in the feel of the ship. They were passing out into the wind again.
“Headsail sheets!”
One moment more. Now!
“Hard a‑starboard!”
He could feel the rudder bite. She was coming round. She would not miss stays. As she emerged into the wind she was on her new tack.
“Breakers right ahead!”
That was Kaia Rock, of course. But they must gather way again.
“Stand by to go about!”
They must hold on until the bowsprit was almost touching. Wait. Now!
“Hard over!”
The wheel spurn She was shuggish. Yes — no — yes. The fore staysail was drawing. She was coming round. The yards turned as the hands came aft with the lee‑braces. One moment’s hesitation, and then she gathered way on the fresh tack, leaving Kaia close beside them, Sari Point ahead; no chance of weathering it on this tack.
“Stand by to go about!”
Hold on as far as possible; this would be the last tack that would be necessary. A howl close overhead. That was a cannon‑ball from Passage Island.