He kissed her hurriedly, his lips against her dripping cheek. It was only the most perfunctory kiss. To Hornblower’s subconscious mind Barbara in making her request was risking their lives for it – staking ten thousand future kisses against one immediate one. It was womanlike for her to do so, but odds of ten thousand to one had no appeal for Hornblower. And still she lingered.
“Dearest, I’ve always loved you,” she said; she was speaking hurriedly and yet with no proper regard for the value of time, “I’ve loved no one but you in all my life. I had another husband once. I couldn’t say this before because it would have been disloyal. But now – I’ve never loved anyone but you. Never. Only you, darling.”
“Yes, dear,” said Hornblower. He heard the words, but at that urgent moment he could not give them their rightful consideration. “Stand here. Hold on to this. Hold on!”
It was only a lesser wave that swept by them.
“Wait for my signal!” bellowed Hornblower into Barbara’s ear, and then he made the hurried dash to the binnacle. One group of men had bound themselves to the wheel.
There was a frantic moment as he looked about him. He waved, and then Barbara crossed the heaving deck as he took up on the line. He had just time to fling a bight round her and pull it tight and seize hold himself as the next crest burst over the ship. Over – over – over. Sluggishly the Pretty Jane wallowed up again. He had an idea that one man at least was missing from the group at the wheel, but there was no time to think about that, for there was the passage to the mainmast still to be accomplished.
At last that was done. There were four men there already, but he was able to make Barbara as secure as possible, and then himself. Pretty Jane lay over again, and again; it was at some time shortly after this that a fresh monstrous wave swept away the deckhouse and half the ship’s rail – Hornblower saw the wreckage go off to leeward, and noted the fact, dully. He had been right in taking Barbara away from there.
It may have been the loss of the deckhouse that called his attention to the behaviour of the Pretty Jane. She was lying in the trough of the sea, not riding with her bows to the waves. The loss of the windage of the deckhouse, right aft, perhaps made this more noticeable. She was rolling wildly and deeply in consequence, and was being swept by the waves more thoroughly. She could not be expected to survive this for long, nor could the miserable human beings on her deck – of whom Barbara was one and he was another. The Pretty Jane would rack herself to pieces before long. Something was needed to keep her bows to the sea. In the normal way a small area of canvas exposed right aft would bring this about, but no canvas would stand against that wind, as had been early demonstrated. In the present circumstances the pressure of the wind against the foremast and bowsprit with their standing rigging balanced that against the mainmast, keeping her lying broadside on to wind and wave. If canvas could not be exposed aft then the windage forward must be reduced instead. The foremast should be cut away. Then the pressure on the mainmast would bring her bows on to the sea, increasing her chances, while the loss of the mast would perhaps ease the roll as well. There was no doubt about it; the mast should be cut away, instantly.
Aft there was Knyvett, bound to the wheel, no more than a few feet away; it was his decision as captain. As Pretty Jane wallowed to bring her deck horizontal for a moment, with water no more than knee deep over it, Hornblower waved to him. He pointed forward to the weather foremast shrouds; he gesticulated, he thought he conveyed his meaning clearly enough, but Knyvett showed no sign of understanding. He certainly made no move to act upon the suggestion. He merely gazed stupidly and then looked away. Hornblower felt a moment of fury; the next roll and submergence made up his mind for him. The discipline of the sea might be disregarded in the face of this indifference and incompetence.