“If we don’t know all about it today,” said Hornblower, “we’ll hear all about it at some later date.”
It was the truth, even though it was not the kindest thing to say.
“We’ll be the laughing-stock of the Islands,” said Fell.
No one in the world could look more miserable than he did at that moment. Hornblower himself was inclined to give up hope, but the sight of that despair roused his contrary nature.
“There’s all the difference in the world between six knots, which she’s making now close-hauled, and twelve knots, which she’ll make when she puts up her helm,” he said. “Mr Spendlove here will tell you that the water resistance is a function of the square of the speed. Isn’t that so, Mr Spendlove?”
“Perhaps a function of the cube or even one of the higher powers, My Lord.”
“So we can still hope, Sir Thomas. That spun yarn will have eight times the pull upon it when she alters course.”
“It’ll be chafing now, as well, My Lord,” added Spendlove.
“If they didn’t see the thing last night and cast it off,” said Fell, still gloomy.
When they reached the deck again the sun was inclining towards the west.
“Masthead, there!” hailed Fell. “Is the chase still in sight?”
“Yes, sir. Hull down from here, sir, but plain in sight. Two points or thereabouts on the weather bow.”
“She’s made all the northing she needs,” grumbled Fell. “Why doesn’t she alter course?”
There was nothing to do except wait, to try and extract some pleasure from the clean wind and the blue and white sea; but the pleasure was only faint now, the sea did not seem so blue. Nothing to do except wait, with the minutes dragging like hours. Then it happened.
“Deck, there! Chase is altering course to port. She’s running right before the wind.”
“Very well.”
Fell looked round at all the faces of the crowd on the quarterdeck. His own was as tense as anyone else’s.
“Mr Sefton, alter course four points to port.”
He was going to play the game out to the bitter end, even though yesterday’s experience, closely parallel to the present, had shown that Clorinda stood no chance in normal circumstances of intercepting.
“Deck, there! She’s settin’ her tops’ls. T’garns’ls, too, sir!”
“Very well.”
“We’ll soon know now,” said Spendlove. “With the drogue in action she must lose speed. She must.”
“Deck, there! Cap’n, sir!” The lookout’s voice had risen to a scream of excitement. “She’s flown up into the wind! She’s all aback! Fore topmast’s gone, sir!”
“So have her rudder pintles,” said Hornblower, grimly.
Fell was leaping on the deck, actually dancing with joy, his face radiant. But he re-collected himself with all speed.
“Come two points to starboard,” he ordered. “Mr James, get aloft with you and tell me how she bears.”
“She’s taking in her mains’l!” shouted the lookout.
“Trying to get before the wind again,” commented Gerard.
“Cap’n, sir!” This was James’s voice from the masthead. “You’re heading a point to loo’ard of her.”
“Very well.”
“She’s coming before the wind – no, she’s all aback again, sir!”
The Thing still had her by the tail, then; her struggles would be as unavailing as those of a deer in the claws of a lion.
“Steer small, you -” said Fell, using a horrible word to the helmsman.
Everyone was excited, everyone seemed to be obsessed with the fear that Estrella would clear away the wreck and make her escape after all.
“With her rudder gone she’ll never be able to hold a course,” said Hornblower. “And she’s lost her fore-topmast, too.”
Another wait, but of a very different nature now. Clorinda, thrashing along, seemed to have caught the excitement and to have put on a spurt as she hurled herself at her quarry, racing forward to triumph.
“There she is!” said Gerard, telescope trained forward. “All aback still.”
As the next wave lifted Clorinda they all caught sight of her; they were approaching her fast. A sorry, pitiful sight she looked, her fore-topmast broken off clean at the cap, her sails shivering in the wind.
“Clear away the bow chaser,” ordered Fell. “Fire a shot across her bow.”