“Take these men forrard,” he said, giving the obvious order. “Throw ’em into the forecastle.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Most of the Frenchmen could still walk, but three were dragged by their collars, while the British herded the others before them.
“Come alongee,” said one of the seamen. “Thisa waya.”
He evidently believed a Frenchman would understand him better if he spoke like that. The Frenchman who had greeted their arrival now awakened and suddenly realizing he was being dragged forward, broke away and turned back to Hornblower.
“I officer,” he said, pointing to himself. “I not go wit’ zem.”
“Take him away!” said Hornblower. In his tense condition he could not stop to debate trifles.
He dragged the case of bottles down to the ship’s side and pitched them overboard two at a time — obviously it was wine of some special vintage which the Frenchmen had decided to drink before the English could get their hands on it, but that weighed not at all with Hornblower, for a British seaman could get drunk on vintage claret as easily as upon service rum. The task was finished before the last of the Frenchmen disappeared into the forecastle, and Hornblower had time to look about him. The strong breeze blew confusingly round his ears, and the ceaseless thunder of the flapping jib made it hard to think as he looked at the ruin aloft. Every sail was flat aback, the brig was moving jerkily, gathering sternway for a space before her untended rudder threw her round to spill the wind and bring her up again like a jibbing horse. His mathematical mind had already had plenty of experience with a well‑handled ship, with the delicate adjustment between after sails and headsails. Here the balance had been disturbed, and Hornblower was at work on the problem of forces acting on plane surfaces when his men came trooping back to him. One thing at least was certain, and that was that the precariously hanging foretopsail yard would tear itself free to do all sorts of unforeseeable damage if it were tossed about much more. This ship must be properly hove to, and Hornblower could guess how to set about it, and he formulated the order in his mind just in time to avoid any appearance of hesitation.
“Brace the after yards to larboard,” he said. “Man the braces, men.”
They obeyed him, while he himself went gingerly to the wheel; he had served a few tricks as helmsman, learning his professional duties under Pellew’s orders, but he did not feel happy about it. The spokes felt foreign to his fingers as he took hold; he spun the wheel experimentally but timidly. But it was easy. With the after yards braced round the brig rode more comfortably at once, and the spokes told their own story to his sensitive fingers as the ship became a thing of logical construction again. Hornblower’s mind completed the solution of the problem of the effect of the rudder at the same time as his senses solved it empirically. The wheel could be safely lashed, he knew, in these conditions, and he slipped the becket over the spoke and stepped away from the wheel, with the Marie Galante riding comfortably and taking the seas on her starboard bow.
The seaman took his competence gratifyingly for granted, but Hornblower, looking at the tangle on the foremast, had not the remotest idea of how to deal with the next problem. He was not even sure about what was wrong. But the hands under his orders were seamen of vast experience, who must have dealt with similar emergencies a score of times. The first — indeed the only — thing to do was to delegate his responsibility.
“Who’s the oldest seaman among you?” he demanded — his determination not to quaver made him curt.
“Matthews, sir,” said someone at length, indicating with his thumb the pigtailed and tattooed seaman upon whom he had fallen in the cutter.
“Very well, then. I’ll rate you petty officer, Matthews. Get to work at once and clear that raffle away forrard. I’ll be busy here aft.”
It was a nervous moment for Hornblower, but Matthews put his knuckles to his forehead.