Hornblower, facing the problem, was distracted by a touch on his elbow when Matthews came up to speak to him.
“It ain’t no go, sir,” said Matthews. “She’s lower in the water an’ settlin’ fast.”
Hornblower walked to the ship’s side with him and looked over. There could be no doubt about it. He had been over the side himself and could remember the height of the waterline, and he had for a more exact guide the level of the fothered sail under the ship’s bottom. The brig was a full six inches lower in the water — and this after fifty tons of rice at least had been hoisted out and flung over the side. The brig must be leaking like a basket, with water pouring in through the gaping seams to be sucked up immediately by the thirsty rice.
Hornblower’s left hand was hurting him, and he looked down to discover that he was gripping the rail with it so tightly as to cause him pain, without knowing he was doing so. He released his grip and looked about him, at the afternoon sun, at the tossing sea. He did not want to give in and admit defeat. The French captain came up to him.
“This is folly,” he said. “Madness, sir. My men are overcome by fatigue.”
Over by the hatchway, Hornblower saw, Hunter was driving the French seamen to their work with a rope’s end, which he was using furiously. There was not much more work to be got out of the Frenchmen; and at that moment the Marie Galante rose heavily to a wave and wallowed down the further side. Even his inexperience could detect the sluggishness and ominous deadness of her movements. The brig had not much longer to float, and there was a good deal to do.
“I shall make preparations for abandoning the ship, Matthews,” he said.
He poked his chin upwards as he spoke; he would not allow either a Frenchman or a seaman to guess at his despair.
“Aye aye, sir,” said Matthews.
The Marie Galante carried a boat on chocks abaft the mainmast; at Matthews’ summons the men abandoned their work on the cargo and hurried to the business of putting food and water in her.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said Hunter aside to Hornblower, “but you ought to see you have warm clothes, sir. I been in an open boat ten days once, sir.”
“Thank you, Hunter,” said Hornblower.
There was much to think of Navigating instruments, Charts, compass — would he be able to get a good observation with his sextant in a tossing little boat? Common prudence dictated that they should have all the food and water with them that the boat could carry; but — Hornblower eyed the wretched craft dubiously — seventeen men would kill it to overflowing anyway. He would have to leave much to the judgement of the French captain and of Matthews.
The tackles were manned and the boat was swayed up from the chocks and lowered into the water in the tiny lee afforded on the lee quarter. The Marie Galante put her nose into a wave, refusing to rise to it; green water came over the starboard bow and poured aft along the deck before a sullen wallow on the part of the brig sent it into the scuppers. There was not much time to spare — a rending crash from below told that the cargo was still swelling and forcing the bulkheads. There was a panic among the Frenchmen, who began to tumble down into the boat with loud cries. The French captain took one look at Hornblower and then followed them; two of the British seamen were already over the side fending off the boat.
“Go along,” said Hornblower to Matthews and Carson, who still lingered. He was the captain; it was his place to leave the ship last.
So waterlogged was the brig now that it was not at all difficult to step down into the boat from the deck; the British seamen were in the sternsheets and made room for him.
“Take the tiller, Matthews,” said Hornblower; he did not feel he was competent to handle that over‑loaded boat. “Shove off, there!”