'I will crowd on her all sail she will take,' Bomford said, ‘by my sign to each in turn ...' he specified which signal would apply to which sail for shouted orders were useless '. .. and I apprehend the chief peril to be if the main course is .taken aback.'
The Captain finished, and looked gravely at each man. He then spoke gently but firmly: 'I do believe before we go to put our lives at hazard, it will not go amiss if we put our hopes and trust before He who disposes of all things.' A scatter of shapeless tarpaulin head coverings disappeared and, bare-headed, the men of HMS Trajan came together in prayer. For a long moment, there was silence as every man's thoughts soared to his loved ones, and the chance of ever seeing them again.
Kydd's eyes lifted from the deck. 'To your stations, if you please,' said Bomford quietly. The light had strengthened: it was possible to see well ahead to the open sea, the yearned-for goal, but the line of coast was growing in clarity.
Capple stood at the wheel, his arms folded, ready. His was without doubt the single most vital task. Kydd snatched a glance. If Capple felt the pressure on him he gave no sign of it, his eyes slitted against the wind, watching the sails bent on, gaskets loosened, men gathering to hoist — or dowse.
It was time. One by one the stations waved an acknowledgement, the men standing by in fearful anticipation. Out of sight on the deck below the boatswain would be standing with his foot on the cable as it left the hawse — he would feel its live thrumming, the tension in a direct line to the sea-bed. When the ship had sail on, had speed sufficient not only to meet the seas and beat them but to make real way, then the boatswain would feel the vibration die away, the cable deaden, relaxed at last as the ship came up on the anchor. Then would be the time for the carpenter to step forward with his razor-sharp mast axe and cut the cable.
'Helm!' the Captain warned. Capple gripped the wheel. Kydd would follow every movement at the lee side, his eyes fixed on the quartermaster. The Captain moved to the forward end of the quarterdeck and gave one last glance aloft. Then he acted: the signal went out. It was the storm jib to hoist, and forward a tiny triangle of sail inched up hesitantly, the white faces of the fo'c'sle party clearly visible as they looked back at the Captain, ready for an immediate countermand. The wheel spun as the helm was put hard over. They would use the effect of the seas seething past to help achieve a cast to larb'd.
Higher it rose, flapping and beating with the wind dead ahead. Suddenly it took the wind, board taut: the strong sail in an instant had the bows dipping and the ship shying like a nervous horse. This was the time of greatest danger, before any speed through the water was achieved, sheering across the wind and putting intolerable strain on their anchor.
Another signal, this time aft: the driver, a fore and aft sail on the mizzen, makeshift reefing to show the smallest possible area. Kydd held his breath - the sail flapped and banged, then caught.
Braced right around, the main-yard was slung low in its jeers, but the lee clew of the course appeared. It grew, and the first square sail was set, a tiny corner on one side of the yard, but yet a driving force.
Nervously Kydd snatched a glimpse at the white seas raging past. The ship began to rear: there was an uneasy screwing motion. The Captain was as rigid as a statue, gripping a stay and staring fiercely ahead. Bomford gestured — more sail showed at the main. Kydd could not be sure, but felt that the motion was growing less jerky. Could it be that they were advancing on their anchor?
Raising his arm, Bomford looked all about him. Then, the signal to cut the cable, to launch themselves into eternity — or sweet safety.
Kydd tensed, and in the time it took the carpenter to hack through the great cable Bomford strode quickly back to the helm. Suddenly the ship's bow fell away from the wind. No longer tethered she dropped away to leeward. A massive roll sent men skittering across the deck. A cross sea intervened and the ship lurched sickeningly. Kydd snatched a look astern — they were drifting down on the land. His hands gripped the wheel convulsively. A growl from Capple brought his attention to it. They fought the wheel round together, hard over to try to bring the bows back up to the wind.
The Captain stood unmoving and Kydd felt a pressure on the helm, a strengthening, glorious force that told of power and movement through the water. He determined not to look behind at the land, but couldn't help a prickling in his neck as he remembered the fringing reef, which must be close now.
The bowsprit reared and plunged but it sawed a path in the sky that was unmistakable: Trajan was answering her helm. Kydd dared to hope. A little more of the goosewinged main and the old ship heeled obediently in response, the seas meeting her bow with energy and purpose. Minute by agonising minute, yard by yard, Trajan clawed her way out to sea, until at last there could be no more doubt. They had won through.
All eyes were on the thick-set carpenter as he emerged on deck to report. The pumps had been at work for some time, but it seemed that he had not found any specific leakage.
'Sir, the barky is strained in her foreparts, on account o' the anchorin' pulling and tearin' at the riding bitts and clinches. I can't say as I c'n be sure how long afore she opens up aroun' the cant frames, she bein' so mouldy deep in an' all.'
It would be the cruellest fortune to founder just as they had found life. Kydd felt resentment flare and wondered bitterly what Renzi would make of it, what philosophical edge might make it palatable. There was talk of frapping, putting turns of rope right round the hull and bowsing tight, but this was impossible while the hurricane lasted. The wind had backed further and as the hours wore on there was a discernible lessening of the violence, a descent into merely a fresh gale, but not enough.
Just before Kydd's watch finished, lookouts on the foreyard sighted sail, far off and storm-tossed, but it quickly resolved into a frigate, an English one as far as anyone could tell, scudding before the outer edge of the hurricane.
'Show 'em our colours,' snapped Auberon. In reply a blue ensign jerked up the mast in the frigate, proving her one of Admiral Jervis's Leeward Islands Squadron.
Bomford wasted no time. 'Signal her to lie to, and attend on us when the storm abates,' he ordered, and went below.
'All the haaaands! All haaands on deck — lay aft!'
Shafts of sun glittered on the grey seas, the wind nearly back in the north-east, warmth beginning to spread, the insanity of the past slipping away. The men mustered on the upper deck to hear the Captain again.
'I will be brief,' Bomford began. It was clear he had much on his mind, and he spoke curdy. 'I am proud of this ship - I am proud of you all, that you have done your duty so nobly. If you stand as valiantly against the enemy as you did against the might of the hurricane then we have no fear of any foe.' Bomford seemed to have difficulty in choosing his words. 'Trajan will proceed now to Antigua for survey and repair at the dockyard, a bare day or two's sail away.' He waited for the indistinct murmuring to die away. 'But I have to tell you that we as a ship's company will be transported in the frigate back to Barbados while this is done.' This time there were mutters of appreciation - the small island of Antigua could not bear the effort of keeping hundreds of seamen idle ashore for an extended period, and therefore they would return to the main base with all its lures. 'Yet I would ask for volunteers to form a skeleton crew to sail Trajan to her well-earned rest. May the first lieutenant see the hands of those volunteering?'