"Did you follow that?"
"Too far off, I'm afraid, sir. Eyes aren't what they were."
"The passengers are safe, his wheel isn't damaged, and he has nothing to use for a jury rig because, like us, he daren't risk keeping the wreckage alongside until the hurricane has passed."
By two o'clock in the afternoon the Triton and Topaz, each a hulk but cleared of the wreckage of their masts, were wallowing along within a hundred yards of each other while overhead the clouds began to lift as the wind eased.
"Just look at it," Southwick said angrily, pointing at the clouds. "If you didn't know, you'd think we were on the edge of a squall that'd blow itself out in half an hour."
"Except for these seas!" Ramage said.
Southwick nodded, and looked nervously at the Topaz. "I just can't get used to being dismasted. Feel vulnerable."
"Don't fret; I can't think anyone really gets used to it," Ramage said cheerfully. "Now, everything's settled, so why don't you get some rest?"
The Master looked around the ship, as if anxious to make sure nothing had been left undone.
"Rest, Mr Southwick," Ramage said finally. "I can make it an order, if you like."
"Sorry, sir," he said apologetically. "You're quite right. But you'll-"
"I'll call you if the weather worsens, but without sleep," Ramage added with intentional harshness, knowing it was one of the few ways of persuading the old Master, "you're no use to anyone."
Southwick nodded, excused himself and made his way below.
If only the damned seas would ease: the Triton's motion was still violent. What had been forgotten? Ramage thought hard but nothing came to mind. His earlier idea of transferring everyone from the Topaz and abandoning her had been absurd: one glance over the side had shown the impossibility of that, apart from the fact that neither ship had a boat left.
He considered the possibility that another of the King's ships might sight the brig and take her in tow, but there was little hope of that: any ship within a week's sailing of this position was likely to be in as much trouble as the Triton, if not more. Nor were they now on any regular convoy track. Not even a privateer would come this way. The thought of a privateer brought him up with a start. It'd be a proud privateer that returned with the Topaz in tow. It would take practically no effort to capture her now, only patience. Wait for the weather to ease up, and then board her. Nor would the Triton be much more difficult; raking her by sailing across her bow and stern and staying out of the arcs of fire of her broadside guns...
Southwick was back on deck by five o'clock and cheerfully commenting on the speed with which the wind was dropping. The cloud was breaking up overhead, and the sea was easing slightly.
"Seems it goes quicker than it arrives!" Southwick said.
Ramage nodded. "I don't think the eye was in the centre."
"Couldn't have been, sir. It's cleared in - how long?" He scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face.
"Damned if I know," Ramage admitted. "We lost the masts about ten hours ago, I suppose. The hurricane began - hell fire, I can't remember. What day is it?"
Southwick shook his head helplessly. "We'll have to sit down and work it out, sir - and make up the entries for the log ..."
By midnight the wind had dropped to a fresh breeze, stars were visible overhead through breaks in the cloud, and the seas were easing, although still running high. A muster of the ship's company showed four men missing, presumably lost when the brig broached. Considering the size of the waves and the speed with which it all happened, Ramage knew he had been lucky not to lose more. Six men killed by the Peacock and four by the hurricane.
Southwick, pleasantly surprised that only four had been lost, said cheerfully: "Think of it as fifty-one survivors, sir!"
Chapter Ten
Stafford was the first man to sight land a few moments before noon three days after the eye had passed. With all the watch gathered round and cheering, Ramage presented him with a guinea prize.
The Cockney, in his usual breezy way, spun the coin and kissed it for luck and said to Ramage: "Permission to ask a question, sir?"
Ramage nodded, although guessing the question would probably verge on impertinence.
"Did you ever reckon you'd 'ave ter pay, sir?"
When Ramage looked puzzled, Stafford explained: "We was in the eye of the 'urricane when you said you'd present a guinea ter 'ooever saw land first. Didn't seem much chance we'd live long enough fer that, sir."
Ramage decided that it was not the time to tell the ship's company that the offer of a guinea prize was all he could think of to cheer them up when things looked desperate. Instead he just smiled knowingly at Stafford and said: "I even guessed where the land would be!"
Stafford looked startled. "Cor - where is it, sir?"
"One of the Virgin Islands."
"Virgins, sir? Wot, 'ere?"
Stafford's surprise was genuine and apparently shared by the rest of the men.
"Yes, several," Ramage said, without a smile. "British and Danish. No French or Spanish."
"No French or Spanish! D'yer 'ear that!" Stafford poked Rossi in the ribs. "Nor no Eyetalian virgins, either!"
Ramage gestured to Jackson: "Right, now; make a signal to the Topaz - Land in sight to the north-west."
The Topaz acknowledged it promptly, and Ramage saw Southwick hunched over the compass.
Ramage walked over to take bearings of each end of the island. Radiating out from where the compass box was fastened to the deck, and looking like the spokes of a wheel, a series of thin grooves had just been cut in the deck planking, the thickest corresponding to the fore and aft line. It was Southwick's idea and was a crude pelorus: it allowed a rough bearing to be taken without lifting up the compass.
Ramage picked up the slate from its new stowage on the forward side of the starboard aftermost carronade slide, and after checking the time wrote: "12.03 p.m. Sighted one of Virgin Islands NW X W½W, distant about twelve miles."
"Let's have a cast of the log," Ramage told Appleby. Ten minutes later, as the Master's mate supervised the men stowing the reel again, he noted the Triton's speed and the course being steered:
"Speed 1½ knots, course north, wind south, fresh."
No log entry could describe seas that were no longer monstrous, clouds that no longer warned of unbelievable winds and rain the like of which few men ever saw and lived to describe. No log entry could tell how happy men were just to be alive, even though their ship was almost helpless, driven forward only by the pressure of the wind on the hull.
He looked over on the starboard quarter where the Topaz lumbered along, a great ox splashing through a muddy lane. She still looked smart, even without masts, bowsprit or jibboom. If spars suddenly went out of fashion, the Topaz would rate as an elegant ship. For that matter masts have gone out of fashion, he reminded himself, at least around here.
Landfalls were curious: one usually waited days, if not weeks; but once the low grey shape - it always was a low grey shape - was spotted, it became a matter of the greatest urgency to identify it. This was no exception: St Croix stretched for more than thirty miles athwart their course: they could pass either east or west of it to make for one of the other islands beyond. But if it was, say, Virgin Gorda, then they had to get to the westward quickly before they ran on to the reefs littering that end of the islands.