As soon as he'd wriggled himself into position, Stafford looked round at the horizon, and, overwhelmed at what he saw, could only mutter, "Cor!"
By now it was quite light but the horizon was hidden by the rain and spray which reduced visibility to a few hundred yards. The sea was like nothing Stafford had ever seen before. It had no regular shape, nor did it seem to have regular substance: instead it twisted and curled like molten marble boiling in a huge cauldron.
Each man had to hold on with both hands and the wind was now so strong that it was impossible to breathe facing into it: they had to turn their faces to leeward, breathe and then look again. The noise in their ears was a combination of a high-pitched scream and a deep roar; a noise they'd never heard before and would never forget.
Their eyes soon became raw because the spray was so fine at this height that their eyelids did not close instinctively and there was no way of sheltering. Forced by the pressure of the wind to breathe through their mouths, their saliva began to taste salty.
Jackson carefully passed the telescope to Stafford and pointed to the Topaz, gesturing to Rossi to help hold onto the Cockney so he could have both hands free for the telescope.
As soon as Stafford finished his examination, Jackson looked slowly round the whole horizon, making sure Stafford also saw everything he'd spotted, particularly another mule astern - making three - and two more on the larboard quarter. Then he signalled Stafford to go down and report to the Captain.
Six mules, including the Topaz, and the Greyhound. Jackson thought of the rest as he looked round again. Forty-four mules, a line-of-battle ship, two frigates and a lugger out of sight. He did not know much about navigation, but they couldn't have dispersed much in the few hours that had passed since the whole convoy was lying becalmed ... Were these seven ships, and the Triton, the only ones to survive this bloody awful night?
By the time Stafford reached the deck his brain was numb from the noise and buffeting of the wind. He clutched one of the shrouds and looked around him, saw the Captain clinging to the binnacle, and gradually realized that Mr Ramage was waving to him; making sweeping movements with his arm.
Stafford seized the lifeline rigged along the deck and hauled himself aft. The wind had increased while he had been aloft he was certain. He was not holding the rope to keep his balance: he had to use it to move aft.
Stafford was exhausted by the time he crouched down beside the binnacle with Ramage, bellowing his report. Finally he reached the Topaz: "Main yard swinging but I think they're managing to rig new braces. Fore yards gone over the side: it's smashed twenty feet of bulwark, starboard side. Jibboom's gone but the bowsprit's safe now from the look of it and -"
He broke off as Rossi appeared beside them. The Italian, whitefaced from weariness and cold, reported that the main yard had fallen to starboard and parted several shrouds, and Jackson was afraid the mainmast would go by the board.
For a few moments Ramage looked at Rossi as though he was a ghost; then he nodded and stood up, looking over the larboard bow.
Stafford glimpsed a vague pale shape fine on the bow and nearer than he expected it, and pointed.
Ramage nodded and shouted: "One of you fetch Jackson down: nothing more he can do up there."
Then he inched his way to Southwick, who now had a rope round his waist, made fast to the wheel pedestal.
The need to break off every few seconds while Southwick - who was looking astern and watching every wave as it swept up to the ship - shouted and signalled orders to the helmsmen, gave Ramage extra seconds to think, but when he'd finished and stood there looking at the Master, his mind was empty of everything but the bare facts.
Finally Southwick gave his opinion in rushes between helm orders.
"Up to them ... nothing we can do ... couldn't even throw a heaving line over, even if we dare turn a point either side of the course ... Only a matter of time before something like it happens to us ... Every rope must be chafing badly ... miracle anyone's afloat ... If the Topaz loses her masts she probably stands more chance of surviving than with 'em - less windage ... Up to us to stay afloat and pick up survivors after this has blown out..."
As he listened Ramage felt both relief and guilt: the Master was shouting aloud exactly what he thought himself. This had been his first reaction, and he'd discarded it. But he and Southwick were right: even if they saw the Topaz sinking, the Triton could do nothing to help: it wasn't a question of wish, will or skill; it was physically impossible.
Southwick was shaking his arm.
"It's a good thing we're not closer: we couldn't avoid running aboard her if she was ahead."
The Master was right.
"I'm sure Mr Yorke understands. He knows he couldn't help us either."
The Master was right. The Master was right. The Master - Ramage felt as if he were falling, but it was only that he was so tired and dazed by the wind. He had almost gone to sleep as he stood listening to Southwick. Gone to sleep while Yorke was fighting to save the Topaz; sleeping while Maxine and her parents prayed for their lives; while ... steady!
He took several deep breaths and knew he was wearier than he ever believed a man could be and still function. He knew now how unwise he'd been at the beginning of the hurricane: he'd stayed on deck far longer than was necessary - instead of getting some sleep. Now, when the lives of everyone in the Triton depended on his alertness, he was asleep on his feet. When had he last slept? Yesterday or last night or the night before? What day was it, anyway? He couldn't remember, but it hardly mattered. He had no idea of the time, but Southwick must be exhausted: he would have to take over the conn soon and give the old man a spell. As he shouted his intention, the Master answered: "Appleby, sir; let him stand a watch!"
"Not enough experience!"
"He'll be as good as you or me! He's fresh. We're both worn out: only a matter of time before we make a bad mistake."
"Very well, he can relieve you."
"Let him take the conn and I'll walk the deck for an hour," Southwick said. "I've had a lot more sleep than you."
Ramage shook his head, but Southwick bellowed: "You're asleep on your feet, sir. You'll make mistakes. The Topaz depends on you too and after an hour in your cot you'll be some use again..."
His voice and the noise of the wind and sea faded and again Ramage felt himself falling asleep and knew Southwick was right.
"All right, send for Appleby."
"He'll be glad, sir. It's too much to expect a man to stay below in this weather if he can't sleep."
It took Ramage ten minutes to get to his cabin and he found everything wet: drips from the deckhead showed how much the ship was working. The noise of the wind was too loud for the creaking of frames and timbers to be very noticeable.
He sprawled himself over the table, felt a tugging at one leg and looked down to see his steward trying to get a boot off. It was all such an effort; it was all so useless; anyway he was so tired...
Hours later his steward shook him awake. The cot was wonderfully warm and, although it swung so wildly it almost made him dizzy, the motion was definitely less than before and the wind less loud.
"Captain, sir, Mr Southwick's compliments and it seems to be easing up. I brought you some food, sir."
Ramage saw a big metal basin jammed in the seat of the armchair.
"And I've put some dry clothes out, sir."
The wind easing? The eye of the hurricane must be approaching!
Quickly he scrambled out of the cot, took the glass carafe of drinking water from its rack, poured it over his head and towelled vigorously. Then he dressed as the steward passed dry clothes to him.
As he began eating slices of cold meat, bananas, an orange, biscuit and a small carafe of fruit juice, he realized he had been so hungry he had a pain in his stomach. When he had finished he saw he had made very little impression on the food and he had a pain from eating too fast.