When the first of the great waves arrived, the whole larboard side, as high as Ramage could see, seemed to be a wall of water. He found himself fighting for his life, gasping, swallowing water, blinded by the salt in his eyes, coughing, winded by a tremendous blow on the chest, swimming upside down in the dark, suddenly snatched into light, drowning, kicking and struggling, clutching a thick rope with all the strength he had. He just managed to wrap his legs round the rope before there was the sharp cracking of breaking timbers. The rope he was holding went bar taut, then slack, and then taut again ... The deck, already moving wildly under his feet, seemed to have slid up vertically and back again.
The sound of pouring water: a cataract, tons of water swilling and spilling ... Still blinded by water, finding it hard to breathe, coughing and coughing, with water like acid at the back of his throat, he held on to the rope so hard it was part of his body. Such a bloody waste to die in a hurricane; just wind and rain and mountainous seas and achieving nothing; no enemy beaten, no prize. Just a bloody waste...
By now the noise was lessening and the cataract had stopped. He could hear the drumming of the wind, and miraculously, unbelievably, the ship was still afloat. Afloat but dead in the water, wallowing broadside on, as if pausing a moment before sinking. Perhaps he wasn't going to die after all. Perhaps there was a chance for the ship and for the Tritons.
He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head and blinking to get rid of the salt sting: until he could see he dare not let go of the rope. As he regained full consciousness he realized that he had nearly drowned while still on board. As his eyes cleared he saw that the ship was just a hulk covered in a complicated web of ropes. There were no masts, no yards and no wheel ... Men were lying flat on the deck or crouched down, but the masts and spars were all in the water on the starboard side, attached to the ship by the web of ropes which had been shrouds and halyards, sheets and braces, lifts and purchases a few moments ago. It looked as if a giant in a fit of rage had plucked them out of the ship and flung them into the sea.
Muzzily he realized that the series of cracks and thumps he had heard were the masts going by the board as the ship ... he began to reconstruct what had happened.
By a dreadful triple coincidence the Triton had begun her turn as the eye of the hurricane passed, bringing with it not just wind but those enormous seas which, coming up on the larboard quarter, had picked the ship up and shoved her stern round so hard she'd gone flat. That must have been when he thought he was sinking and drowning. In fact he'd been swamped but still on board, and probably flung against a shroud he'd managed to grab. That would be the thump on the chest, and the rope that was suddenly bar taut - the ship went over on her beam ends - and then slack as the shroud parted and the masts went by the board - or the masts went by the board and the shrouds parted - or the shrouds parted and...
Just before he passed out he was violently sick. When he came to a few moments later he felt fresher, the outline of the hulk was sharper and he could think again.
Instinctively he picked himself up and turned to the binnacle, meaning to use it as a rallying point for the men. The binnacle box was not there, nor was the wheel, nor were any of the men who had been steering. The capstan was still there, however, ahead of where the binnacle box had been, and ahead of the capstan was a three-foot-high splintered stump of what had been the mainmast, and beyond that a similar stump that had once been a foremast.
He held on to the edge of the capstan barrel and waved an arm at the men forward. Several were already making their way towards him, and the nearest was Southwick...
"Thank God, sir," the old man bawled. "Thought you'd gone!"
"So did I! And you?"
"Got wrapped round a carronade. Luckily it held when we broached and thank God the hatch covers held."
Ramage glanced at the hatchways - battens, tarpaulins and wedges all looked as if they'd just been fitted. The old man was dazed, and seamen were gathering round. Jackson, Stafford and others were holding axes they had collected from their special stowage places.
He shaped his hands into a speaking trumpet.
"Come on, men; we have to cut those masts adrift before they smash through the hull planking. Start with the mainmast: chop through the lanyards first!"
Several men scrambled over to the starboard side; others went to fetch more axes.
The wreckage of the masts, still tied to the ship by the rigging, made the Triton behave like a wild animal with one end of a rope round its neck and the other end tied to a stake driven into the ground.
The wind increased in strength every minute and the seas slowly drove the hulk round to starboard, radiusing on the wreckage. As she turned, more men crowded along the bulwarks, slashing away at the rigging.
Ramage found Southwick beside him and saw that the old man had recovered.
"Five minutes!" he said. "Then we'll get rid of the foremast. Sound the well - there must be a lot of water down there."
Southwick nodded but shouted back: "I don't think there's much, sir: the hatches held. She doesn't feel waterlogged."
Nor did she, Ramage realized; the dead feeling was caused more by the wreckage of the masts, whose weight still bore down on the starboard side.
Then Ramage remembered the Topaz. He had almost lost his sense of direction, first looking over the larboard bow. Of course he could see nothing, and the shock of thinking the Topaz had sunk was almost physical. Ramage turned away, not wanting to look at the area of surging water that marked where she had gone down. A moment later he felt Southwick tapping his arm and, glancing where he pointed, saw the Topaz less than three hundred yards away, dismasted and lying to the wreckage like a thick stick held in a mill-stream by pieces of string.
Southwick gave a tired grin. "Hope they realize we're standing by them!"
Ramage began laughing and knew he was close to hysteria.
He turned to the men chopping at the shrouds.
"Come on, men; lively there!"
Southwick beckoned to a couple of men and went below.
Relieved to find the Triton still afloat, Ramage began trying to relive the sequence of events that had led to the Triton broaching. Although he had at first thought his mind was clear, he found he was still dazed from the noise of the wind and tiredness. The Triton had broached because he'd handled her badly, and now he would not be able to help the Topaz. Even after the hurricane had passed he would not be able to be rowed over to the Topaz to discuss what Yorke might need, since the broaching had cleared the Triton's decks of her boats as well as of everything else. The boats had been stowed, along with spare spars, over the hatchways.
The Triton and Topaz were now tiny, insecure and isolated islands in the Caribbean. Each had to be sufficient unto herself. He did not know what had happened to the rest of the convoy or how many men the Triton had lost when she broached. There would be time enough for checking on that, he thought bitterly; the most important job now was to safeguard the men left alive by making sure the ship stayed afloat. There was no chance of rescuing anyone who had been washed overboard. He was making a mess of everything and he knew it, but he seemed to be trying to think through a thick fog.
He imagined himself facing an examination board: now Lieutenant, you are commanding a brig, you've just broached, your masts have gone by the board, you've nothing suitable for setting up a jury rig, the wheel and binnacle were swept over the side, and you are still in a hurricane. What do you do?
To resign from the Service would be the most sensible answer, he thought, but the timing is inappropriate. Set the men to cutting the masts adrift to free the ship from the wreckage, at the same time sound the well and start men pumping if necessary. That's all being done. What next... ?