Patrick O'Brian - The Wine-Dark Sea

For the last quarter of a mile the squall was a distinct entity, sombre purple, sky-tall, curving over at the top and with white water all along its foot, now covering half the horizon and sweeping along at an inconceivable speed for such a bulk.

Then it was upon them. Blinding rain, shattered water driving so thick among the great heavy drops that one could hardly breathe; and the ship, as though given some frightful spur, leapt forward in the dark confused turmoil of water.

While the forefront of the squall enveloped them and for quite long after its extreme violence had passed on ahead, time had little meaning; but as the enormous rain dwindled to little more than a shower and the wind returned to its strong steady southeast course, the men at the wheel eased their powerful grip, breathing freely and nodding to one another and the sodden quartermaster, the sheets were hauled aft, the ship, jetting rainwater from her scuppers, sailed on, accompanied for some time by low cloud that thinned and thinned and then quite suddenly revealed high blue sunlit sky: a few minutes later the sun himself heaved out of the lead-coloured bank to larboard. This had indeed been the last of the series: the Surprise sailed on after it, directly in its track as it raced to the south-east, covering a vast breadth of sea with its darkness.

On and on, and now with the sun they could clearly distinguish the squall's grim front from its grey, thinner tail, followed by a stretch of brilliant clarity: and at a given moment the foremast lookout's screaming hail 'Sail ho! Two sail of ships on the starboard bow. On deck, there, two sails of ships on the starboard bow' brought no news, for they were already hull up as the darkness passed over and beyond them, suddenly present and clear to every man aboard.

Jack was on his way to the foretop before the repetition. He levelled his glass for the first details, though the first glance had shown the essence of the matter. The nearer ship was the four-masted Alastor, wearing the black flag; she was grappled tight to the Franklin; they were fighting hand to hand on deck and between decks and now of course there was no gunfire. Small arms, but no cannon.

'All hands, all hands,' he called. 'Topgallants.' He gauged their effect; certainly she could bear them and more. From the quarterdeck now he called for studdingsails alow and aloft, and then for royals.

'Heave the log, Mr Reade,' he said. He had brought theAlastor right ahead, broadside on, and in his glass he could see her trying to cast off, the Franklin resisting the attempt.

'Ten and one fathom, sir, if you please,'said Reade at his side.

Jack nodded. The grappled ships were some two miles off. If nothing carried away he should be alongside in ten minutes, for the Surprise would gather speed. Tom would hold on for ten minutes if he had to do it with his teeth.

'Mr Grainger,' he said, 'beat to quarters.'

It was the thunder of the drum, the piping and the cries down the hatchways, the deep growl and thump of guns being run out and the hurrying of feet that roused Martin. 'Is that you, Maturin?' he whispered, with a terrified sideways glance.

'It is,' said Stephen, taking his wrist. 'Good day to you, now.'

'Oh thank God, thank God, thank God,' said Martin, his voice broken with the horror of it. 'I thought I was dead and in Hell. This terrible room. Oh this terrible, terrible room.'

The pulse was now extremely agitated. The patient was growing more so. 'Maturin, my wits are astray - I am barely out of a night-long nightmare - forgive me my trespasses to you.'

'If you please, sir,' said Reade, coming in, 'the Captain enquires for Mr Martin and desires me to tell the Doctor that we are bearing down on a heavy pirate engaged with the Franklin: there will be some broken omelets presently.'

'Thank you, Mr Reade: Mr Martin is far from well.' And calling after him, 'I shall repair to my station very soon.'

'May I come?' cried Martin.

'You may not,' said Stephen. 'You can barely stand, my poor colleague, sick as you are.'

'Pray take me. I cannot bear to be left in this room: I hate and dread it. I could not bring myself to pass by its door, even. This is where I... this is where Mrs Oakes... the wages of sin is death... I am rotting here in this life, while in the next... Christe eleison.'

'Kyrie eleison,' said Stephen. 'But listen, Nathaniel, will you? You are not rotting as the seamen put it: not at all. These are salt-sores: they are no more, unless you have taken some improper physic. In this ship you could not have contracted any infection of that kind. There has been no source of infection, whether by kissing, toying, drinking in the same cup, or otherwise: none whatsoever. I state that as a physician.'

The wind had hauled a little farther forward, and with her astonishing spread of drum-tight canvas the Surprise was now running at such a pace that the following seas lapped idly alongside. From high aloft Jack made out the confused situation with fair certainty: the ships were still grappled fast: the Alastors had boarded the Franklin's waist but Tom had run up stout close-quarters and some of his people were holding out behind them while others had invaded the Alastor's forecastle and were fighting the Frenchmen there. Some of the Alastors were still trying to cast off, and still the Franklins prevented them - Jack could see the bearded Sethians in the furious struggle that flung three Frenchmen bodily off the lashed bowsprits. Another group of pirates were turning one of the Franklin's forward carronades aft to blast a way through the close-quarters; but the mob of their own men and deadly musket-fire from their own forecastle hindered them, and the carronade ran wild on the rolling deck, out of control.

Jack called down: 'Chasers' crew away. Run them out.' He landed on the deck with a thump, ran through the eager, attentive, well-armed groups to the bows, where his own brass Beelzebub was reaching far out of the port. 'Foretopsail,' he said, and they heaved the gun round. He and Bonden pointed it with grunts and half-words, the whole crew working as one man. Glaring along the sights Jack pulled the laniard, arched for the gun's recoil beneath him and through the bellowing crash he roared, 'T'other.'

The smoke raced away before them, and barely was it clear before the other chaser fired. Both shots fulfilled their only function, piercing the foretopsail they were aimed at, dismaying the Alastors - few ships could fire so clean - and encouraging the Franklins, whose cheer could now be heard, though faint and thin.

But these two shots, reverberating through the ship's hollow belly, sent poor Martin's weakened mind clear off its precarious balance and into a delirium. His distress became very great, reaching the screaming pitch. Stephen quickly fastened him into his cot with two bandages and ran towards the sick-berth. He met Padeen on his way to tell him that quarters had been beaten. 'I know it,' he replied. 'Go straight along and sit with Mr Martin. I shall come back.'

He returned with the fittest of his patients, a recent hernia. 'See that all is well below, Padeen,' he said, and when Padeen had gone he measured out a powerful dose from his secret store of laudanum, the tincture of opium to which he and Padeen had once been so addicted. 'Now, John,' he said to the seaman, 'hold up his shoulders.' And in pause, 'Nathaniel, Nathaniel my dear, here is your draught. Down it in one swallow, I beg.'

The pause drew out. 'Lay him back, lay him back gently,' said Stephen. 'He will be quiet now, with the blessing. But you will sit with him, John, and soothe his mind if he wakes.'

'Shipmates,' cried Jack from the break of the quarterdeck, 'I am going to lay alongside the four-master as easy as can be. Some of our people are on her forecastle; some of theirs are trying to work aft in the Franklin. So as soon as we are fast, come along with me and we will clear the four-master's waist, then carry on to relieve Captain Pullings. But Mr Grainger's division will go straight along the Alastor's gun-deck to stop them turning awkward with their cannon. None of you can go wrong if you knock an enemy on the head.'