The latter had sprung badly, the split starting from a shake in the timber. Drinkwater cursed and wondered how long that spar had been pickling in the mast-pond at Chatham. The topmast was almost split in two; whatever he decided to do, it would have to be quick, before both spars were lost. He peered on deck. Morning had broken now, though the sun had risen into a cloud bank and daylight was dimmed. Its arrival somehow surprised him, such had been his preoccupation.

Quilhampton looked upwards anxiously, clearly considering that Drinkwater's action in going aloft was unseemly. Beside him Fraser stood staring up, one hand clapped over his tricorne hat.

The men were laying in from the yard, having passed the reef-points, and Drinkwater called to them to begin to clear the gear away ready to send the topmast down on deck. It would be a long, complex and difficult job in the sea that was running, but he sensed in their changed expressions that the surly disinterest had been replaced by a sudden realisation of the danger they were in. Besides, he had no intention of making life too easy for them; those lost miles to leeward nagged him as he made his way down on deck.

After the clamour of the foretop, the quarterdeck seemed a sanctuary. Fraser began to remonstrate.

'Sir, you shouldn't ha'…'

'Be damned to you, Fraser, the men are disaffected… in your absence it was necessary I set 'em an example… now have the kindness to order the spanker and foretopmast stays'l set… just the clew of the spanker, mind you, I want this ship on the wind and then we'll sort out the mess of the foremast…'

Fraser nodded his understanding and Drinkwater regretted the jibe at the first lieutenant. It was mean, but he was in a damnably mean mood and meant to ride down this discontent, even if it first meant riding his officers.

'We'll set a goose-winged maintops'l when we've finished, and see if we can't claw back some of the leeway we've made…'