'What has happened?' Bracegirdle stared for a moment before he understood. 'We carried her by boarding. Eccles and the boarders were over the ship's side the moment we touched. Why, man, didn't you see?'
'No, I didn't see it,' said Hornblower. He forced himself to joke. 'Other matters demanded my attention at that moment.'
He remembered how the mizzen-top had lurched and swung, and he felt suddenly sick. But he did not want Bracegirdle to see it.
'I must go on deck and report,' he said.
The descent of the main shrouds was a slow, ticklish business, for neither his hands nor his feet seemed to wish to go where he tried to place them. Even when he reached the deck he still felt insecure. Bolton was on the quarterdeck supervising the clearing away of the wreck of the mizzenmast. He gave a start of surprise as Hornblower approached.
'I thought you were overside with Davy Jones,' he said. He glanced aloft. 'You reached the mainyard in time?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Excellent. I think you're born to be hanged, Hornblower.' Bolton turned away to bellow at the men. ''Vast heaving, there! Clynes, get down into the chains with that tackle! Steady, now, or you'll lose it.'
He watched the labours of the men for some moments before he turned back to Hornblower.
'No more trouble with the men for a couple of months,' he said. 'We'll work 'em 'til they drop, refitting. Prize crew will leave us shorthanded, to say nothing of our butcher's bill. It'll be a long time before they want something new. It'll be a long time for you, too, I fancy, Hornblower.'