Kydd watched Rowley standing ahead of him, huddled in grego and tarpaulin, facing into the blast, but felt no sympathy for him in his larger situation. That was a matter Rowley and Party must resolve, and Renzi's reticence on the subject was sufficient commentary on his views.
Kydd could see forward, past the pale sails to the bowsprit plunging and rearing far ahead with a sudden bursting of spray over the fo'c'sle, and he pitied the hapless forward lookouts at the catheads. Renzi would be with the rest of the dutymen, hanking down after the customary sail-trimming at the turn of the watch. He would be able to take shelter behind a weather bulwark.
The helmsman stolidly met the bullying of the gale, his leeward mate following his motions on the other side, two men necessary in this blow. Kydd was settling down to an uncomfortable and boring watch, when against the buffeting roar of the wind he picked up a lookout's faint cry from forward. It was picked up amidships and repeated immediately, a dreadful yell - 'Breakers aheeeaaad!;. Two points on the weather bow!'
A shaft of cold fear lanced into his vitals. He tensed for Rowley's order - but Rowley seemed to be deep in some sort of reverie. The officer-of-the-watch had the responsibility, and only him. 'Sir!' he bawled in alarm.
Rowley seemed disoriented. 'Helm hard up!' he shouted. This would instantly sheer the vessel away from the danger and away from the wind, on the face of it a sensible move. Kydd roared at the helmsmen and they spun the wheel frantically. The ship bucketed and rocked at the sudden change in direction.
Parry appeared at the fore-hatch and bounded on deck. 'Belay that - hard down the helm!' he bellowed. Kydd hesitated: Parry was senior to Rowley and had every right to overrule him — except that Rowley was officer-of-the-watch and in charge.
'Quartermaster!' said Rowley, in hard tones. 'Inform Mr Parry that I am officer-of-the-watch. I have the ship.'
Kydd's jaw dropped. He looked back at Parry, who bunched his fists. 'Sir, Mr Rowley begs to tell you—'
'Kydd, tell that infernal idiot that the ship stands into danger! Helm hard a-larboard!'
It was clear to Kydd that Parry's order was indeed the right one: admittedly they were now headed away from the breakers, but they were going at an increasing speed to leeward and headlong towards whatever was out there. Parry's order would have had the effect of setting the ship all aback, in stays, but at least it would stop Artemis in her tracks and buy them time to decide.
'Helm hard down,' he snapped at the helmsmen.
Before they could move, Rowley shouted, 'Avast!' He turned to Kydd, although his eyes remained on Parry. 'Enquire of Mr Parry if he is relieving me of my duties, quartermaster.'
Parry's chest heaved, but before he could respond another, more urgent cry came — 'Breakers to loo'ard! I see breakin' sea all t' loo'ard!' The voice ended in a falsetto shriek.
'I have the conn!' roared Parry. 'Helm down — hard over for your lives!' Their run downwind away from the first breakers had placed them in mortal danger from the second. In the loom of night a continuous white line of breakers emerged to leeward and ahead; it was plain they had unwittingly run into the arms of a small bay. Agonisingly the ship's head came around again. They brought up into the wind - but the watch were not at stations to go about, and the vessel fell away to leeward, slewing hopelessly around.
It was now inevitable, and at a little after two in the morning His Majesty's Frigate Artemis ran on to an offshore rocky ledge, part of a small unknown islet somewhere in the Atlantic.
Kydd's world dissolved into a frightful smashing, rearing, splintering chaos. He was flung down and shot forward helplessly over the lurching wet deck in a welter of tarpaulins, to fetch up painfully against the main jeer bitts.
Artemis's bow mounted and fell, and Kydd felt her hoarse shriek as she was mercilessly disembowelled by the invisible black rocks, a long drawn-out sound that tore at his heart.
Around and above him masts and spars swayed forward and gave way at the sudden stop, crashing down like felled trees, and bringing with them a man-trapping, crazy web of rigging from aloft. Her forward motion ceased, and the frigate settled to her bed of pain, her hull lifting and crunching back under the driving waves like a mortally wounded soul trying to rise up again.
Other sounds now broke in on Kydd's senses: screams of agony as men were crushed by falling spars, bubbling shrieks from below as men were drowned by the victorious sea flooding through her shattered bottom. He fought his way out from the tangle of stiff wet ropes, shivering uncontrollably with the mortal cold of deep shock. The perspective from aft had a shocking unreality: all masts were broken off short, draped haphazardly about; the ship was horribly disfigured, desperately wounded.
Numb, Kydd tried to take stock. Dying screams and screeches of agony tore at his nerves. He peered into the rain-lashed darkness, searching for familiarity and security, and through the bleak gloom he saw that they were hard up on an offshore ledge of rocks, a half-mile to seaward of a small, jagged island. But that half-mile or so was a seething mass of white-streaked, storm-driven seas. The boats on the skids amidships were smashed and splintered by toppling wreckage; there was no chance of escape there. A sense of the inevitability of his own death seeped into Kydd.