STO'B 37

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Several thoughts flew through Philip’s head. He would never see Angela again, Lt Grey would have command of the Badger, the irony of being killed by his own command, the extraordinary clarity of the water, and why hadn’t he ever learned to swim? He had meant to learn - Jevons had tried to teach him, once, in the old Illustrious, but they had been interrupted. Why had they been interrupted? Had an enemy appeared? He couldn’t remember. He struck the water.

A tremendous splash erupted beside him. The jerk of the Citoyen Pierre coming to a halt had also broken her foretopmast, sending most of it into the water as well, and its associated canvas and rigging plunged into the water beside him. He reached out, grasping a rope, saving himself, but his clothes were so terribly heavy in the water, and for a moment it was all he could do to drag himself over to a broken spar - the foretopsail yard, he guessed - and wrap his arms around it.

A shout broke him from his reverie. “It’s the Captain,” Needle cried from his place on the bows. His axe was raised to chop the anchor cable free, and to cut the shrouds and running rigging of the broken foretopmast free, too, as the broken spar had tangled itself in the anchor, pinning the merchantman as effectively as the anchor itself; but he lowered the blade and gestured, “come on sir, come on!”

Philip wrestled with the spar, but his clothes hampered him, and he was swallowing a lot of water. “Come on, sir,” called Needle again, though he sounded so very far away. My boots, thought Philip, recalling one of the few things Jevons had had time to teach him, I must kick them off. And my coat. He was wearing an old woolen coat, lighter than the broadcloth of a uniform jacket, but still heavy, and he struggled with it in the water, alternately draping one arm and then the other over the spar beside him and finally freeing himself of the garment. He shed his boots next, and his shirt, and free of the dozens of pounds of sodden clothing he felt his strength return.

But the Citoyen Pierre could not wait for him forever. Already the floating spars had given her one shrewd knock, opening a hole below the waterline, and she could not suffer another blow without the danger of sinking.

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