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over the side. The stern of the
Retribution
swung to port under the force of the wave, bringing her broadside to the storm. The main deck was awash and the crew desperately clawed at the timbers as the sea tried to claim them.
    The storm tops’ls lost their shape and the halyard of a brace to the main tops’l yard snapped under the unequal stress of the wind, its block and tackle swinging wildly across the quarterdeck, striking one man on the side of the head, killing him instantly. The yard swung around the mainmast, twisting the sail out of shape and the wind spilled from it, rendering it useless.
    ‘Main tops’l ho!’ Robert shouted even as Shaw, the boatswain, ordered two men, Ellis and Foster, aloft, following closely on their heels as they clambered up the shrouds. ‘Helmsman, hard a starboard.’
    Price swept the whipstaff to port, the tiller moving in reverse beneath him, coming hard up against the starboard. The bow swung slightly to port but with only the foremast storm tops’l to carry the weight of the entire galley, the
Retribution
could not make headway. She pitched violently as the waves crashed into her broadside.
    ‘Mister Seeley,’ Robert shouted over the roar of the wind, ‘take men forward and secure the braces to the yards of the foremast. If they fail we’re lost.’ Seeley nodded and Robert turned his attention to the men ascending the mainmast.
    The pitch of the deck was making the climb difficult and more than once the men almost lost their footing on the shrouds as the ship heeled over. They reached the height of the main tops’l yard fifty feet above the main deck and Robert watched as Shaw directed Ellis and Foster to secure a new line for the brace. They worked swiftly, sidestepping out the footrope to the edge of the yard and within minutes Ellis descended with the new line.
    ‘Yeoman of the sheets, make fast!’
    The petty officer called the men aft at Robert’s command and they secured and hauled in the line, their backs bent against the strength of the wind as they pulled the yard around into position.
    Robert looked up at Shaw through the squalling rain and signalled him to come down, their task complete. The boatswain waved before he and Foster sidestepped back across the footrope to reach the head of the shrouds. On deck the crew continued to haul the yard into position. Suddenly the wind filled the main storm tops’l once more. The canvas took shape with a crack and the
Retribution
surged forward as if released from a sea anchor. Her bow swung swiftly around to its original position and the helmsman reacting without command to bring the rudder in line.
    The rapid change, magnified by height, swung the head of the mainmast through an enormous arc and Foster lost his grip on the ratlines. His scream for help was cut short as Shaw grabbed one of his hands and the sailor swung out over the gaping drop to the main deck, his only lifeline the iron grip of the boatswain.
    Robert heard the cries of alarm and looked up. His brief elation for the recovery of the
Retribution
’s course was immediately forgotten. Shaw clung to the ratlines at the edge of the shrouds with his right hand while Foster hung by his left hand beneath him. The sailor flailing his legs in panic and his free hand clawed at Shaw’s wrist as if trying to drag him down. Robert reacted without thought, racing down to the main deck and the base of the shrouds, shouldering past the crewmen who stared in horror at the men above, many of them shouting hopeless counsel. He jumped up onto the bulwark and climbed up the shrouds, his eyes darting between his feet and hands to the men hanging above him.
    The wind tore at his body, the rain lashed his face and Robert blinked rapidly to try to clear his vision. Foster’s screams came to his ears, desperate cries that even the howling gale could not hide. He could also hear Shaw’s entreaties, trying to quell Foster’s panic, yelling at him to grab the underside of the