csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第23节

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　No　musket　fired　from　a　heaving　masthead　at　that　range　could　possibly　score　a　hit；　that　was　obvious…so　obvious　that　even　Hornblower；　madly　excited　as　he　was；　could　not　help　but　be　aware　of　it；　and　his　certainty　was　apparent　in　his　tone。　It　was　interesting　to　see　how　the　two　calm　words　steadied　the　men。　Down　below　the　guns　were　roaring　away　continuously；　and　the　ships　were　nearing　each　other　fast。
　'Open　fire　now；　men！'　said　Hornblower。　'Finch！'
　He　stared　down　the　short　length　of　the　swivel　gun。　In　the　coarse　V　of　the　notch　on　the　muzzle　he　could　see　the　Frenchman's　wheel；　the　two　quartermasters　standing　behind　it；　the　two　officers　beside　it。　He　jerked　the　lanyard。　A　tenth　of　a　second's　delay；　and　then　the　gun　roared　out。　He　was　conscious；　before　the　smoke　whirled　round　him；　of　the　firing　quill；　blown　from　the　touchhole；　flying　past　his　temple。　Finch　was　already　sponging　out　the　gun。　The　musket　balls　must　have　spread　badly；　only　one　of　the　helmsmen　was　down　and　someone　else　was　already　running　to　take　his　place。　At　that　moment　the　whole　top　lurched　frightfully；　Hornblower　felt　it　but　he　could　not　explain　it。　There　was　too　much　happening　at　once。　The　solid　timbers　under　his　feet　jarred　him　as　he　stood…perhaps　a　shot　had　hit　the　mizzen…mast。　Finch　was　ramming　in　the　cartridge；　something　struck　the　breech　of　the　gun　a　heavy　blow　and　left　a　bright　splash　of　metal　there…a　musket　bullet　from　the　Frenchman's　mizzen…top。　Hornblower　tried　to　keep　his　head；　he　took　out　another　sharpened　quill　and　coaxed　it　down　into　the　touchhole。　It　had　to　be　done　purposefully　and　yet　gently；　a　quill　broken　off　in　the　touchhole　was　likely　to　be　a　maddening　nuisance。　He　felt　the　point　of　the　quill　pierce　the　cartridge；　Finch　rammed　home　the　wad　on　top　of　the　musket　balls。　A　bullet　struck　the　barricade　beside　him　as　Hornblower　trained　the　gun　down；　but　he　gave　it　no　thought。　Surely　the　top　was　swaying　more　even　than　the　heavy　sea　justified？　No　matter。　He　had　a　clear　shot　at　the　enemy's　quarterdeck。　He　tugged　at　the　lanyard。　He　saw　men　fall。　He　actually　saw　the　spokes　of　the　wheel　spin　round　as　it　was　left　untended。　Then　the　two　ships　came　together　with　a　shattering　crash　and　his　world　dissolved　into　chaos　pared　with　which　what　had　gone　before　was　orderly。
　The　mast　was　falling。　The　top　swung　round　in　a　dizzy　arc　so　that　only　his　fortunate　grip　on　the　swivel　saved　him　from　being　flung　out　like　a　stone　from　a　sling。　It　wheeled　round。　With　the　shrouds　on　one　side　shot　away　and　two　cannon　balls　in　its　heart　the　mast　tottered　and　rolled。　Then　the　tug　of　the　mizzen…stays　inclined　it　forward；　the　tug　of　the　other　shrouds　inclined　it　to　starboard；　and　the　wind　in　the　mizzen…topsail　took　charge　when　the　back　stays　parted。　The　mast　crashed　forward；　the　topmast　caught　against　the　mainyard　and　the　whole　structure　hung　there　before　it　could　dissolve　into　its　constituent　parts。　The　severed　butt…end　of　the　mast　must　be　resting　on　the　deck　for　the　moment；　mast　and　topmast　were　still　united　at　the　cap　and　the　trestle…trees　into　one　continuous　length；　although　why　the　topmast　had　not　snapped　at　the　cap　was　hard　to　say。　With　the　lower　end　of　the　mast　resting　precariously　on　the　deck　and　the　topmast　resting　against　the　mainyard；　Hornblower　and　Finch　still　had　a　chance　of　life　but　the　ship's　motion；　another　shot　from　the　Frenchman；　or　the　parting　of　the　over…strained　material　could　all　end　that　chance。　The　mast　could　slip　outwards；　the　topmast　could　break；　the　butt…end　of　the　mast　could　slip　along　the　deck…they　had　to　save　themselves　if　they　could　before　any　one　of　these　imminent　events　occurred。　The　maintopmast　and　everything　above　it　was　involved　in　the　general　ruin。　It　too　had　fallen　and　was　dangling；　sails　spars　and　ropes　in　one　frightful　tangle。　The　mizzen…topsail　had　torn　itself　free。　Hornblower's　eyes　met　Finch's；　Finch　and　he　were　clinging　to　the　swivel　gun；　and　there　was　no　one　else　in　the　steeply　inclined　top。
　The　starboard　side　mizzen…topmast　shrouds　still　survived；　they；　as　well　as　the　topmast；　were　resting　across　the　mainyard；　strained　taut　as　fiddle　strings；　the　mainyard　tightening　them　just　as　the　bridge　tightens　the　strings　of　a　fiddle。　But　along　those　shrouds　lay　the　only　way　to　safety…a　sloping　path　from　the　peril　of　the　top　to　the　parative　safety　of　the　mainyard。
　The　mast　began　to　slip；　to　roll；　out　towards　the　end　of　the　yard。　Even　if　the　mainyard　held；　the　mizzen…mast　would　soon　fall　into　the　sea　alongside。　All　about　them　were　thunderous　noises…spars　smashing；　ropes　parting；　the　guns　were　still　bellowing　and　everyone　below　seemed　to　be　yelling　and　screaming。
　The　top　lurched　again；　frightfully。　Two　of　the　shrouds　parted　with　the　strain；　with　a　noise　clearly　audible　through　the　other　din；　and　as　they　parted　the　mast　twisted　with　a　jerk；　swinging　further　round　the　mizzen…top；　the　swivel　gun；　and　the　two　wretched　beings　who　clung　to　it。　Finch's　staring　blue　eyes　rolled　with　the　movement　of　the　top。　Later　Hornblower　knew　that　the　whole　period　of　the　fall　of　the　mast　was　no　longer　than　a　few　seconds；　but　at　this　time　it　seemed　as　if　he　had　at　least　long　minutes　in　which　to　think。　Like　Finch's；　his　eyes　stared　round　him；　saw　the　chance　of　safety。
　'The　mainyard！'　he　screamed。
　Finch's　face　bore　its　foolish　smile。　Although　instinct　or　training　kept　him　gripping　the　swivel　gun　he　seemingly　had　no　fear；　no　desire　to　gain　the　safety　of　the　mainyard。
　'Finch；　you　fool！'　yelled　Hornblower。
　He　locked　a　desperate　knee　round　the　swivel　so　as　to　free　a　hand　with　which　to　gesticulate；　but　still　Finch　made　no　move。
　'Jump；　damn　you！'　raved　Hornblower。　'The　shrouds…the　yard。　Jump！'
　Finch　only　smiled。
　'Jump　and　get　to　the　maintop！　Oh；　Christ…！'　Inspiration　came　in　that　frightful　moment。　'The　maintop！　God's　there；　Finch！　Go　along　to　God；　quick！'
　Those　words　penetrated　into　Finch's　addled　brain。　He　nodded　with　sublime　unworldliness。　Then　he　let　go　of　the　swivel　and　seemed　to　launch　himself　into　the　air　like　a　frog。　His　body　fell　across　the　mizzen…topmast　shrouds　and　he　began　to　scramble　along　them。　The　mast　rolled　again；　so　that　when　Hornblower　launched　himself　at　the　shrouds　it　was　a　longer　jump。　Only　his　shoulders　reached　the　outermost　shroud。　He　swung　off；　clung；　nearly　lost　his　grip；　but　regained　it　as　a　counterlurch　of　the　leaning　mast　came　to　his　assistance。　Then　he　was　scrambling　along　the　shrouds；　mad　with　panic。　Here　was　the　precious　mainyard；　and　he　threw　himself　across　it；　grappling　its　wele　solidity　with　his　body；　his　feet　feeling　for　the　footrope。　He　was　safe　and　steady　on　the　yard　just　as　the　outward　roll　of　the　Indefatigable　gave　the　balancing　spars　their　final　impetus；　and　the　mizzen…topmast　parted　pany　from　the　broken　mizzen…mast　and　the　whole　wreck　fell　down　into　the　sea　alongside。　Hornblower　shuffled　along　the　yard；　whither　Finch　had　preceded　him；　to　be　received　with　rapture　in　the　maintop　by　Midshipman　Bracegirdle。　Bracegirdle　was　not　God；　but　as　Hornblower　leaned　across　the　breastwork　of　the　maintop　he　thought　to　himself　that　if　he　had　not　spoken　about　God　being　in　the　maintop　Finch　would　never　have　made　that　leap。
　'Thought　we'd　lost　you；'　said　Bracegirdle；　helping　him　in　and　thumping　him　on　the　back。　'Midshipman　Hornblower；　our　flying　angel。'
　Finch　was　in　the　top；　too；　smiling　his　fool's　smile　and　surrounded　by　the　crew　of　the　top。　Everything　seemed　mad　and　exhilarating。　It　was　a　shock　to　remember　that　they　were　in　the　midst　of　a　battle；　and　yet　the　firing　had　ceased；　and　even　the　yelling　had　almost　died　away。　He　staggered　to　the　side　of　the　top…strange　how　difficult　it　was　to　walk…and　looked　over。　Bracegirdle　came　with　him。　Foreshortened　by　the　height　he　could　make　out　a　crowd　of　figures　on　the　Frenchman's　deck。　Those　check　shirts　must　surely　be　worn　by　British　sailors。　Surely　that　was　Eccles；　the　Indefatigable's　first　lieutenant　on　the　quarterdeck　with　a　speaking　trumpet。
　'What　has　happened？'　he　asked　Bracegirdle；　bewildered。
　'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　fo