The gunfire from Mejidieh would have warned the garrisons of the batteries; there would be plenty of time for the men to rouse themselves to wakefulness at their guns, to get their linstocks well alight, so as to sweep the channels with their salvos. Turkish gunners might not be efficient, but the cross fire at East Pass could hardly miss. The West Pass, between Kaia Rock and Passage Island, would not be so efficiently swept; but on the other hand the range was negligible, and with the double turn that had to be made (Atropos would be like a sitting duck) there would be no chance of coming through uninjured. Dismasted, or even only crippled, Atropos would fall an easy prey to Mejidieh coming down through East Pass at her leisure. And, crippled and out of control, Atropos might run aground; and she was only a little ship, her scantlings were frail—a salvo from the huge stone cannonballs that the Turks favoured, plunging from a height, could tear her to pieces, tear open her bottom and sink her in a minute. He would have to take her under Sari Point; that would double, treble the range from the guns on Passage Island; it would be a surprise move; and very likely the guns there would be trained upon Kaia Rock, to sweep the narrowest passage—their aim would have to be hurriedly changed and for a moment at least he would have the rock itself to shelter him. It was his best chance.

“Starboard a point,” he said to the quartermaster. That was the moment, like playing his King as third player to the first trick in hand of whist; it was the best thing to do, taking all chances into consideration, and so, the decision taken, there was no room for second thoughts.

The moderate breeze was holding; that meant not merely that he had Atropos under full command, but also that wavelets would be breaking at the foot of Kaia Rock and Sari Point, reflecting back the moonlight visibly to Turner’s night glass. He could see Ada Peninsula plainly enough. At this angle it looked as if there was no exit at all from the Bay; Atropos seemed to be gliding down, unhurried, as though to immolate herself upon an unbroken coast.

“Mr. Jones, hands to the braces and head sail sheets, if you please.” The gunners on Ada would be able to see the ship plainly enough now, silhouetted against the moon; they would be waiting for her to turn. Passage Island and Sari Point were still blended together. He held on.

“Breakers on the port bow!”

That was Turner hailing from forward.

“Breakers ahead!” A long pause, and then Turner’s high, thin voice again, sharpened with anxiety. “Breakers ahead!”

“Mr. Jones, we’ll be wearing ship soon.”

He could see well enough. He carried the chart before his mental eyes, and could superimpose it upon the shadowy landscape before him.

“Breakers ahead!”

The closer he came the better. That shore was steepto.

“Now, Mr. Jones. Quartermaster—hard astarboard.”

She was coming round on her heel like a dancer. Too fast!

“Meet her! Steady!”

He must hold on for a moment; and it would be as well, too, for then Atropos could regain the way and handiness of which the sharp turn had deprived her.

“Breakers ahead! Breakers on the starboard bow! Breakers to port! “ A chain of long, bright flashes over port quarter; a thunderroll of reports, echoing again from the hills.

“Hard astarboard. Brace her up, Mr. Jones. Full and by!”

Coming round now, with Sari Point close alongside; not merely alongside but right ahead with the hollow curve of it.

“Keep your luff!”

“Sir—sir—”

The quartermaster at the wheel was croaking with anxiety; she would be in irons in a moment. The headsails were flapping. From the feel of her she was losing her way, sagging off to leeward; she would be aground before long.

“Port a little.”

That would keep her going for a moment. The black bulk of Kaia was plainly visible to port. Sari was ahead and to starboard, and the wind was in their teeth. They were creeping forward to destruction. But there must be—there must be—a back lash of wind from Sari Point. It could not be otherwise with that land formation. The headsails flapped again as the quartermaster at the wheel vacillated between going aground and being taken aback.

“Keep her going.”

“Sir—!”

It would be close under the land that air would be found if at all. Ah! Hornblower could feel the transition with the acute sensitivity of the seaman; the cessation of wind and then the tiny gentle breath on the other cheek. The headsails flapped again, but in a different mood from before; before Hornblower could speak the quartermaster was turning the wheel in agonized relief. It would only be a second or two that would be granted them, small enough time in which to gather steerage way to get the ship under command again, to gain distance from the cliffs.

“Stand by to go about!”

Steerage way so that the rudder would bite; that was what was wanted now. A flash and a roar from Passage Island—Kaia Rock nearly intercepted the flash; perhaps the shot was intercepted as well. That would be the first gun to be reloaded. The others would undoubtedly follow soon. Another flash, another roar, but no time to think about them, for Hornblower’s perceptions told him of the fresh alteration in the feel of the ship. They were passing out into the wind again.

“Headsail sheets!”

One moment more. Now!

“Hard astarboard!”

He could feel the rudder bite. She was coming round. She would not miss stays. As she emerged into the wind she was on her new tack.

“Breakers right ahead!”

That was Kaia Rock, of course. But they must gather way again.

“Stand by to go about!”

They must hold on until the bowsprit was almost touching. Wait. Now!

“Hard over!”

The wheel spurn She was shuggish. Yes—no—yes. The fore staysail was drawing. She was coming round. The yards turned as the hands came aft with the leebraces. One moment’s hesitation, and then she gathered way on the fresh tack, leaving Kaia close beside them, Sari Point ahead; no chance of weathering it on this tack.

“Stand by to go about!”

Hold on as far as possible; this would be the last tack that would be necessary. A howl close overhead. That was a cannonball from Passage Island.

“Standby! Hard over!”

Round she came, the rocks at the foot of Sari Point clearly visible as she wheeled away from them. A flaw, an eddy in the wind again, but only a second’s hesitation as she caught the true breeze. Hold on for safety a moment more, with Kaia close abeam. Now all was safe.

“Mr. Jones! Course South by East.”

“Course South by East, sir!”

They were heading into the open sea, with Rhodes to starboard and Turkey left behind, and with a King’s ransom in the lazarette. They were leaving behind a prince’s ransom, so to speak, but Hornblower could think of that with hardly a twinge.