The Distant Ocean by Philip K. Allan

Author:Philip K. Allan [Allan, Philip K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: RO:NAV
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2019-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10 Flame and Smoke

Eight hours before Preston and Macpherson discovered the sea chest of their friend, Captain Hector Sybord of the Garrison Artillery stood on the parapet of his battery and looked out to sea. He liked this particular spot on the ramparts. It was at one end of the battery, close to where a palm tree grew. The trunk was just beyond the end of the stone wall, and it bent upwards in a graceful arc over his head. The thick mass of feathery leaves at its crown shaded him from the fierce noonday sun. He knew that he should have ordered some of the men to chop it down long ago. In theory it could provide cover for an attacker, but on the other hand his battery had never been attacked, and it would be a shame to lose its shade. He decided that the palm tree would survive another day, and turned to the ample figure of Sergeant DuPont who stood beside him. Both men had been watching the steady approach of the Titan as she sailed along the coast just out of long cannon shot.

‘Are they in range yet?’ asked Captain Sybord. It was the third time he had posed the question, as if he were a child reluctant to accept that a journey was not about to end. The grey-haired sergeant shook his head once more.

‘If you wish, I can try a ranging shot, mon capitaine, but they are certainly at least a hundred yards too far away,’ he said. The captain stared at him in silence, a frown of disapproval on his face. After a moment Sergeant DuPont realised his error.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he apologised. ‘I of course meant to say they are eighty meters out of range.’

‘Better,’ said Sybord. ‘Paris is very strict about the use of Royalist measurements, DuPont. How can we expect the men to use the new ones if we do not?’

‘And yet our guns are still twenty-four-pounders, sir,’ said the sergeant, indicating the line of huge cannon. ‘I wonder what that would be in kilograms?’

The captain looked down at his eight guns with pride. Each was loaded and run up ready to fire. They had been trained around as far as the embrasures would allow, and the wedge-shaped quoins had been removed so that the barrels poked up at maximum elevation. Every gun captain had his linstock alight and their lines of smoke rose into the hot, humid air. He turned his head a little farther around to confirm that the collection of bare-footed slaves in their ragged trousers were squatting in the shade, ready to bring up fresh charges and balls for the guns. All was well, he concluded, except that they still did not have a target to fire at.

He returned his attention to the British frigate and sighed. She drifted along under easy sail, flaunting her country’s naval ensign just outside the reach of his guns. He had to admit she was a beautiful sight, her black and yellow hull contrasting with the pale blue water all about her.

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