The Threat In The Atlantic (The Merriman Chronicles Book 8) by Robin Burnage

Author:Robin Burnage [Burnage, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Merriman Chronicles
Published: 2024-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Enemies Engaged

With the Bight of Benin and the Gulf of Guinea now in her wake, Thunder passed the territories of Gabon and Loango. After what they’d seen at Sao Tome, Merriman had elected not to go ashore unless their advance southward proved fruitless. Pacing the deck, three nights after they’d left the island, he found himself gazing at the dark horizon, gripped by a certainty that his enemy was close.

He felt sure something would happen soon but, though there were a number of busy ports on this stretch of coast, they saw no vessels for a day and a half. As midday approached, Merriman was on deck in his shirt sleeves, preparing to observe the recording of noon with the midshipmen when there was a call from above.

‘Deck there!’

As his lieutenants were busy, Merriman advanced to the mainmast.

‘Sails on the horizon!’ added the lookout. ‘Two points off the larboard bow. Hull down and heading our way.’

Thunder had faced southerlies for two days, zig-zagging across the wind. Since dawn, she had sailed twenty miles west-south west, away from the coast, then tacked back onto an east-south-east to take advantage of strengthening winds. This put her on a long route towards the land before geography and wind demanded another offshore tack to gain sea room.

Coming up from the south, this vessel must have passed through the Hercule’s hunting grounds and Merriman therefore elected to intercept it, preferably before nightfall. Seven bells of the afternoon watch had recently sounded so he knew he had about three hours of good light. He also knew that a first sighting from his hawk-eyed lookouts meant a rough distance of sixteen miles. At the last log reading, Thunder’s speed had been six knots. Merriman concluded that, if the current speed were maintained, they would intercept the vessel in daylight.

The captain ran his hands through his salt-encrusted hair and looked around. Despite the report from above, few of the men were moving. The yards were straight, the lines taut, the decks pristine from a thorough going over with the holy-stones. Merriman looked higher: the sails were trimmed to perfection, balanced fore and aft, with Master Henderson instructing the crew to ease the spanker on occasion and keep the Thunder’s speed up. Apart from the hiss of water past the hull and the creaking of timbers, there was little noise. Then he saw the expectant eyes of the midshipmen, the questioning gaze of Bosun Brockle.

There had been more gun drills – plus plenty of tacking of late – and Merriman reckoned his crew had progressed well since departing Portsmouth several weeks ago. But they had not yet seen serious action and were in need of more practice. Whatever vessel those sails belonged to, he decided to treat it as if it were the Hercule.

Lieutenant Shrigley had obviously been notified of the sighting because he now joined Merriman and the midshipmen at the mainmast.

‘Sir?’

‘Let us assume that it is an enemy vessel. We shall beat to quarters. Clear for action but keep the sails as they are.

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