A Certain Threat (The Merriman Chronicles Book 1)

by Roger Burnage

  The moving of some weight aft seemed to have had some effect on the speed of the ship but not as much as Merriman had hoped for.

  Of course word of what they were doing had spread like wildfire amongst the crew and they were agog with excitement. Merriman had promised an extra tot of rum to the first man to make a sighting of what turned out to be their quarry and once the ship turned North West and closed the shore, extra lookouts were placed on each mast.

  “Mr. Cuthbert, I want to be as close inshore as you believe to be safe, just inside the ten fathom line should do, but keep well off round the headlands, I know that several of them have outlying rocks.”

  “Aye-aye Sir” replied the Master. If he felt irritation at being told his job he was careful not to show it. “I’d like a man in the chains too Sir, with a leadline, it will help to verify the readings on the chart.”

  “Very well, see to it if you please Mr. Cuthbert”.

  As the Aphrodite moved slowly back along the coast nothing was seen except small fishing boats and lobstermen and the occasional small trader. The normal shipboard noises of the low voices of the working parties, creaking timber and shouted orders were augmented by the flapping of canvas and the squealing of blocks as the ship changed course repeatedly to round the headlands. Over all, the regular shouts of the leadsman “By the mark ten”, or seven or thirteen fathoms or some other depth according to the leather marks fastened to the line. Rounding Holy Island again, the strong tidal stream flowing against them slowed the ship but on the whole Merriman was pleased with the way the ship handled.

  Past Holy Island the ship turned east then north but still there was no sign of what they were looking for. Rounding Carmel Head and passing inshore of the West Mouse Rock, which had been the cause of many a wreck, Merriman began to feel a little more hopeful. The north coast of Anglesey had more small bays than the west coast, many of which could hide a small ship. Keeping well clear of the notorious Harry Furlough’s Reef, the Aphrodite moved slowly eastwards.

  “Deck there,” the lookout’s hail drew everyone’s attention. “A ship Sir.” The man was pointing to a small headland.

  Merriman couldn’t wait for anyone else to climb up to report, he had to see for himself. With no time to think about the dignity of his rank, he snatched a telescope from the rack and almost ran up the ratlines to the maintop. Settling himself near the surprised lookout he leveled the glass. “Where is it man? Never mind, I’ve got it.”

  It was late afternoon by now and at any other time of day they might not have seen the ship. It was tucked behind a small headland blending well with the land behind it and only visible from a certain angle. Fortunately the sun was setting behind the Aphrodite and its low rays reflecting from the window of a small cottage drew the eye and highlighted the mast.

  It was indeed a cutter. The single topmast had been sent down but the long jib-boom was clearly visible projecting beyond the headland. Merriman felt a moment of satisfaction that his reasoning had been right and as he slowly climbed down to the deck he pondered on what action to take. Turning to the First Lieutenant and the Master who were trying to look relaxed and unexcited, he said “I believe it to be the ship we are looking for Gentlemen. Some effort has been made to conceal it so a closer look will be needed.” He paced up and down for a few minutes.

  “We will not alter course for ten minutes so that any watcher there may well think that we have seen nothing to interest us and that we are going away. Then lay a course for Ireland, we must find Mr. Grahame.”

  Back in the solitude of his cabin, Merriman went over and over in his mind what had happened in the last few days, trying to put events into some kind of order. He ticked the points off on his fingers. First of all the Revenue cutter had been seized. A boy had been saved by Owen’s brother who had muttered something about Irish and French before he died. Owen had managed to get himself involved with the smugglers and had killed the man that the smugglers said had betrayed the crew of the cutter. Owen had overheard the smugglers aboard what he thought to be a French ship speak about the Royal yacht and their plans being ready. All these facts together confirmed that the smugglers were indeed part of the gang who took the cutter.

  It had been confirmed at the Admiralty that French agents were definitely involved with Irish insurgents and Mr. Grahame had agreed that it was entirely possible that the French and Irish could be combining to make an attack upon the Dorset.

  And now there was the strange matter of the passengers on the small trader which they had stopped late yesterday afternoon. Merriman had no doubt that one of them was the lawyer Jeremiah Robinson. He had been certain of that when he saw him through the telescope and Lieutenant Andrews’ description of the man confirmed it even though he had described himself as a linen merchant by the name of John Richards. And the small man must have been Beadle, his clerk. Merriman suddenly remembered Beadle in earnest conversation with the clerk in the Chester Customs House. That was the connection with the revenue service and their cutter.

  The third man, what was his name? Ah yes, John Trevor, a Welshman, tall with dark complexion and black hair, on the same ship as Robinson and Beadle, could he not be one of the three men that Robinson had been in such a hurry to avoid introducing to Merriman and Captain Saville in the White Lion Inn in Chester? Could that man be the leader of the smugglers that Owen had met? Owen had also reported that a large quantity of contraband was passing through Chester and that the leader of the smuggling gang was a typical Welshman.

  There was now no question in Merriman’s mind that these men were up to no good, otherwise why would they conceal their real names, and there was also the odd question about Sir William Forrester. That he knew the lawyer was obvious and he was traveling back from Ireland on the same day although separately. Why would a wealthy man like that be involved with smugglers?

  Suddenly he remembered the other man with Robinson at the hotel. It was the card cheat from the inn at Oxford, he was certain. How and why were all these people connected?

  All the different strands of information were beginning to weave together, Merriman’s mind was racing. If the ship lying concealed in the little bay was indeed the stolen cutter, then it was his duty to re-take it. A cutting-out operation just before dawn was the ideal way. He had the force to do it, maybe this was what the Admiralty had in mind when the marines had been put aboard. But there was Mr. Grahame to be picked up tonight, would there be enough time to find him and then retrace their course back to where the ship was hidden?

  His restlessness drove him up on deck again to pace backwards and forwards, hands clasped behind him and his head bent down, oblivious to the fact that the frown of concentration on his forehead was so severe that all on deck, assuming him to be angry about something, were at pains to keep well away from him.

  None the less, his seaman’s instinct subconsciously took note of wind and weather and as the darkness closed in it was the veering of the wind and the sudden bustle of activity as the watch was called to trim the yards, that settled his mind on the best course of action.

  “Mr. Jeavons, Mr. Cuthbert, in my cabin if you please, with the chart we are using at the moment.” Settled round the table with the chart spread out between them, Merriman told the First Lieutenant and the Master what he had in mind.

  “The first thing we must do is find Mr. Grahame. He’ll be looking for us before midnight and I intend to be close inshore there long before that.” He thought for a few moments, “Mr. Grahame was expecting trouble on this expedition ashore so I think we should have a boat even closer inshore to look for his signal. An armed boat’s crew and some marines just in case he’s in difficulties. Mr. Laing will command.”

  “That’ll please Mr. St James, he’s been fretting that his men were only so much cargo” said the Master. “Something for ‘em to do at last.”

  “Quite so. It is also my intention Gentlemen, to recapture that ship we saw earlier, which I believe to be the Revenue cutter. We’ll need to
be back there in good time to attack at dawn. Obviously this depends upon how quickly we have Mr. Grahame back aboard but if he’s in good time and the wind holds fair, I believe we can do it. What do you think Mr. Cuthbert?”

  “Aye Sir, I can have the ship in position in time as long as the wind holds and as you say, as long as we don’t have to wait too long for Mr. Grahame. Do you know exactly where you want landfall to be made Sir.”

  “Yes I do, but I’ll hold a council of war later. It is possible that plans might have to be changed if Mr. Grahame has other information, so we must wait until he is back.”

  Later that night the Aphrodite lay hove to close inshore on the Irish coast, approximately at the same point that she had been two nights ago. An occasional adjustment of the sails and rudder kept the ship on station. Lieutenant Laing was ready to take the ship’s cutter with a crew of ten armed and eager seamen and five marines with their sergeant. Their orders were to keep their eyes skinned for a signal and to get ashore as fast as they could when they saw it.

  “It is imperative that Mr. Grahame is brought off safely Mr. Laing,” instructed Merriman. “He should be alone although it is possible that he may have another man with him, but if there are any others attempting to prevent him leaving, then you must do all you can to save him. Your men will have their cutlasses and the marines will have their muskets and bayonets.”

  “You sergeant, will have your men load their muskets as soon as the boat is close inshore so that they’ll be able to fire immediately the order is given, though I hope that will not be necessary. I trust that no marine will be so careless as to discharge his musket by accident and that you have five steady men.”

  “Picked ‘em myself Sir, with Mr. St James’ approval. They’re good steady lads Sir.”

  “Right then, be off with you now.”

  As the boat pulled away Merriman strained his eyes to see what he could of the shoreline, but although it was a clear night again all he could see was a faint line of surf and the dark humps of sand dunes.

  Laing had the boat holding to a small anchor which kept the larboard side to the beach against a gentle current. All the men were alert and looking for a flash of light which was the agreed signal. The marines had loaded their weapons and now sat silently on the thwarts with the muskets upright between their knees and wrapped in rags to keep the powder dry. An hour passed and another. It was bitterly cold and difficult to remain alert with the eyes constantly confused by the shadows, but the hardness of the thwarts ensured that nobody was comfortable enough to fall asleep.

  “Sir, I see something” whispered one of the seamen. Laing recognised him as Larkin, the man who had first spotted the hidden cutter. “What? Where?”

  “There Sir, behind us to your left. Looks like three men moving along the beach. Ah, two more Sir, between those two big dunes.”

  Although he couldn’t see the men clearly, they were only vague shadows, it was obvious to Laing that whoever they were they must be looking for Mr. Grahame.

  “Right men, easy strokes. You in the bows, bring the anchor in, quietly now. Give way together.” Fortunately Laing had kept the oars out and held just clear of the water so there was little noise as the men pulled easily against the current. As far as he could see, the men on the shore had not yet seen the boat but they would as soon as he turned for the shore. Slowly the boat moved along the beach, Laing steering so as to keep as far off as he could whilst still keeping the men in sight. Gradually the boat drew ahead and after perhaps five minutes Larkin hissed “There Sir, the light,” pointing along the beach to where Laing himself could see small flashes of light. The time for caution was over.

  “Pull men, pull hard. Sergeant, as soon as we strike the beach I want you and your men out between us and those men advancing along the beach. Shoot if you have to.” He swung the tiller over and headed the boat towards where the light had been seen. As the boat grounded the men were over the side, the marines forming a skirmish line and fixing bayonets to the sergeant’s order and the seamen looking to their officer for orders. There was no sign of Grahame but as Laing was about to send six of the seamen off towards the dunes there was a shout and two quick pistol shots. A dark figure could be seen making a plunging, stumbling run down from the dunes pursued by three others.

  “Grahame, over here,” roared Laing leading his men at a run towards them, tugging out his sword as he ran. Even as he did there was the flash and report of another pistol shot and the stumbling figure cried out and fell to the sand. Almost at the same time there was the crash of a volley from behind him and he knew the marines were in action.

  “At ‘em Lads. Larkin, see to Mr. Graham.” A shadowy figure slashed at him with a sword, he parried automatically, disengaged his blade and slashed the man across the face. Another man had fallen to the blades of the seamen and the third was in flight back to the dunes. As the seamen made to follow, Laing shouted “Belay that, back to the boat. Two of you help Mr. Grahame and two of you bring this man along as well.” The man Laing had wounded was grovelling on the sand, blood pouring from his face, screaming that he was dying, but the seamen took no notice of his cries and forced him along at the point of a sword.

  Back at the boat they found four of the marines standing guard and the sergeant bending over the fifth. “Report sergeant, is your man badly hurt? “ asked the Lieutenant. “Sir, there was six of ‘em Sir. I waited ‘til they was close, then fired a volley. Four of ‘em fell Sir and the other two legged it for safety but while we were reloading one came back and threw a knife. Got poor Adamson in the belly Sir, it’s bad.”

  “Right sergeant, get him in the boat.” The seamen had already lifted the unconscious form of Grahame into the boat and thrown the whining prisoner in also. They were ready to go and whilst the men pushed off and prepared to row, Laing bent over Grahame, grasping him by the shoulders to move him into a more comfortable position. He then realized that the man was bleeding badly from a wound in his back although he was still breathing.

  “Pull hard for the ship men, we’ve badly wounded men here to get to the surgeon. Show our lantern Larkin, if they see us they’ll signal back.” The man fiddled with the lantern and then stood up and swung it to and fro until there was an answering signal. Thirty minutes later they were aboard the Aphrodite and Laing was making his report to his Captain. The wounded men were in the care of the surgeon whom Merriman had threatened to hang if he was drunk.

  Merriman listened in silence as the tired man related all that had happened. “It was fortunate that we had the marines with us Sir, there were too many for the boat’s crew to have fought off. Mr Grahame seems to have been badly hit and I don’t think the marine will live. Don’t really know why I brought a prisoner back Sir, perhaps I was hoping to learn something from him.”

  “You have done well Mr. Laing and I shall see that you get full credit in my report to the Admiralty,” said Merriman formally.

  “Thank you Sir” said Laing. “There was one other thing Sir, I’d like to draw your attention to the man Larkin. He must have the best pair of eyes in the ship as he was the first to see what was happening ashore.”

  “Very good Mr. Laing, it is duly noted. Now go and get some rest.”

  Merriman had set the ship on a course for Anglesey as soon as the boat had been hoisted aboard; the wind was still in the east although backed a little more northerly and if it held, Aphrodite would be able to make the north west corner of Anglesey in good time without the need to tack. The tide was almost at low water and therefore would have turned by the time the ship approached her destination. The strong currents round the west coast of the island would be in their favour and it would be nearly high tide when the attempt was made to re-capture the cutter. The only thing which could change his plans would be for Mr. Grahame to have an alternative idea.

  Entering the cabin allocated to Grahame he found Peters helping the Surgeon to wrap a bandage round the wounded man. McBride was sweating freely although it was a cold
night and his fingers were trembling so much that he could hardly tie a knot in the bandage.

  “How is he?” demanded Merriman, “Will he live?”

  “Yes Sir, I am sure he will. I managed to extract the ball from his shoulder but the scapula has been broken and he has lost a lot of blood. It may be some time before he regains his senses but he will be very weak and unable to use his arm for a few weeks.”

  “And the marine, Mr. McBride?”

  “I did all I could Sir, but he died. He never had a chance with a wound like that Sir, I did all I could I swear I did Sir.” McBride was babbling away and Merriman suddenly realized that the man was terrified and Merriman himself was responsible, having threatened to hang him if he was drunk..

  “Calm down McBride, calm down, I’m sure you did the best you could for him. You must now make sure that Mr. Grahame recovers. And what of the prisoner?”

  “He has a bad sword cut to the face Sir. I’ll stitch him up but he will bear the scar to his dying day. He’s had some rough treatment from the marines who know that his friends killed one of their number, but he’ll live. They have him under guard.”

  “Right, when there is any sign of Mr. Grahame coming to his senses pass the word to me at once.”

  Yes Sir, I will, and thank you Sir.” Merriman left the cabin smiling to himself. McBride still had the smell of brandy on his breath but he had managed to appear on deck every morning clean and sober as the orders stated. Perhaps he was managing to pull himself together at last. The man had been drinking but the trembling was from fear not alcohol. Back on deck Merriman called the midshipman of the watch to him. “Mr. Oakley, there will be little sleep for anyone tonight. My compliments to all the officers and I want them in my cabin in ten minutes.”