A Certain Threat (The Merriman Chronicles Book 1)

by Roger Burnage

  “Mr. McBride, here, immediately” bellowed Merriman. As the man almost fell through the door in his haste Merriman added, “I’ll hold you responsible for keeping him alive, d’you hear McBride? No more drinking or it’ll be the worse for you.”

  Returning to the deck he saw that Mr. Jeavons and his crew had safely brought the Pilote from her moorings and under foresail only she was moving out to join Aphrodite.

  “Mr. Andrews, signal to the First Lieutenant if you please, to anchor near me. Then the men who are not part of his prize crew can bring our boats back.”

  Two hours later, the boats had been hoisted inboard, the dead had been buried at sea and the two ships were heading north-east, gaining sea room. Merriman leaned back in his chair after a filling meal of salt pork and biscuit fried in pork fat and considered the morning’s work with satisfaction. Grahame had been rescued, the pirated cutter successfully re-taken with little loss, prisoners captured and the French involvement proven. Most pleasingly the crew were in high spirits after their adventures ashore and had even produced a man who played tunes on a fife as the anchor was hauled in.

  Another thought struck him. The crew was probably expecting a share of prize money. If the cutter was simply returned to the Revenue there may not be any prize money. Well, that would be up to the Admiralty and the Revenue to argue over and could take months to settle. In the meantime he had to decide what to do next. There was still the mysterious French ship somewhere, ready to attack the Dorset. If the French captain was determined he may try, even without the support of the second ship, because the Dorset was not escorted and would be an easy target.

  And what was the reference to plumbago or graphite all about? Merriman had an idea it was used for some purpose in the casting of iron but why were the French interested? They had half Europe under their thumb, surely they could find enough there.

  Another worry was Mr. Grahame. Was McBride professionally competent enough to save him? And with Grahame unable to help, who could he rely on to investigate the activities of Robinson and Beadle, the lawyer and his clerk whom Merriman was sure had been the passengers seen only yesterday on the boarded trading vessel.

  Obviously the first and most imperative action must be to secure the safety of the Dorset and her important passengers. To that end he must find out when she would sail and Aphrodite must be the escort. There was no other way, he must go to Parkgate to see the captain of the Royal Yacht, the Dorset. His mind made up, Merriman’s mind raced with plans and ideas and he returned to the deck to give himself room to move and think.

  “Gentlemen, your attention. Mr. Cuthbert, a course please, for the Chester Bar. Mr. Andrews, heave to if you please and signal to Mr. Jeavons to come aboard.”

  When the officers were assembled in his cabin, Merriman proceeded to enlighten them as to what had been learned about the Irish plan to seize the Dorset and passengers and the reason why the French were involved. “Damned Frogs” muttered The Master, “Always up to some devilment. We’ll be at war again soon enough, see if we’re not.”

  “I’m sure you are right Mr. Cuthbert”, replied Merriman, “so it is up to us to do whatever we can to frustrate them now.”

  “May we know what you intend Sir” asked the First Lieutenant

  “Yes. I must go ashore at Parkgate where the Dorset is stationed, to meet her captain to see if he knows when the Lord Lieutenant and his party are expected. We’ll take Aphrodite as close as we can and anchor off the Point of Air, which is where the unfortunate crew of the Revenue cutter anchored that fateful night. This ship draws too much water to go any further into the estuary. Then I’ll take the ship’s longboat and sail up-stream to Parkgate.”

  He continued, “Aphrodite will remain at anchor until I return. Mr. Jeavons, you will return to this ship. Mr. Laing, you will take command of the Pilote. You’ll take her to Dublin and hand over the Irish prisoners to the military authorities there. You can take the fellow you captured ashore in Ireland as well. Present my compliments to the senior officer, explain the circumstances of the capture of the prisoners and request that they be held on charges of piracy and murder. As soon as possible I’ll submit a complete report to him in person. Confine your report to the loss of the cutter and her fortunate re-capture. If possible don’t reveal to him the French involvement in this affair, but if he wishes to know where I am, you may say that I’m sailing urgently to England on a matter involving the Viceroy. Is that clear Lieutenant?”

  “Yes Sir, and after handing over the prisoners?”

  “You’ll make all haste to join the Aphrodite somewhere off the Dee estuary. I don’t intend to return the cutter to the Revenue until I’m certain that we’ll not need her. Both ships will keep extra vigilant watch with the men armed and ready. It is unlikely to happen, but I want no repeat of the piratical attack on the Revenue ship.”

  “Mr. Andrews, you and Mr. Shrigley will go to Parkgate with me. Have the bos’n pick a crew for the longboat and he can go with us. You will wear your best uniforms. Are there any questions Gentlemen?”

  “No? Good. Mr. Cuthbert, as soon as Mr. Laing has departed set course for our destination, there is need of haste.”

  But haste there was not to be. South easterly squalls and rising seas prevented any headway eastwards. Merriman tried to heave to, but before darkness fell a full gale was driving the two ships off to the North West. For two days Aphrodite made so much leeway that he began to worry about the proximity of the coast of Ireland. For all that time he remained on deck, lashed to the rail, as the ship was battered by the elements. The wind howled and screeched in the rigging, enormous seas washed over the deck and the air was so full of spray that even in daylight there was little visibility.

  It seemed to Merriman, soaked to the skin and half frozen as he was, that the storm had concentrated its full malevolence on his small ship especially to prevent him reaching the Dorset with his warning. But, he reminded himself, the Dorset couldn’t sail until the gale abated. Maybe they would be in time.

  He thought about the fine but cold weather of the last few days and of how right the old proverb was. “A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm the next.” He repeated it to himself over and over again.

  Life for the crew below decks must be well nigh intolerable he thought. Seawater would have found its way below every time a hatch was opened and everything would be streaming with moisture. The close quarters in which the men lived and slept would keep them reasonably warm but the air would be almost un-breathable and there was no chance for the ship’s cook to provide anything hot for the men. The constant pitching and rolling of the ship would prevent any but the most hardened seamen sleeping or even resting and what torments the injured Grahame was experiencing did not bear thinking about.

  It was not until the third day that the gale began to moderate and when at last Merriman felt able to leave the deck he fell fully clothed into his cot. He was not even aware of Lieutenant Andrews and Peters his servant stripping the wet clothing off him, chafing his limbs to bring some warmth back and then covering him with blankets.

  The next thing he knew was Peters shaking his shoulder. “Captain Sir, Captain --- it’s Mr. Graham Sir, Mr. McBride is worried about him Sir.”

  Merriman forced the fog of sleep from his brain and swung his feet out of the warmth of his cot. “What time is it, how is the ship, where ------”

  “All secure Sir” came the cheerful voice of Lieutenant Andrews. “It’s midnight, and we’re making good time on a course for the Dee estuary, Mr. Cuthbert is sanguine that we shall be there at dawn. If Mr. McBride hadn’t been so worried about our mysterious Mr. Grahame we would have let you sleep on. Oh, and there has been no sign of the cutter Sir, it’s nearly three days now since we saw her.”

  “I’ve slept for what, must be over eight hours ? Peters, Find me something to eat and a hot drink and tell Mr. McBride I’ll be with him directly I have some clothes on.”

  A few minutes later Merriman stumbled
bleary eyed into the cabin to find a distraught McBride. “I’m losing him Sir, he’s dying and I don’t know what more I can do.” The wretched man was almost in tears as Merriman glowered at him and stepped past him to look. Grahame had been lashed into the cot to prevent him being thrown out and McBride was struggling to stop the cot swinging too violently. The sick man was sweating and thrashing about, his cheekbones prominent above the sunken cheeks, the skin white and waxy looking. Merriman thought McBride was right, the man looked like death but every effort must be made to save him.

  “Are you sure you took all the scraps of his clothing out of his wound when you extracted the ball?” asked Merriman, remembering his own wound.

  “I, I think so Sir” replied the miserable man.

  “Think so, think so, that’s not good enough man. Get those lashings off him and turn him over, let’s have a look at the wound.”

  Clumsily because of the movement of the ship, but as gently as possible they managed to get the injured man turned over and his bandages removed. Merriman drew in his breath sharply at the sight of the swollen inflamed flesh round the hole the pistol ball had made. McBride had probably done his best and a couple of stitches attested to his efforts, but it was obvious that the wound was badly infected.

  “There, I’m sure you left something in there, you must probe again.”

  “I c-can’t Sir, look at my hands.” The man’s hands were shaking so badly that there was every possibility that he would make things worse.

  “Is there nothing you can do, nothing to reduce the fever?” demanded Merriman,

  “I could bleed him Sir, let some of the evil humours out.”

  “Good God, that’s no good, he’s lost too much blood already. What kind of a doctor are you? Tie a compress over the wound and then cover him up again. I don’t think the lashings will be needed again.”

  Indeed, Grahame had subsided into a coma and was lying quite still. Merriman watched whilst the doctor bandaged his patient again.

  “My cabin McBride, follow me.”

  In his cabin a furious Merriman turned on the surgeon feeling like strangling the man but controlled himself. “I asked you what kind of doctor you are, from what I see you are useless” he roared.

  McBride fell back before the fury in Merriman’s face, then, attempting to salvage some of his lost pride he drew himself up, as much as the low deckhead allowed. “Not a very good one I know. I never had chance to complete my studies at medical school you see Sir. My father lost his money to rogues and was thrown in a debtor’s prison and died there and my mother died soon after. Even my fiancee would have no more to do with me. My life is in ruins Sir. The only post open to me was on this ship, do you wonder I took to drink?” He collapsed into a chair and peered up at Merriman through bloodshot eyes.

  It was not an unusual story and Merriman felt some compassion for the man but the fact remained that Grahame was certain to die unless more capable help could be found for him. He realized that the nearest doctor he knew who might be able to save Grahame, was Doctor Simpson at Neston, near Parkgate, where they were heading. There was only one course of action, Grahame must be taken to the good doctor without further delay.

  “Get back to your patient Mr. McBride and do your best to prepare him to travel. I’m taking him ashore with me as soon as we reach Parkgate. You’ll go too if you can leave the other wounded.”

  “Yes Sir, they’re all recovering well, even the marine I was worried about is on his feet again.”

  Chapter 21: Successful operation

  Dawn was breaking as Aphrodite under topsails and jibs crept slowly up through the North Deep, past Chester bar and up to her anchorage near the Point of Air, Mr. Cuthbert anxiously checking his chart against the soundings called by the leadsman in the fore-chains. “Here Sir, this is as far as I dare take her. It is slack water now and the tide is turning, so the flood will help you upstream in the longboat.”

  “Thank you Mr. Cuthbert.” Merriman nodded to the expectant Jeavons, the orders were passed, and the anchor dropped down as the sails disappeared like magic. Aphrodite rode gently to her anchor, her bowsprit pointing upstream as though the ship herself was trying to make further progress.

  Since making his decision to take Grahame ashore, Merriman had driven the ship so hard, carrying more canvas than was wise, that the Master had shaken his head in a mixture of exasperation and admiration for the Captain’s ship handling. All preparations had been made and as the ship came to rest the longboat splashed into the water and the bos’n and his crew tumbled aboard and set about stepping the mast. Carefully the comatose Grahame, swathed in blankets and covered with canvas, was swung down on a stretcher and laid across the thwarts, with McBride fussing about him the while.

  “In with you Mr. Shrigley” said Lieutenant Andrews, following him down into the boat. Merriman came last as was right and proper. The boat’s crew pulled lustily on the oars until the boat was well clear of the ship. The sail was raised and with Andrews at the tiller the boat heeled to the wind and set off up the estuary. Merriman had sailed these waters many times as a boy with fishermen he had befriended, and so he knew where the various sandbanks were, although with the low water many of them were revealed and it was easy to steer clear of them.

  As the estuary narrowed, the tidal flood was squeezed between the shores of the Wirral peninsula on the one side and the Welsh coast on the other, which caused it to increase speed, carrying the longboat along with it, so it was not long before Merriman could pick out the houses of Kirby on the larboard side and soon afterwards, vessels could be seen lying aground off Dalpool, the old anchorage. Following the line of the low coastal cliffs they soon reached Parkgate.

  The shore was lined with trading vessels lying aground. The ones closest inshore were surrounded by high wheeled carts, and others further off by lighters and small boats as the crews and trades people hurried to unload their cargoes before the tide rose further. The Royal Yacht Dorset was easily the smartest ship visible, three masted and embellished with carving and gilding round the stern and at the beakhead. She was not aground but afloat further out with three anchors out to counteract the strength of the tidal stream

  “Drop the sail and pull for that ship” ordered Merriman. As the longboat drew closer Merriman saw a petty officer speak to a seaman who disappeared below. By the time they were alongside an officer was on deck.

  Merriman stood up and removed his boat cloak. “Permission to come aboard Sir, I need to speak with your captain most urgently.” The sight of Merriman’s uniform caused a flurry of interest aboard.

  “He is not here Sir, I don’t expect him back before nightfall,” replied the officer.

  Merriman climbed nimbly aboard the ship. “Are you in command in his absence then.” he asked.

  “Aye Sir I am, Lieutenant Chadderton Sir.”

  “Lieutenant, have you received word when the Lord Lieutenant will arrive?”

  “Not exactly Sir, but we have been told that he will require passage to Dublin within the next four or five days. We’re prepared to sail as soon as he’s aboard.”

  “Good, that gives us some time. Can we speak privately?”

  “Below Sir, in the captain’s cabin.”

  Merriman gave the officer a brief account of the plot which had been discovered.

  Chadderton looked shocked, “It’s hard to believe Sir, we’re not at war with France, are you sure that is what is intended?”

  “There is no doubt, Lieutenant, men of my crew have died because of it and I have the Revenue cutter under a prize crew offshore at this moment. This ship must not sail until I have spoken to your captain and formulated some plan for the safety of your passengers. If you know where he is you could send word to him to return to his ship, I’ll return as soon as I can. Meanwhile I have a desperately wounded man in my boat and I must get him to a doctor immediately.”

  Climbing down into the longboat, with a parting admonition to Chadderton to try to bring his c
aptain back, Merriman directed the crew to pull for the wooden jetty projecting from the street in front of the town buildings. Several urchins were dangling lines in the water in the hope of catching a fish and they and a few loungers stared at the smart boat with interest, obviously impressed by the sight.

  It would not be easy to get the stretcher bearing Graham up the rickety ladder to the top of the jetty, but no doubt naval expertise and improvisation would do it.

  “Mr. Andrews, whilst we get Mr. Grahame ashore, I want you go and find the largest carriage you can hire, with a driver if possible.”

  Andrews returned with a scruffy looking open carriage, drawn by two sorry looking horses, driven by a morose looking individual wearing a disreputable hat which drooped below his ears. “Best I could find Sir without going too far away” apologised the Lieutenant. Two seamen hoisted the stretcher into the carriage and settled it on the floor between the seats. “Won’t fit any other way Sir, it’s too long, and one of the doors will have to stay open,” reported the bos’n.

  “No matter, we’re not going far. Now then, Mr. Andrews I want you to stay with the boat. If you see the captain of the Dorset return, go out and speak with him. In the meanwhile here’s some money. These men will need feeding so send the bos’n to find something. No drinking mind, beyond a glass of small beer.”

  “Aye-aye Sir, no problem about that” replied the lieutenant.

  McBride and Shrigley were already inside the carriage and Merriman climbed up alongside the coachman.

  “Neston, as quick as you can. Do you know where Doctor Simpson lives?”

  “No, and I aint goin’ nowhere until I see some money” the fellow replied.

  “Damn your impertinence, d’you think I’m going to cheat you.”

  “Mebbe, mebbe not. I’ve been cheated before by the gentry an’ likely to be again” said the man gloomily.

  Merriman fumbled in his pockets, “Here’s some silver, now get on and see if your beasts can trot. I’ll show you which way to go.”