The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) Read Online Free PDF

was staring back at the leading ship. “And that's most likely a sloop – probably what the French would call a corvette.”
    Banks turned to look, and could only agree. Instinct, coloured in no small way by pride, told him that Scylla could deal with any equivalent enemy, or even one slightly larger. But the addition of another man-of-war meant there was no choice other than to run. Judging by her size the second would probably be armed with at least twenty great guns, and there looked to be yet one more close by.
    Banks swallowed; it was still conceivable that Scylla had not been spotted, and his sudden turn had given them at least temporary security. Scylla was certainly a good ship but, when viewed dispassionately, he had to admit she was in sore need of maintenance. Her bottom had not been careened since first commissioned and, though she might still carry a bone with the wind on the quarter, she was liable to be slower than an enemy fresh from the dockyard.
    He supposed it was one of the disadvantages of blockade. French ships spent much of their time in harbour and such a lack of exercise meant their crews were ill-trained and in want of experience. But the vessels themselves were likely to be in better order and have gleaming copper below the waterline; a smooth, almost frictionless surface that was free of barnacles and other growth to slow them. In addition, the French designers built for speed, rather than resilience and the hulls they fashioned were far more streamlined. Some might not be as good at withstanding the punishment of prolonged use, but most could outsail an equivalent-sized British ship with ease.
    Still, Banks felt he had a few tricks up his sleeve, and was not unduly worried. His main concern was that they were being taken further from their eventual goal. The wind had been against them for some while and, after enduring three day's of storm, there was already a good distance to make up. If the suspect ships gave chase he guessed they would eventually be shaken off, probably after a day's hard sailing, but such a diversion was unlikely to bring them closer to their destination, and must be avoided.
    “They're altering course,” Jackson's voice cracked out again. “Steering to take us in chase, an' the frigate's making more sail.”
    So yes, they had been seen, and Scylla would have to make a run for it. The next few hours would be crucial; a fast passage had been their intention, and this was going to be anything but. However it was far better for the governor and his entourage to arrive a few days late than not at all. Then the subject of his thoughts cleared his throat, and Banks glanced round to see the elderly man's concerned face.
    “Do I assume that they may not be the whalers you had anticipated, Captain?” he asked.
    It was then that the frustrations of the journey so far took on an almost physical aspect. His ship was potentially in danger and Banks would need every skill he possessed to see her through the next twelve hours but, whilst doing so, he must also speak with a high ranking official who was bound to want notice and explanations of each move he made. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two of what was probably the rest of the governor's party emerge from the companionway, doubtless intent on making their first invasion of the quarterdeck that day. Lady Hatcher was likely to be included while Sarah, who had been so able in keeping them from his path earlier in the voyage, was now finding early mornings strangely troublesome, and could not be expected to join the party for some while.
    “You will excuse me sir, but I have to attend to my ship,” Banks snapped, before rather rudely turning his back and apparently giving all his attention to Caulfield.
    “She'll take more sail,” Banks said, ignoring the squeal that must have been Lady Hatcher discovering French ships close by. The topsail reefs had been shaken out some hours before, and as forecourse and