How Firm a Foundation by David Weber Read Free Book Online Page A

an unfortunately good notion of what the ensign was about to say.
    “White water clear across the bow, Sir,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk confirmed with a salute. “All the way from the coast”—his left arm gestured in a northwesterly direction—“to a good five points off the starboard bow.” His arm swung in an arc from northwest to east-northeast, and Yairleynodded.
    “Thank you, Master Aplyn-Ahrmahk,” he said in that same calm tone, and took a reflective sip of tea. Then he turned to Lieutenant Lathyk.
    “The depth?”
    “The lead shows twenty-four fathoms, Sir. And shoaling.”
    Yairley nodded. Twenty-four fathoms—a hundred and forty-four feet—accorded relatively well with the sparse (and unreliable) depths recorded on his less-than-complete charts. But Destiny drew just over twenty feet at normal load, and the leadsman was undoubtedly right about the decreasing depth. By all accounts Scrabble Sound shoaled rapidly, and that meant those hundred and forty-four feet could disappear quickly.
    “I think we’ll anchor, Master Lathyk.”
    “Aye, Sir.”
    “Then call the hands.”
    “Aye, Sir! Master Symmyns! Hands to anchor!”
    “Hands to anchor, aye, aye, Sir!”
    Bosun’s pipes shrilled as the hands raced to their stations. Both of the bower anchors had been made ready hours ago in anticipation of exactly this situation. The canvas hawse-plugs which normally kept water from entering through the hawseholes during violent weather had been removed. The anchor cables, each just over six inches in diameter and nineteen inches in circumference, had been gottenup through the forward hatch, led through the open hawseholes, and bent to the anchors. A turn of each cable had been taken around the riding bitts, the heavy upright timbers just abaft the foremast, before fifty fathoms of cable were flaked down, and the upper end of the turn led down through the hatch to the cable tier where the remainder of the cable was stored. The anchors themselves had beengotten off of the fore-channels and hung from the catheads, and a buoy had been made fast to the ring of each anchor.
    Under the current circumstances, there was nothing “routine” about anchoring, and Yairley handed the empty mug to Sylvyst Raigly, then stood with his hands clasped behind him, lips pursed in a merely thoughtful expression while he contemplated the state of the bottom.
    His chartsfor Scrabble Sound were scarcely anything he would have called reliable. The sound wasn’t particularly deep (which helped to account for how violent the seas remained even though the wind had continued to drop), but the chart showed only scattered lines of soundings. He could only guess at the depths between them, and according to his sailing notes, the sound contained quite a few completely unchartedpinnacles of rock. Those same notes indicated a rocky bottom, with unreliable holding qualities, which wasn’t something he wanted to hear about at this particular moment. Almost as bad, a rocky bottom posed a significant threat that his anchor cables would chafe and fray as they dragged on the bottom.
    Beggars can’t be choosers, Dunkyn, he reminded himself, glancing as casually as possible atthe angry white confusion of surf where the heavy seas pounded the rocky, steeply rising beach below Ahna’s Point or surged angrily above Scrabble Shoal. There was no way Destiny could possibly weather the shoal under these wind conditions. She was firmly embayed, trapped on a lee shore with no option but to anchor until wind and weather moderated enough for her to work her way back out.
    Well,at least you managed to stay out of Silkiah Bay, he reminded himself, and snorted in amusement.
    “All hands, bring ship to anchor!” Lathyk bellowed the preparatory order as the last of the hands fell in at his station, and Yairley drew a deep breath.
    “Hands aloft to shorten sail!” he ordered, and watched the topmen swarm aloft.
    “Stand by to take in topsails and courses! Man clewlines