Ballard stood at the bow of the ship and marvelled at what he was witnessing. It had taken years of research, countless episodes of ridicule and subsequent cajoling, but there he was, with men of stature, capable of compounding his evidence with their respectability and beyond that, their belief in their own two eyes. The hull rolled from side to side and then pitched fore and aft as the waves assaulted the wooden structure, but the Gentlemen held fast as the sailors ran to and fro making lines fast. The Captain bellowed orders to his crew to prepare for the worst.
All they could do was hold tight to the rigging and watch as the creature swirled around the ship, hell, around all the ships. The thing was huge and would be the end of shipping in the Thames if they didn’t do something.
Just then explosions rang out and impact waves thrust up onto the deck, soaking the ship from bow to stern. Wiping the water from his face, lifting his head and gaping out, Ballard saw what he could only hope would be their salvation. He reached into his side pouch and pulled out his spy-glass. Affixing the devise to his right eye, Ballard adjusted the focus and stared in awe. Out of the storm, barrelling down on them with the speed of the Gods, crashing against waves in excess of 15 feet, with bright red flashes wakening the night sky, the HMS’s Ablemarle, Enterprise and Argo were coming.