by M. C. Muir
‘But the fact that the holes were made with an auger, and the fact that the carpenters were working in that area for over a week before the ship anchored, plus the fact Sparrow deserted in Rio… If a court martial was convened to consider the charges, those facts would provide sufficient evidence to send him to the gallows.’
‘Um. But what if we were to discount the ship’s carpenter, who else might we consider?’
‘Are you suggesting there may be someone else aboard trying to prevent us from sailing south?’
Oliver nodded. ‘It is something which concerns me. If Percy Sparrow was not the culprit, then I fear the situation we are confronted with is far more sinister. We must consider the possibility that there is someone aboard who does not want this voyage to succeed. It is possible someone secreted themselves on board with the sole aim of sinking the ship and preventing us from reaching our destination.’
‘But if I may say, Captain, no one, apart from you, knows the purpose of this voyage or where we are heading.’
‘This is something I had assumed until very recently. However, in light of the present happenings, I have to question that premise. As you will know, until we reached the tropics and I opened my secret orders, I was unaware of our destination and even as we speak, I am no wiser than you as to the manner of cargo we are to collect. Though I have followed my instructions and revealed our destination to no one, I am convinced that fact is not entirely unknown.’ Oliver’s brow furrowed and for a moment, he gazed at the red wine washing from one side of the crystal glass to the other.
‘On the day we met at the Admiralty, the details of this voyage were discussed at length by several senior admirals and respected ministers of the government. Besides the admirals and dignitaries there was also a clerk present who transcribed a record of the proceedings?’ He sipped his drink. ‘I am not accusing that young man, merely pointing out that spies can lurk in the least expected places.’
‘I find it hard to consider such a sad state of affairs exists.’
‘Nevertheless when I vacated that interview room, I had no knowledge of the purpose of this cruise or our destination; however I believe every man in that room was privy to that information.’ Quintrell leaned back in his chair. ‘Even now as we approach the Horn, I can only speculate. Perhaps we are to locate a treasure ship or retrieve a cache of gold and silver plundered from the ancient cities. If it is a foreign treasure we are seeking, then the French, Spanish, Dutch or Americans would be keen to prevent us locating it. Any one of those would be eager to relieve us of it and claim it for themselves.’
‘Indeed they would.’
‘Remember the ship we saw off the Canary Isles. Was that perhaps the same ship we saw off Recife and again near Rio? Was its presence there by coincidence or by intention? Remember the lookout was unable to detect a flag. Is it possible we are being followed?’
‘Is it also possible we have a spy on board Elusive at this very moment?’
‘I have pondered on that possibility long and hard,’ Oliver said. ‘No. I believe our bird has already flown. I believe the holes in the hull were drilled well before we reached Rio and the bungs were pulled before we weighed. The perpetrator was hoping to scuttle the ship and did not want the damage to take effect until we were far from land.’
‘So whoever it was jumped ship in Rio rather than chance staying aboard and being apprehended.’
‘Yes, Mr Parry, I believe even the most loyal spy may baulk at the idea of forfeiting his own life when there is still a chance to secure freedom. That is why we must consider other possibilities and culprits aside from Mr Sparrow.’
Simon thought for a moment. ‘The sailors picked up off Madeira.’
‘But those men were off a merchant ship?’
‘So they said, but their sinking could have been engineered. A ploy to get them on board Elusive.
‘Unlikely, I think,’ Oliver said. ‘What of the crew from Constantine?’
‘No. Those men were ferried up from Falmouth and conveyed straight on board. There was no obvious dissension or dissatisfaction amongst them. In fact from being fish-bait off the Lizard, most men were grateful to be alive and to be transferring to Elusive.’
‘Did they have opportunity to make contact with anyone in Portsmouth?
‘No,’ said the lieutenant.
‘Did you allow women onboard before I came aboard?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘And you said there were only a handful of marines guarding the ship and a few dockyard shipwrights finishing the work below decks.’
Simon Parry nodded.
‘And those men were working on board for several days without constant supervision. Is that correct.’
‘I had forgotten about them. I suppose they had the opportunity.’
‘Indeed they did.’
‘Did any of those men sail with us?’
‘No.’
‘Then, as we have excluded the men from the Constantine, we should consider the carpenters from the navy yard and the group of men you signed from The Hard, the men who assisted with the early victualling. They all had access to the hold and access to the shore via the lighters and ship’s boats.’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘How many men did you sign on that first day?
‘Twenty one.’
As he was thinking, he traced the number twenty-one on the table.
‘Simon,’ Oliver said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘A few weeks ago, I reprimanded you for appearing familiar with members of the crew. That was my duty. Now, I am countermanding my own orders because I feel it is necessary. Without jeopardising your authority or the respect which the men show you, I ask that you speak intimately with those seamen. Sound them out and if any one of them raises your suspicions even in the slightest, refer the matter directly to me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see you are a man of discretion, Simon, and I rely on you to uncover any unrest simmering below decks. But I must ask that this matter remains one of confidentiality between us. Believe me, I fear this recent incident may be just the tip of our troubles. Who knows what will happen when we sail into the higher latitudes of the Southern Ocean.’
The barren coast of Patagonia dragged slowly by, mile upon mile of boring treeless plains, inhospitable low white cliffs speckled with rows of black cormorants, and beaches littered with sleeping seals which through a telescope’s lens appeared like brown seashells scattered on the sand. A swarm of thousands of tiny white moths floating on the breeze was one of the few distractions. Considering the ship was miles from the coast, it was a talking point amongst those seamen who took an interest in nature. But it was a source of annoyance to those who had to swab the dead insects from the deck during the afternoon watch.
As Elusive sailed south, the days began to lengthen while at night the temperature dropped noticeably. One month after leaving Rio, Elusive neared the Strait of Magellan. Few of the men from the Constantine, had sailed that far south before but those who had doubled the Horn argued about the route the frigate would take. Some were adamant that the strait offered an easy passage. Others argued vehemently that the route taken by the great explorer was near impossible to get through, and that the western exit to the Pacific Ocean, with its myriad of islands, was a maritime maze to navigate. A few old salts preferred the challenge of Cape Horn, but for Captain Quintrell the question was irrelevant. He had his orders.
With the entrance to the strait behind them, word quickly passed around that they would soon be rounding the notorious Horn and with the winds gathering force, Elusive pitched and rolled even though she was still in the lee of the Land of Fire – the island of Tierra del Fuego.
Aloft, the topmen scanned the horizon, monitoring the rocky outcrops, the fragments of broken land – the tail end of the Andes Mountain chain as it buried itself in the sea. Below deck the men off watch waited, anticipating the call for all hands to be called to change course. On deck, the helmsman c
ontinually looked to the master who had been studying his navigational charts. From the fo’c’sle Mr Parry studied the bow waves while at the gunnels the topmen sat waiting for the captain to give the order to go aloft.
But the day wore on and no orders were given. Elusive crossed the 56th degree of latitude and maintained its southerly course leaving the rocky outcrop of Cape Horn in its wake. The weather was good. They were at the point on the charts where the Atlantic and Pacific oceans came to blows. Where sailors could toil for a month attempting to sail west but manage only a few short miles and eventually be forced to turn back and circumnavigate the globe in order to reach the west coast of South America.
But with a fresh wind blowing from the west and her squares filled, the frigate sailed due south across the notorious Drake Passage making an easy nine knots. On this occasion neither the winds nor the petulant oceans lived up to their reputations.
‘Maintain your course, Mr Parry. Double the lookouts.’
‘We are entering uncharted waters, Captain,’ the sailing master commented.
‘Thank you, Mr Mundy.’ But Oliver Quintrell did not need reminding. He was well aware of that fact.
Chapter 14
The Island
‘Whale off the larboard bow!’
On deck, all heads turned towards the dark shape which made its own response, venting a column of misty spray high in the air. Two other whales breached close by gliding effortlessly alongside the frigate at a distance of less than fifty yards. From the deck the hands watched until the great mammals sounded, creating barely a ripple as they disappeared beneath the surface.
‘Land ho!’ came the call from the crosstrees.
‘Where away?’
‘Four points off the starboard bow.’
Heads turned in the opposite direction; eyes peered into the haze trying to differentiate sea from sky and make sense of the cloudy shapes hovering on the water. Slowly an outline emerged from the mist. Lying less than a mile off the starboard beam was a floating island of ice. It was twice the height of the ship and twenty times its length with waves creaming around its base. An hour later another massive float was sighted and as the ship sailed deeper into southern waters, sightings of ice became a regular occurrence.
‘It’s not them that’s the danger,’ Smithers said, turning up his collar against the bite of the wind. ‘It’s them that’s under the sea with only the fingers of ice poking up that’s the worry. It’s said they’ve got sharp claws like the captain’s hand and they’re hidden beneath the surface ready to rip a hole in the bottom of any passing ship. I tell you they can slice through a hull as easy as a boat hook can split open a man’s belly. You listen tonight when you’re laid in your hammock, you’ll hear them claws scratching on the hull trying to tear it open.’
‘Enough of that talk, Smithers!’ said Mr Tully, looking anxiously over the side. ‘You’d best spend your energy using your eyes instead of your tongue. Keep it flapping the way it is and if we’re lucky it’ll freeze solid inside your open gob.’
It was a strange eerie night for those on watch who had no option but to remain on deck. The watery mid-summer sun, melding in the swirling mists, dipped only briefly beneath the horizon. Extra men had been posted as lookouts and the lead had been cast non-stop throughout the long light night. The cry, no bottom was the monotonous call. But the growling sound of the ice floats scoring the hull’s copper plates provided an uneasy night for those in their hammocks. Few sailors slept soundly as ice threatened to invade their vulnerable wooden world.
At ten o’clock the following morning, five days after leaving the Horn, solid land was sighted. An island. It was an uninspiring colourless sight. Black on white. White on black. Rising almost vertically from the grey sea, the mountain peaks appeared clearly for a while, then, in less than the time it takes for a handkerchief to fall, they dissolved in the mist like an illusion.
On the yards the topmen worked to reduce sail.
‘It’s bleeding cold!’ Adam Froyle murmured, his frozen fingertips struggling with the fastenings.
He got no reply.
‘You reckon the captain knows where we’re going? If we get iced in here the ship’ll be crushed to splinters and we’re all dead men.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ said Wotton. ‘I heard Mr Parry say Captain Cook sailed further south than this and he survived.’
From the rail, Oliver studied the snow-covered peaks through his telescope.
‘What do you make of it, Mr Mundy?’
‘Judging from here I’d guess its six hundred feet high and perhaps ten miles wide. That’s definitely black rock where the snow hasn’t settled. I’d say it’s an island all right but it looks inhospitable.
‘And you have double checked my calculations?’
The sailing master nodded.
‘Then I believe this is the place.’
‘But where do we make landfall? I can’t see any beaches just sheer rock faces and vertical sheets of ice hanging down into the water.’
‘We must sail to its south-eastern tip.’ Oliver studied the sketch in his hand. ‘If this is the correct place, we will find a break in the cliffs. Pass word for the lookouts to search for a cove, an inlet or a fjord.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
With double reefings on the mains and topsails, progress was slow but Oliver knew that making haste in visibility of such a fickle nature would be foolhardy. As they skirted the long dead-straight stretch on the eastern edge of the island, cloud descended over the snow covered peaks leaving only a long low strip of unhospitable coastline visible.
On deck, Smithers tightened the muffler around his neck. ‘I tell you, it’s a fiendish place and if the weather comes in bad, we’re doomed.’
‘One more word from you, Smithers and you’ll find yourself in irons. Do you hear?’
‘Aye, Mr Tully.’
No-one spoke as the ship approached a point at the south-eastern tip of the island. They were within a cable’s length of it.
‘No closer please, Mr Parry.’
‘No bottom!’ the man on the lead called out.
‘This island must rise straight up from the sea bed.’
Suddenly as if a dozen guns loaded with grapeshot had been fired into the ocean, the steely sea around them erupted, churning and splashing like a bubbling pot.
‘Look at all the ducks,’ old Jeremiah cried, pointing to the thrashing of hundreds of flippers and immature wings as they scurried from the frigate in an unsuccessful attempt to fly.
‘They’re not ducks, you blind fool, they’re penguins!’ Mr Tully said.
The old man scratched his head. ‘Well I’ll be. Ain’t never seen nowt like that afore. Must be thousands of them.’
‘There! See the sea elephant after them. That’s what stirred them up, not the ship.’
For a while the seamen gazed at the bubbling water. The air was cold but with the extra layer of slops’ clothes issued to every man, some argued that the summer temperature of the southern latitudes was preferable to the freezing cold of the Baltic ports in mid-winter. The addition of a layer of baize sewn inside their jackets also provided extra insulation from the wind and weather.
In the distance, off the larboard beam, another black and white peak became visible, but the captain showed no interest in it.
‘Deck there!’
Eyes turned to the topmast and then in the direction the lookout was pointing.
‘What do you see?’
‘A break in the cliffs.’
‘How far distant?’
‘Just beyond that black crag.’
‘Steady as she goes, quartermaster. Sail by. Handsomely now.’ From the deck Oliver and his officers were unable to see beyond the cliffs which rose perpendicular to several hundred feet. The jagged rock faces were black as jet and sharp as fractured glass. They appeared impenetrable and totally inhospitable. Not a word was uttered on deck, the only sound – the creaking of cold timber and the occasion
al rattle of running rigging.
The master shook his head as they rounded the craggy outcrop then cries erupted as everyone saw it at the same time. There was a chink in the mountain’s armour – a way in. Not a bay or estuary or regular inlet, but an unnatural opening. It was as if a hundred broadsides had bombarded the island blowing a giant hole in the towering walls creating a channel of water which provided a passageway through to the heart of the mountain itself.
‘How wide would you say, Mr Parry?’
‘One hundred and fifty yard, perhaps two.’
‘Aloft there! What do you see?’
Every man on deck looked to the mainmast to hear the words of the lookout.
‘The ocean goes right in, and there’s a great lake inside.’
‘How much floating ice?’
‘None as I can see. Looks clear and calm.’
‘Do we sail in, Captain?’ Mr Mundy quizzed.
‘Not until I’m certain we are not going to run aground. It may look safe but, like the island itself, it may be deceptive. We must first ensure there is no bar across the entrance and that if we sail in there is sufficient water to carry us through.
‘Mr Tully, lower the longboat. I want a good man in the bow with the lead. And once the boat is away, stand the ship off. We don’t know the tides or currents in these waters and I don’t want to get too close to those cliffs.’
‘Aye aye.’
From the ship’s deck the ocean around them appeared relatively calm. There were no white caps only occasional splashes from seals and penguin. But when lowered onto the water, the longboat bounced like a cork. Aboard, the boat-crew struggled with the oars. The water splashing on their faces stung like daggers of ice.
‘No bottom!’ was the cry from the first cast.
‘Ease your oars,’ Mr Tully called, as they glided between the cliffs.
‘Five fathoms!’
‘And a half four!’ The man on the line looked to the lieutenant.