Mister Bentley peered at him for a moment. “What makes it remarkable? Why, that it is found in no other place, Mister Heron. And no one is able to say why it is vanishing as it is; one of our Lord’s deep mysteries, I suspect.” He returned to his study of the bird, saying, “I desire you to capture its image for me. Can you do so swiftly?”
Harry already had his pencil and pad to hand and, finding a suitable surface, quickly roughed out a sketch, noting small details and surrounding it with notes as to colours and movement. The sun blazed down on him as he did so, and the breeze, fitful as it was, did little more than stir the dust. Everything he touched seemed to be coated with the gritty volcanic dust that formed the arid surface of the island. He finished his sketch, and together, he and the parson eased their way back to where Kit Tanner was watching a bird wheeling high above them.
Kit looked up at the bird and asked, “What bird is that, sir? It appears similar to the frigate bird, yet quite distinct.”
“As it should be.” The parson studied the bird for a moment. “A phaeton, yes, a Phaeton Lepturus—another native of these islands, though a little farther inland than their normal patrol I think.” He glanced at Harry’s sketch and said, “This is excellent work. Come, I think we have disturbed it enough for now, and the boat will be here shortly. Let us return to the town.”
Recounting this adventure to several of the younger midshipmen in the gunroom as he worked to colour a fine sketch produced from his notes, Harry remarked, “Our parson’s knowledge of the birds seems encyclopaedic, but I wish he would use the common names rather than the Latin. I’d have more hope of understanding him then.”
“Aye,” responded Kit, “at least you understand his trigonometry—he may as well be speaking Latin when he teaches those lessons, for all I understand them!”
The others laughed at this. It was common cause that Harry’s understanding of the mathematics was far in advance of their tutor’s, yet another excuse for Barclay and his cronies to seek to make life difficult for him. Kit knew that Harry always took care to seek an explanation from the sailing master, whose pragmatic and practical approach reduced the puzzles created by the academic discourses of the Parson. For his part, Harry could not understand why the others didn’t avail themselves of Mister Wentworth’s willingness to share his knowledge in this and other matters of ship handling and seamanship.
He packed away his pad and brushes and rose to deliver this latest picture to the parson just in time to avoid Midshipman Barclay entering for his supper in a foul mood.
THREE DAYS SUFFICED TO REPLENISH WATER AND STORES that the island could supply. The convoy weighed anchor again in the dawn of the fourth day and set course into the south Atlantic. The route took them westward in pursuit of wind to fill the sails—there seemed precious little this close to the equator—and tempers frayed in the heat. Finally, five days after their departure from Ascension, they found a steady breeze, and soon the ships were scudding southward on the trade wind. Even the slowest vessel, the prison ship Chertsey, made a brave sight as she strove to stay with the others.
Mister Beasley watched the prison ship heave herself over a long swell, plunging her beakhead into the next and throwing spray over her gangways. He remarked to Harry, “Pity the wretches in her holds—she will be uncomfortable and wet below decks, and they will feel every plunge, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Harry observed the tell-tale pulses of water issuing from the other ship’s scupper ports as she heeled to the thrust of her sails.
“They seem to be pumping again, sir. Perhaps she has started some seams.”
The Lieutenant shook his head. “Unlikely—look, she is all but taking some of that water green over her head. She’s over canvassed probably—look how she’s heeling—and she’s too stiff in the swell. She’ll be a poor sailer in the Southern Ocean.”
He left that remark unexplained to Harry who, in common with most of the crew, harboured visions of the tropics whenever the Southern Ocean was mentioned.
In the second dogwatch, the Captain called a meeting of his Lieutenants.
“I am informed that, though the Cape is again in Dutch hands, they are very willing to welcome visitors. I propose, therefore, to call at Cape Town to replenish our water and stores before we depart into the Great Southern Ocean en route to New South Wales and Botany Bay.”
“May I venture to suggest, sir,” the first Lieutenant said, “that the prison ships should be inspected before we leave the Cape for the soundness of their hulls. I do not like the fact that two at least are pumping their bilges several times a day.”
“A sound suggestion, Mister Bell. Instruct the carpenter to that effect, and I shall make it known to the masters concerned that it is my instruction that they will permit this.” Captain Blackwood frowned. “There are the facilities for repair at the Cape if we need them, and it is wise to make sure the damage done in our brush with the corsairs has been properly attended.”
For a week after leaving Ascension, the ships had an escort of the frigate birds native to the island, Fregata Aquila, as Mister Bentley insisted on calling them. It was during the slow days, as they crawled through the nearly windless area skirting the doldrums, that Harry and Kit discovered that the parson was also extremely knowledgeable in the field of astronomy. Both took advantage to learn more of the stars and constellations important to them for navigation, and in the process learned that a ship’s longitude could be calculated by measuring the ascent of Venus and its progression.
“Ah, yes,” Mister Bentley informed them kindly, “the invention of the chronometer, convenient though it is, has done us the disservice of rendering an entire branch of mathematics redundant.”
“Aye, so it has.” The master loomed next to them as they discussed this. “But it required an uncommon amount of ability to calculate it all using complex tables, and it took no account of those times when you could not measure the blessed planet at all.”
“A true argument, Mister Wentworth,” Mister Bentley responded. “But you must concede that it gave a result more accurate than your best chronometer can hope to do.”
“Nay, Reverend, sir, I cannot allow that. The calculations were too complex, and few could perform them with the accuracy needed. With the chronometer and the log line I can tell the longitude in a fraction of the time, and accurate enough to boot.”
The two midshipmen listened in awe of this friendly argument. Later they would learn that these two men had formed an unlikely friendship based on mutual respect and a shared love of the mathematics and the study of the stars. As the voyage progressed, they and several others of the younger members of the gunroom benefitted from the friendship and the easy desire they shared to impart their knowledge freely to all who showed interest. Harry’s mathematical ability in particular drew the interest of both men, and they encouraged him to copy some of their precious mathematical tables, even showing him how to calculate the logarithms and the antilogarithms necessary to carry out the more complex mathematics needed for precise navigation.
Clear evenings found Harry and Kit in the main top with one of the heavy telescopes studying whatever planet they could find and bring into focus. Harry wondered whether any of the strange worlds the glass revealed harboured people, and if so, what they might be like.
“Do you not wonder, Kit,” he said as they studied Jupiter with its whirling clouds, “what a being that lived on that place would look like?”
“Aye, and I think it may be like the fantastical beings once supposed to live in the South Americas,” chuckled Kit. “I saw a book once in the Penny Library that had beings with no head and their mouths in their stomachs. They had great thick arms and dressed as savages. Any who live on that place must be so too.”
This provoked a friendly argument that continued on and off until it was time to descend. Harry had to attend to duty, and Kit had to find his hammock.
Chapter 21
The Fairest Cape
The voyage followed the winds for the South Atlantic, necessitating a long sweep toward the coast of Brazil and then a great arc toward the Cape. The lookout sighted the famous mountain midway through the forenoon watch, and his cry brought a pause as the hands aloft and on deck strained to see the distant coast.
“You’re wasting your time, Mister Heron,” said Lieutenant Beasley. “If the master is right, it will be several hours yet before there is aught to see. The currents here set northward, and this wind, being a head wind, will make our landfall tardy.”
Harry lowered the spyglass he had been using and grinned. “I had hoped to spy a lion or some other fantastic beast, sir. The men say they roam freely here and may even eat the people they encounter.”
“From what I have heard, the beasts do not roam this far, and they avoid human habitation, though there may be some in the less settled places.” The Lieutenant laughed. “As for their eating us, well, they are carnivores, and if a man were foolish enough to come too close, I dare say they would make a meal of him.”
“Do you think we might encounter any if we land, sir?”
“Unlikely, I think. From the reports of our occupation garrison, the farms spread quite a distance inland and along the coast, and the lion has been driven away from the towns.” He smiled again and teased, “But I shall be sure to allow you the honour of being eaten first if we encounter any.”
Harry laughed. “Thank you, sir, but if you will pardon me, I think I am too junior for so signal an honour.”
THE CONVOY MADE A LONG TACK AT DUSK, and it was not until mid-afternoon the following day that the strange flat-topped mountain loomed sufficiently above the horizon to be seen from the deck. To Harry and his friend Kit Tanner, it was a disappointment. There was no fabulous jungle as they had expected, and the ships stood into a wide bay guarded by a low-lying island marked on Mister Wentworth’s charts as a leper colony. Harry misread or misheard the name and spent some time wondering what manner of bird had resulted in its being named Robin Island.
“Why, bless you, Mister Heron.” The sailing master laughed when this was put to him. “’Tis not named for the bird. Robben is the Dutch for the sea lions that infest the place. See, there is one now, considering you for his dinner, no doubt.”
Looking in the direction the master pointed, Harry saw a large grey dog-like creature swimming effortlessly close to the ship and evidently studying it with interest. Larger and sleeker than the fur seals he was used to in the channel and the coasts of his home in Ulster, the beast returned his gaze lazily and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, dived and vanished beneath the waves. Soon, however, others began to appear close to the ship, evidently in the hope of some bounty.
“Deck there.” The lookout’s call drew everyone’s attention. “Lugger putting out from the shore. It wears the Dutch colours, sir.”
“That will be the governor’s man coming to enquire the purpose of our visit, no doubt,” Captain Blackwood remarked wryly. “Though, unless I am much mistaken, a sloop of theirs is at anchor over by that river mouth, and some of these fat merchantmen would have made excellent prizes for us.”
“Indeed they would, sir, fat Dutch Indiamen all of them, but most appear unladen or outward bound.” The second Lieutenant lowered the glass he had been using and remarked, “Though there are none of the frigates the Dutch are reported to keep here in the bay.”
The first Lieutenant joined them. “Sir, shall I have the side manned to receive our visitor?”
“If you please, Thomas,” the Captain said. “A salute will be expected; nineteen guns for the governor. The battery on the Lion’s rump will fire, I should think. See, it has a commanding position and would make a sensible place from which to do so.”
The lugger closed the Spartan smartly. It took a matter of minutes for her to dance alongside and the Dutch officer to leap onto the bigger ship’s tumblehome and clamber to the entry port. During the approach, his rank had been confirmed, and the side party had been adjusted accordingly, though Captain Blackwood greeted him punctiliously on the quarterdeck.
“Kommandant van Rensburg,” the newcomer announced, “harbour commander.” His accent was quite pronounced though his English was good. “I am come to enquire your business in these waters, Captain.”
“Our ships have need of fresh food and water, Commandant,” Captain Blackwood responded. “And some of our ships are in need of repair before we continue into the Southern Ocean and beyond.”
“The stores you need can, of course, be bought here,” the Dutch officer reassured him. “The repairs are another matter. The bay is too exposed at this season. You will have to negotiate with the governor to use Simon’s Bay for that work.” He laughed briefly. “But of course, you will be aware that your navy has built a facility there. If you will be so kind as to signal my boat, sir, my crew will guide you to the anchorage, and you can come ashore with me to meet the governor and make the arrangements.”
“Thank you,” said Captain Blackwood, acknowledging the offer. “Mister Bell, if you please signal the commandant’s lugger. Once we are anchored, Commandant, perhaps you could accompany me ashore in my gig. My boat crew can then await my return.”
“Lugger’s answered, sir,” Thomas Bell reported.
“Very good, Mister Bell, follow her lead and signal the convoy to follow us.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the first Lieutenant. He turned to give his orders, and the ship gathered way to follow the lugger into the bay.
A puff of smoke from the battery on the hill known as Lion’s Rump to the English was followed a few seconds later by the flat report as the ships approached the anchorage.
Immediately, Spartan’s foremost sixteen-pounder roared its reply, and thereafter, the salute echoed across the water as the ship responded gun for gun to the battery’s salute.
For Ferghal it signalled the start of a busy time, and he raced back and forth with another of the ship’s boys delivering cartridges for the salute.
HARRY ACCOMPANIED THE CAPTAIN WHEN ROBERT BLACKWOOD went ashore to meet the governor and to officially request the anchorage at Simon’s Bay to inspect the transports and make good any defects. He was fascinated by the design of the castle as they landed on the beach adjacent to it and then walked with their escort of Dutch militiamen to the main gate, approaching it through an outer bastion. The castle was laid out as a five-pointed star with the sea fronting one side between two of the bastions and the remaining sides protected by a deep, water-filled moat. He remarked on this to the Captain.
“A formidable defence developed in the main by the Frenchman, Vauban. Each of the bastions can sweep the ground and the approach to the moat and wall, and the walls themselves can sweep the angles of the bastions,” he explained. “In France and elsewhere on the continent you will find many more complex defences than this with outworks located between the main bastions, each overlooked and defended from the rear by the inner fortifications. Even this one will be a difficult position to storm though, especially as you would need to attack across the open ground on all sides.
“I see, sir,” Harry replied, and now that it was pointed out to him, he certainly could. By now, they were crossing the short bridge to the outer barbican, which protected the approach to the main gate. Even with the market laid out on this front of the castle, it was plain that any assault would be under the considerable fire from the defenders for a period far too long to be sensible.
In the barbican, the roadway turned through ninety degrees, and they crossed the bridge into the solid main gate itself to find themselves inside the large ward, divided almost in two by the governor’s residence, which ran from the landward side to the seaward wall, although there was a large gap between that and the residence.
They were ceremoniously ushered up the steps to the main entrance where a uniformed official greeted them and assumed the escort to where the governor stood in conversation with several officers and officials.
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The governor greeted them in the grand reception room of the castle. “Kaptein Blackwood, welcome to the Cape.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “I trust you are not come to tell us that you intend to make an attempt to seize our colony once more.”
Captain Blackwood bowed. “Not on this occasion, Your Excellency. As I am sure you are already aware, I have a number of transports to escort to our colony in Botany Bay. Some are in need of minor repair before we embark on the next stage of the voyage. In addition, we need some fresh fruits and vegetables, and water of course.”
“Naturlijk.” The governor smiled and signalled a liveried slave. “You will take wine with me? Some of our own local wine from the vineyards at Stellenbosch.”
“You are most kind, Excellency,” replied the Captain accepting a glass of cool white wine.
The discussions focused on the needs of the convoy and the availability of resources to meet them. During this time, Harry listened and watched, fascinated by his surroundings, familiar and yet so different. The wine, the heat, and closeness of the room began to work on his senses, and he found himself drowsing as he waited, seated in a window overlooking the gate approaches. Laughter drew his attention, and he watched as a group of children ran laughing and playing toward the accommodation on the landward side, escorted by a pair of attractive young women and attended by a servant of a race he had not before encountered.
He jerked back to the present when he heard Captain Blackwood say, “Come, Mister Heron, we must take our leave.”
Guiltily, he leapt to his feet and said, “Aye, aye, sir,” slightly bemused by the smiles this provoked among the assembled officers.
At the beach, their escort left them, and the Captain said, “We have much to do now. What did you think of our hosts, Mister Heron?”
Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey Page 19
