by M. C. Muir
‘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.
‘Cast again!’
‘Three.’
‘What’s below us?’
‘Nothing on the lead. Must be rock.’
‘Steady men! Keep casting.’
‘Five fathoms.’
By now the boat was gliding easily over water which was noticeably calmer.
‘No bottom.’
‘Strange,’ murmured the midshipman.
Once through the channel, the soundings continued. The longboat swam forward entering the sheltered waters of a huge inland lagoon similar in shape though smaller than Guanabara Bay. On the starboard side was a naturally curved bay with a slate-grey beach. It was surrounded by black rocky cliffs and backed by steep dry rivers of shale. The silent crew gazed wide-eyed at their eerie surroundings.
‘No further, coxswain,’ Mr Tully advised. ‘Take us back across that bar at the entrance and cast the lead again.’
‘Aye aye.’
The lonely call echoed in the still air as the boat returned through the break in the black cliffs. Astern everything was calm. Ahead, waves and wind awaited them while Elusive rolled on the water, its sails luffing as it hove to.
‘Five fathoms! Four fathoms! No bottom on this line!’
The coxswain shuddered.
Despite their mittens, the men’s hands were almost frozen when they came back on deck but the boat had to be swayed up and secured. Meanwhile the captain had the final decision to make before giving the order for the frigate to sail through the gap in the island’s fortress-like walls.
‘According to the lead, we have three fathoms at the shallowest point. We will sail in slowly and see what is waiting for us. Steady now.’
Mr Parry called the order to wear the ship around on the open sea till the bowsprit was pointing directly towards the gap in the island’s wall. But as Elusive approached the channel an icy blast suddenly gusted from the south.
‘Hold her steady as she goes.’
Mr Mundy looked worried. ‘A storm blowing up?’
‘We’ll be safe once we are inside,’ Oliver said.
‘An ominous looking place.’
‘Indeed.’
For the few seconds, as they were sailing through, it seemed as if the sand in the hourglass had stopped flowing. There was not a sound on deck and everyman aboard suddenly became conscious of his own heartbeat
‘It’s like going through the gates of Hell!’ Smithers murmured. ‘It’s the devil’s own lair in there, I’m telling you.’
No sooner had he spoken than the wind died completely. The sails luffed, flapped then dropped, though the frigate continued drifting forward.
‘No bottom,’ was the last cry from the man on the lead-line.
Suddenly a grinding scrape sent a shudder vibrating along every inch of the ship’s rigging. Elusive lurched forward and the men on deck automatically reached for the nearest handhold.
‘The lead! What have you?’ the captain called.
The seaman cast again. ‘Eight fathoms,’ the hand replied, shaking his head.
After checking from the rails on both sides and considering the open water of the lagoon ahead, Oliver turned to his officers. ‘Whatever we hit, we have passed over it. Mr Tully, get the carpenter to sound the ship. Mr Parry, find some wind from somewhere and get us to shallow water if there is any. Helmsman, that bay to starboard looks a likely anchorage. Let us pray we make it.’
The deck burst into life. Men scrambled up the ratlines. Leather shoes clattered along the teak boards. Yards creaked as the men on the braces hauled them round the masts. Orders were shouted. Repeated. Voices murmured. Oliver watched and waited. Then a light breeze blew across the sails. But it did not come through the break in the rocks as expected. It had blown down from the craggy peaks to the north.
‘She’s not badly damaged.’ Will shouted from the hold to Mr Tully, who transferred the message to the captain. ‘There’s a leak but I can’t quite get to it. I need Bungs to move some barrels before I can check it properly.’
The message was quickly relayed.
‘Get some men below. As many as necessary. I want to know how much water we have taken and how quickly it’s rising. And get men on the pumps. Smartly now.’ Oliver turned to the quartermaster on the helm. ‘Is the rudder answering?’
‘Aye, Capt’n, it is.’
He nodded. ‘Let’s hope the keel is intact also.’
As the frigate neared the slate-grey beach the man on the lead announced the consistency of the sea bed: ‘Broken shale and cinders.’
‘Prepare to drop anchor, Mr Parry.’
The order was relayed along the ship and as they entered a semi-circular bay, Oliver gazed in awe across the immense lagoon beyond, completely enclosed within a circle of mountain peaks. ‘This place is like a giant teacup with a crack down one side. And we have just sailed through it.’
‘An interesting allusion, if I may say, sir.’
‘Well, Mr Parry, I am pleased to advise that we have successfully reached our destination. Now let us hope that when the time comes we are able to leave it in one piece.’
As he spoke Will Ethridge’s head appeared from the waist and Oliver beckoned him onto the quarterdeck. He wanted the acting carpenter to deliver his findings personally.
‘I think the damage is minimal.’
‘That is truly remarkable, considering the effect it had.’
‘If we’re lucky, sir. Probably just scratched the copper but I’ll have to go over the side to check it properly.’
‘That may not be possible. This water will freeze your blood in a matter of minutes.’
The frigate was closing on the beach.
‘Strike all sails!’
‘Five fathoms. Ash and cinder,’ called the man on the line.
Silence reigned.
‘And a half four.’
‘We are almost on the beach, sir,’ the sailing master prompted.
‘Thank you, Mr Mundy. I can see that.’
As the anchor splashed from the bow, the ship’s forward momentum was slowed, not by the iron pick, but by the sand and cinders beneath its hull.
‘That’s it. We’re done for,’ said Smithers. ‘Stuck like a severed head on a stake.’
‘Mr Smith. Take that man below and clap in him in irons. And one word from any other man and he will be left to freeze at the gratings.’ Oliver turned to his sailing master. ‘I do not think we will sink while we are resting on a bed of cinders.’
The duty marine struck eight bells and the men who had been on watch hurried below. After the second dog watch only a handful of men were required for harbour duty. Before night fell stoves were lit on the decks and in the waist of the ship in an effort to combat the cold but the radiated heat was insufficient to prevent the water in the drinking butt from turning to a solid block of ice.
Chapter 15
Secret Orders
With the hearty meal warming their stomachs and a flush of wine glowing in their cheeks, the officers seated round the captain’s table relaxed. Excusing himself for a moment, Quintrell retrieved a vellum pouch from his desk drawer, and returned to his seat. Taking out the four folded sheets of paper, he read through them. The conversation died as the company waited for him to speak.
‘Gentlemen, it is time for me to share some information with you. When we sailed from Portsmouth I never expected to be arriving in a place such as this. Only when I opened these orders was I provided with our current bearing along with this rough sketch.’ He laid a pen and ink drawing on the table. Its simple lines traced the outline of a horseshoe-shaped island its arms almost pinched together. One by one the officers examined it. ‘I think you will all agree we have arrived at the correct location.’
A p
atter of applause ran around the table.
‘I now understand why I was instructed to proceed without delay. It was essential for us to arrive here in the middle of the southern summer as this mild weather,’ he smiled, ‘will not last very long.’
The party responded in good spirits.
‘You will be interested to learn that this particular island is not charted on any modern map yet ironically its has probably been known for many years. It is likely it was sighted by Portuguese explorers back in the 1500s and by a convoy of Chinese traders at an even earlier date. And it is believed the island was rediscovered more recently by whalers navigating Drake Passage. For various reasons, however, no one has made an attempt to chart it or claim it. Needless to say, we have arrived here almost intact and, no doubt, you are all wondering what is in store for us. I cannot answer that question categorically. I can state, however, that we are here to pick up a cargo, but the nature of the cargo has not been divulged to me in these papers and from the wording of my orders I am not sure that even the Sea Lords have that information.’
‘Intriguing,’ said Mr Mundy. ‘May I ask what they do know?’
‘They believe the French are aware of a treasure trove hidden somewhere in the Southern Ocean, but not of its actual location. What the nature of this treasure is remains a mystery. It may be booty from a privateer’s plunder or a frozen storehouse belonging to Dutch traders. Perhaps if I read the closing statement it may help answer your question.
“ Napoleon Bonaparte intends to extend his campaign in Europe. In consequence, the Spanish Government is being pressured to meet its outstanding dues to France. In Britain, the burden of debt from the recent naval war is only partially being met by revenue collected in the form of income tax. At this time, any treasure which can be honourably plundered and returned safely will be fortuitous indeed. Your voyage is of vital importance. Succeed and England will be forever in your debt.’’
‘The likelihood of a knighthood, sir?’ the lieutenant added, with a grin.
‘I think not, Simon. Our first goal is to find this elusive cargo. But if we fail to solve the mystery of this treasure hunt, I can guarantee on our return to England we will receive a welcome far chillier than the present outside temperature.’
Mr Mundy screwed his nose. ‘Looking for a treasure in a place like this could be like searching for a needle lost in a hayrick.’
‘And a frozen hayrick at that!’
The officers laughed and drained their glasses.
The captain did not share their hilarity. ‘I know much of what I have told you is pure conjecture but what is certain is that this inhospitable place holds something of value and we have been sent here to find it. My thought is that what we are searching for is a ship, possibly French or Spanish, blown off course as it rounded the Horn. Perchance the vessel found its way into this harbour but never got out again.’
The realisation, that they too might be stuck in this isolated place, wiped the smiles from the officer’s faces.
The captain continued. ‘However, when we sailed in, the lookouts saw no other ship or wreck.’
‘Perhaps it sank,’ said Mr Nightingale.
‘But before it went down its cargo was off-loaded and buried,’ added Mr Tully.
‘It is possible. Any other ideas?’
Mr Parry spoke tentatively. ‘Perhaps these mountains contain veins of gold or pockets of gemstones. It is likely we would not see that from here.’
‘A good suggestion. I will consider that when I explore.’
‘Anything else, anyone?’
‘A building maybe?’ said Mr Hazzlewood. ‘Perhaps there are men living here?’
The captain shook his head. ‘This place is too inhospitable for anyone to survive for more than a few weeks. You are forgetting, Mr H, it is now mid-summer. In winter this lagoon will be locked solid with ice.’ He looked to the other midshipmen at the table.
‘There are seals and whales. Maybe there are walruses or polar bears. Perhaps this is a graveyard for horns and ivory. Perhaps there is a cache of skins.’
‘Thank you Mr Smith, but I think the Guinea coast supplies enough ivory from its trade in elephant tusks and I cannot imagine the Admiralty sending one of His Majesty’s frigates to these regions to retrieve a boat-load of fur skins.’ He paused. ‘Gentlemen, if there are no more suggestions, I am inclined to favour a ship. Hopefully tomorrow we will find one resting in a bay hidden from view. However, I must accept Mr Nightingale’s suggestion. If a ship was anchored here and sprang a leak, it would have quickly disappeared into the depths.’ He cast his eyes around the table at the concerned faces. ‘Think hard, gentlemen. Our time is limited. Mr Mundy,’ he said, turning to the sailing master. ‘In the morning you will take one of the boats and re-check the bar across the entrance. It is possible that what the frigate grazed was neither reef nor sandbar but a single pinnacle of rock hidden beneath the surface.’
The sailing master nodded.
‘If that is the case, I need its exact position and its distance from the cliffs. We cannot afford to make contact with it when we sail out.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘Mr H, when you leave here you will organise a canopy to be rigged over the waist. Get the sail-maker and bosun to assist you.’
The oldest midshipman, recently rated as acting third lieutenant, acknowledged.
‘In the morning I will first ascertain what repairs to the hull are necessary. Then I will take a boat and circle the lagoon. I estimate it to be about fifteen miles in circumference and it may take some time to explore. Mr Parry I want you to personally monitor the tides. I must know the exact level of the high and low and the specific times. In the meantime, I rely on every man to keep his eyes and ears open. I fear our job will not be easy.’
The officers nodded.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, lifting his glass. ‘I trust you will sleep soundly tonight as tomorrow our work begins. But first a toast. To a treasure hunt extraordinaire!’
‘A treasure hunt extraordinaire!’
The smell of smoked kippers hung in the air, as Oliver lavished the remains of the greengage jam on his toast.
‘More coffee, Simon?’
‘No, thank you, that was quite sufficient.’
Pushing his plate aside, Oliver drained his cup.
‘What is the present mood of the men?’
‘As unpredictable as the weather in these parts,’ Mr Parry said.
‘What concerns them?’
‘I can speak only from what I observe. I have overheard some hands discussing the voyage but when their voices turn to whispers, I know their chatter is up to no good. A few of the crew are weighed down with the events which occurred at Rio; a handful fear the ship is harbouring a spy. However, since the ship hit the bar every man shares the same worries. Now they fear for their lives. The word is about that no one can survive in these latitudes and these worries reflect badly on their temperament.’
‘One thing we cannot afford is dissent.’
‘I agree.’
‘Then you may tell the men that our latitude is close to 62 degrees south. That we have not crossed the Antarctic Circle. Tell them that James Cook’s Resolution ventured to 71 degrees south in his search for of the Great South Land. And that the ship which carried Nelson to the Arctic as a midshipman crossed latitude 81 degrees north.’
The junior officers exchanged surprised glances.
‘And you should remind the rumour-mongers that Cook lost no men to ice, or frostbite, or lack of provisions. In the meantime we must try to occupy their minds. That may help raise their spirits. Reassure the crew that they will not starve, nor will they go thirsty. There is water aplenty and the melted ice will be far fresher than the water in the casks. I suggest you set some of the men to the task of melting ice.’
As Captain Quintrell and Lieutenant Parry stepped up to the quarterdeck, the smell of their breakfast followed them. Eight bells sounded but the crew did not appear wi
th their hammocks as was customary. It was thought the canvas would freeze hard in the deck netting and when taken below in the evening would carry the cold air into the body of the ship.
The longboat was already in the water and Mr Mundy’s boat crew was pushing off to investigate the bar at the entrance. The cutter, which the captain planned to use, had also been swayed over the side and was resting almost motionless on the shallow water. With the sun in those southern latitudes above the horizon for almost twenty-four hours it was unlikely to get dark but a lamp was fastened to the stern post as a precaution against sudden fog. The coxswain and boat crew were already aboard and Mr Nightingale was sitting in the stern sheets.
After the captain had taken his seat, a small chest containing his navigational equipment was lowered together with a lead line. With no wind the sail was not raised and the oars were manned.
As the boat made its way around the inland lake, the scenery changed dramatically. First, sheer cliffs sheeted in ice – once white, now grey, streaked and patterned with criss-cross lines – resembled torn lace curtains layered with soot. Next came broad blackened beaches and slurries of ash running down into the bay. High on one of the peaks which encircled the inland sea, a white glacier gouged a giant path down the mountainside and where it stopped, translucent blue caverns glowed within the crumple of sculpted ice. On flat shelves of rock near the water’s edge, elephant seals lazed unperturbed, the bulls grunting occasionally for the attention of a female. The only other sounds were the slap of the oars, the creak of the rowlocks, and the voice of the man on the line with his monotonous call, ‘No bottom!’
‘I hope you can swim,’ Jo Foss said. ‘It’s bloody deep!’
‘Then keep your mind to your oars unless you’re eager for a cold wet grave,’ said the coxswain. ‘Beg pardon, Capt’n. Might I ask what are we looking for?’
‘Anything unusual, Wotton. A habitation or a suitable harbour. Another ship. Anything apart from this infernal rock and ice. ’
‘Whalers, perhaps. Plenty of seals and whales I reckon.’ Foss said.
