Atlantis - Return of the Nation

by Steven Cook

  Atlantis - Return of the Nation

  © Steven Cook 2011

  *

  Chapter One - An Uncertain Future

  Atlantic Ocean East of Saint Mary 27th November 1872

  The ship beat its solitary way slowly eastward, the slight swell of the ocean causing a small wave to break across the prow, leaving a trace of a wake that was quickly absorbed into the vastness of the ocean. The low winter sun sparkled off the surface of the water, giving a deceptively pleasant aspect to the depths below. The light clouds spotting the sky all the way to the horizon gave no memory of the gale that had worried the ship through the night.

  The ship was no different from numerous others that plied the trade routes of the Northern Atlantic. She had two masts and a slightly raised aft deck. This, combined with a length of one hundred feet and a displacement of two hundred and eighty tons, caused the ship to be classed as a Half Brigantine.

  The ship had left New York on 7th November without any fanfare and had made reasonable time crossing the Atlantic to the small Portuguese island group of The Azores, where she and her crew had spent a couple of days.

  The island of St Mary was now two days behind them. The harbour of Vila do Porto had been the last brief respite and restocking point before the final crossing of the Northern Atlantic. Ahead lay over seven hundred miles of cold, deep water before the landmasses of Europe and North Africa would come into sight. The ship would then negotiate the busy Straits of Gibraltar to travel another thousand miles to the final destination port of Genoa in Italy.

  The Captain and part owner of the vessel stood on the raised aft deck, behind and to one side of the helmsman. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, courtesy of a couple of sleepless nights fighting the unpredictable weather and harsh sea conditions.

  In spite of his exhaustion, he was dressed as always in a dark, woollen full three-piece suit. The high collar of his shirt standing above the lapels was well starched and closely buttoned. It was encircled by a precisely knotted plain black bow tie. His dark hair was starting to show flecks of grey at the temples, as was his neatly trimmed beard. He was without his usual greatcoat as the early winter sunshine was pleasantly warming the air.

  Without interfering he was keeping an eye on the man on the helm as he made minute course corrections. Unconsciously he also monitored the tension in the sails and rigging of the Half Brigantine. As everything was under full control he was more than happy to leave control of the ship in the capable hands of the sailor.

  The gentle creaking of the storm lashed timbers and rigging were the only sounds to compete with the gentle washing of the ocean against the hull. The rhythmic rocking of the ship was almost cathartic in its regularity. He half turned and idly watched the small wake. Perhaps four or five knots he thought to himself.

  Beside the captain stood his devoted wife Sarah. She was dressed in a long, heavy skirt with a fashionable bustle. A well-tailored jacket of the same dark brown material as the skirt covered a high-necked white blouse. Her long dark hair was braided and drawn back tightly across the top and back of her head. Their two-year-old daughter Sophia was supposed to be napping below in the main cabin, out of the way of the efficiently working crew, but the odd scream of laughter and thump of small feet on seasoned timber betrayed her.

  He looked over at his wife as she gazed over the rail towards the distant horizon and smiled fondly. She was seven years younger than he at thirty, and despite giving birth to their two children she still retained the trim figure and open, honest face that had attracted him.

  Captain Benjamin Spooner Briggs was looking forward to the end of this journey, more so than any other he had undertaken. He had a growing young family to look after and spending months at sea was no life for any of them. It had split them up on too many occasions and this voyage was no different.

  Although his wife and young daughter were with him, his seven-year-old son Arthur was with his Grandparents in the family home back at Rose Cottage, Marion, Massachusetts. He intended to sell his shares in the ship and the associated company as soon as they completed the return journey to America and enjoy a safer career on land, setting up a hardware business with his brother Oscar.

  The pleasant thought of an easy life without having to fight the tempestuous Atlantic Ocean every voyage was very attractive, especially after the last couple of days. Some of the tension dropped from his stance and a trace of a smile crept over his normally gruff face.

  ‘What are you smiling at Benjamin?’ Sarah’s query and a gentle loving touch to his arm brought him out of his reverie. She had turned form the rail and noticed his distant expression.

  ‘I was thinking of getting us all home to Rose Cottage and putting the Ocean behind us forever. My days as a Sea Captain are just about over.’ He put his arm around her slender waist and drew her towards him, not taking his eyes or his attention from the goings on with the ship.

  ‘It’s such a shame we had to leave Arthur behind; he must be missing us all dreadfully. I know Sophia is definitely missing him and I suspect you are too,’ he continued.

  Sarah sighed and rested her head on her husbands shoulder.

  ‘I do miss him and the cottage, but school is important. I hope he’s not causing too many problems for your mother.’

  ‘Knowing him he will have her wrapped around his fingers by now. I have no doubt about it,’ he laughed briefly, thinking of the boys open face and cheeky smile, as well as his unerring curiosity and propensity for trouble.

  The helmsman smiled to himself as the captain and his wife happily chattered away. It was nice to know that he was trusted enough to get on with his job without the captain interfering.

  The captain turned his head from his wife as he spotted the ships First Mate Albert Richardson climbing up to the aft deck by the port ladder. The mate’s weathered face was well lined, the skin prematurely aged by exposure to the elements. He appeared much older than his twenty-eight years, courtesy of his short, compact frame and a lifetime of being at sea. He was dressed in well-worn but clean woollen trousers and a short canvas jacket over a woollen shirt. A pair of heavy boots laced tightly about his feet completed his outfit.

  ‘Mr Richardson. Is all well below?’

  The experienced seaman nodded politely to the Captain’s Wife before replying.

  ‘All is secure Sir. A couple of the barrels in the forward hold had shifted a little but we’ve lashed them in place. None have been broached that I can see. She’s weathered the storm well.’

  The ship had passed through a gale during the previous day and night and the captain was worried that the cargo might have broken loose. The contents of the barrels were not the captain’s idea of being the safest, especially if they broached and leaked their lethal contents.

  ‘That’s good, we shall have to ask Mr Head to fire up the stove so we can have something hot for lunch. We certainly deserve a hot meal. I’ll be glad when we can get the foul stuff out of the hold.’ Captain Briggs nodded as he indicated his thanks and let Mr Richardson carry on with his duties.

  The first mate slid back down to the main deck and stuck his head through the main passageway.

  ‘Eddie, fire up the stove and cook us something hot for lunch.’

  Richardson climbed back onto the aft deck without waiting for a reply and moved over to the helm and considered the Captain.

  Although he respected the Captain’s obvious skills and quiet confidence in mastering the ship, he couldn’t quite get to grips with his abhorrence of alcohol and his strictly enforced rule of not carrying any drink on board.

  However, the seventeen hundre
d barrels of industrial alcohol distributed within the hold wouldn’t be tempting him. It wasn’t drinkable and had turned his stomach and given him a pounding headache when he had caught a brief smell during the loading back in New York.

  The First Mate enjoyed working on the ship and was hotly expected to take over from Captain Briggs as the master of the ship when they returned to New York. He even had a small sum put aside to purchase some of the shares that would be released by the Captain walking away. It was well known on board and with the owners that the Captain wished to spend more time with his family. Richardson could understand his reasons for wanting to be separated but would miss the Captain.

  He idly noticed the first signs of pale wood smoke drifting from the flue connected to the stove. The smell was a sweet change from the tarred ropes and salty air they had endured for the last few days. In the galley below Edward Head carefully stoked the fire and began considering what provisions to prepare their first hot meal in two days

  ‘Mr Richardson.’

  Richardson turned to look at the Helmsman who was attired in almost identical clothes to himself. ‘Yes Mr Gilling?’

  Andrew Gilling, the compact twenty-five year old Danish Second Mate indicated a region of the sea a few degrees to port of the ships current course.

  ‘There’s another storm coming up by the looks of it. The clouds look more than a bit strange.’ The softly accented words carried no signs of concern. A small squall shouldn’t cause the ship any problems.

  Richardson picked up the ships telescope and moved to the port rail. Looking at the approaching disturbance he snapped open the telescope and raised it to his eye. He scrutinised the clouds, which seemed to be materialising up out of the sea instead of the sky.

  ‘Looks like no storm I’ve ever seen. The clouds are too low.’ The telescope swept back and forth, and then dropped a few degrees.

  ‘My god, the sea looks like it’s boiling up.’ He lowered the telescope slowly.

  Captain Briggs dropped his arm from around his wife’s waist and strode angrily towards the mate, his face set in an instant scowl. As he did he felt the air around them change, becoming somewhat thicker and charged with expectation.

  ‘Mr Richardson, I beg that you remember who is present and curb your language,’ he barked.

  He happily noted Richardson’s quick guilty look towards his wife then accepted the proffered telescope. He raised it to his eye and replicated the First Mates actions. Slowly he lowered the telescope and scrutinised the cause of the blasphemy.

  ‘Mr Richardson, I believe your observation is mostly correct. It does appear that something is boiling out of the sea. It’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. It’s certainly not whales or fish schooling.’

  The Captain was an enthusiastic amateur expert on aquatic life forms and often enjoyed watching porpoise and whales whenever they encountered them.

  Mrs Briggs left the stern rail and wandered over, she looked at the disturbance with idle curiosity.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about is it? Have you found Atlantis?’ She asked enthusiastically, cutting it short as she saw the severity of her husband’s face.

  ‘Have a look my dear.’ He pointed towards the phenomenon and offered her the telescope. There was none of his usual tenderness in his tone.

  Sarah lifted the heavy unwieldy instrument to her eye and looked towards the horizon.

  ‘It’s a bit hazy Benjamin.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ He softened his voice and quickly showed her how to focus the telescope. A slight gasp blatantly indicated that the view had become crystal clear.

  Slowly, as the ship sailed closer and closer to the increasing maelstrom the rest of the crew detected the change in the atmosphere and made their way quickly onto the deck.

  Below decks, Edward Head sensed the change in the atmosphere too and left the galley. He found a pensive Sophia starting to climb to the deck and picked her up. He carried Sophia up the ladder, set her on her feet and escorted her to her parents.

  ‘Daddy?’

  The small child brushed hair from her eyes with the knuckles of her hands before she took her fathers hand in both her tiny ones and looked back and forth from him to the maelstrom in confusion, clearly picking up on the tension.

  ‘I don’t know what it is darling.’

  He bent down and lifted his daughter into his arms. Standing, he looked past the rail, holding his beloved child tightly. She threw her arms around his neck and snuggled up to him, letting out a satisfied sigh as she relaxed into the safety of his embrace.

  The storm clouds now revealed themselves to be clouds of steam and boiling, exploding water, thrown high as something unusual happened beneath the surface.

  Slowly the ship continued to sail towards the maelstrom. The surface of the ocean around it became increasingly choppy as the area of disturbance expanded. The ship lurched unexpectedly, causing Briggs to quickly adjust his stance.

  ‘Sarah, go below and look after Sophia,’ ordered the Captain suddenly.

  Sarah recognised the look on her husband’s face and immediately complied, taking Sophia from his arms. She moved unsteadily to the stairs to the main deck and accepted Mr Richardson’s aid in safely negotiating the steep ladder, followed by Edward Head.

  The ocean around the ship was rapidly becoming more turbulent, with spurts of steaming water bursting up from the depths randomly. The water splashed back leaving a fine, hot mist to drift across the deck.

  ‘Tack to starboard,’ called Captain Briggs.

  On the deck the crew leapt to the ropes and began adjusting the sails. They cast nervous glances over the rail as the jets of water became more violent and frequent. The deck became a living thing as the ship bucked and rolled in the increasingly unpredictable waves.

  An immense blow battered the hull of the ship as an explosion of heated water lifted the bow before crashing it back into a deep trough. A wave of hot water washed over the deck, causing the crew to curse in pain as they were scalded.

  Below decks Edward Head was thrown backwards in the massive jolt. The ships heavy cast iron stove was lifted several inches by the movement and broke free of the mounts that normally held it in place. The steward scuttled back on his back in case it fell towards him. It stopped short of falling over and seemed to settle so he moved forwards and attempted to push it back.

  He snatched his hands back quickly as his hands came into contact with the red hot metal. He cursed and noticed the atmosphere in the small galley was becoming hazy. He looked at where the flue should be poking through the roof. The chimney flue had broken free and sporadic sparks were leaping into the air, accompanied by bellows of smoke.

  Realising he could do little on his own Head turned and scrambled to hit feet to make his way down the passageway to the hatch. He was about to call out when the ship was thrown into the air again by a massive concussion. There was another drop that threw him from his feet again.

  Below him he heard a crash, as several of the barrels in the hold broke loose. Almost immediately he smelt the heady fumes of the alcohol permeating the atmosphere.

  As the ship bucked in the maelstrom he dragged himself along the gangway to the hatch. With an immense effort he pushed it open and pulled himself through.

  ‘Captain, the stove has broken free of the flue and some barrels are broached. Fumes are building up below deck. The stove is burning hot.’

  Captain Briggs looked at the violent water around the ship and considered his options. With the possibility of a fire or explosion he had few choices.

  ‘Spread the word. Abandon ship,’ he called.

  He grabbed Gilling as he headed for the ladder to the deck.

  ‘Get the Sextant and the Chronometer and meet us on the main deck.’

  Briggs staggered unsteadily to the ladder and half fell, half climbed do
wn to the deck.

  ‘Unship the boat. Quickly!’ he ordered.

  Gotlieb Gondeshall refrained from untying the boat from its position on top of the main hatch, instead resorting to using his small axe to hack through the ropes in a couple of accurate blows.

  Briggs scrambled down the main passageway towards his cabin. Pushing open the door he faced Sarah holding a screaming Sophia in her arms.

  ‘Quickly, get on deck. We’re abandoning ship.’ He pulled her towards him then thrust her into the passage.

  Another concussion threw the ship into the air. He fell to the deck then scrambled for the ships register and the navigation charts. Shoving them under his arm he lurched back up the passageway as another blow ran through the ship.

  On deck the crew were cowering on the deck. Around the ship the water was exploding upwards to heights approaching forty feet in thick waterspouts before crashing down, releasing gallons of spray and steaming mist across the deck.

  The crew had lowered the ships yawl over the side and were holding it close by a heavy rope.

  ‘Mr Richardson, open the hatches to help the fumes clear. We will hold off to see if it becomes safe enough to board her later.’

  Richardson moved off unsteadily and heaved the scuttle hatch covering the galley open. He ducked back as a burst of sparks erupted. Keeping low he moved to the fore hatch and heaved that open too. As the ship was rocked by another geyser he scrambled back to the rail to assist in helping Sarah and Sophia into the yawl where Boy Lorenson and Andrew Gilling were kneeling to prevent themselves from going overboard in the heavy sea.

  The ship lurched violently as another waterspout tossed it sideways. Richardson lost his footing and staggered into the rail. He span around, catching his leg on the exposed end of the rail where it had been removed, drawing blood. Automatically his hand went to the injury instead of steadying himself.

  He lurched backwards as another waterspout rocked the ship and fell over the side of the ship into the water. He screamed in agony as his body came into contact with the hot water.