Fifty Degrees South

  FIFTY DEGREES SOUTH

  M.M. HOLT

  Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews.

  PART ONE

  ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

  Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

  —William Shakespeare, Hamlet.

  Chapter 1

  When the first blue beam struck the sea just ahead of HMS Morgause, none of the seventy sailors in the first watch saw it. Instead, they were concentrating on the task known as wearing the ship, changing its heading from southwest to southeast.

  At the ship’s helm, Jessop, the quartermaster, turned the wheel clockwise, and great ship came into the wind. The Morgause’s bow swung to starboard and the compass in the binnacle wobbled around to west-south-west, then west where it paused as Jessop waited for the next command. He was so engrossed in his task of feeling the ship’s movement, he missed the sight of the blue beam entirely.

  Forward of Jessop, on the main deck, the crew stood ready, the thick ropes in their hands, waiting for the commands to heave the yards of the main mast around to coordinate with Jessop’s turn of the helm and with the other crewmen hauling on ropes at the foremast and the mizzen mast.

  They too missed the blue beam as it hit the water, thick as a four barrels, and curiously light as it went down into the depths.

  High on the mainmast, Trinity Evans was scouring the south for the enemy vessel, the Besançon, which the Morgause had been desperately pursuing for seven long weeks in heavy seas. But when he turned west with the movement of the Morgause’s bow, he too missed the blue beam. He didn’t see the three-second long blast from the sky, the cylinder-shaped shaft of light, wide and smooth, smacking the dark sea, going through it and straight down and distorting, like a twig in a glass of water. Nor did Trinity Evans hear the hiss of steam that followed.

  On the quarterdeck, the view forward was blocked by the mainsail. The officer of the watch, Mr Kyte concentrated on Jessop’s shouted compass readings. Mr Kyte didn’t see the beam either, nor did he see the smoldering carcass of an enormous white squid surfacing ahead of the Morgause and sliding along its hull to be churned in the ship’s wake.

  But when the ship hard worn to her new southeast course and was pushing through the dark and swelling water at a good eight knots, the blue beam struck again.

  And this time, it was noticed.

  Trinity Evans ducked, held up an elbow, and thought it was lightning coming to strike him dead, but this was not like any lightning he’d seen before. For one thing, it was bright blue; for another, it was straight. It also wasn’t flashing. It struck sixty yards ahead of the Morgause and blazed for a full five seconds. No lightning ever did that—not in Trinity Evans’s experience. Not on your life. Not even after ten too many mugs of grog—the extra strong stuff.

  He watched the beam, fascinated. The way it went right down into the water. Only when it finally ceased did he prepare to hail the deck. But still, he hesitated, wondering what should he say. This wasn’t a regular sighting. It certainly wasn’t the sighting of the Besançon, nor any other ship. This was something else entirely. It wasn’t even in his list of hails, which was long. Still, he had better hail something before someone on the deck noticed it first. He slapped a hand to the side of his mouth and peered down at the darkened figures way below.

  ‘On deck there!’ he called. ‘On deck!’

  ‘Yes, Evans,’ came the reply. ‘Is it the Besançon?’

  ‘No, sir. Strange light, sir! Strange light.’

  ‘Where away?’ came the reply but only after a few moments.

  ‘Straight ahead!’ he called.

  As he said this, another beam hit the sea. Same place—directly ahead. Same thickness. Same intensity, it was the color of the blue in the plate glass windows back in his church in Penzance—which made Trinity Evans wonder. Was this a sign from God? Was the Second Coming at hand? Was this something mentioned in the book of Revelations? It certainly didn’t look like a friendly light. Tomorrow, he thought. No more grog. No more ale.

  ‘On deck there!’ he called again.

  ‘We saw it, Evans,’ someone called back.

  ‘Something new!’ Trinity Evans countered.

  ‘What?’ came the reply.

  ‘The strange light—it came from that big dark cloud.’

  On the quarterdeck, Mr Kyte walked to the taffrail and looked up into the gloom at the gray cloud that had settled off the ship’s port side, huge and glowering, almost like a ship itself, a ship of the air, with curious bulges. A ship of the air, he thought, then shook his head. His overactive imagination was at work again.

  My Kyte made a note of the time. It was three bells in the morning watch, just as dawn was fighting off the night. Possible enemy activity sighted. A strange blue light.

  ‘Did you see it, Poole?’ he said to the youth beside him, one of the ship’s young midshipman who were training to become officers, just as Mr Kyte himself had trained twenty years ago.

  ‘Yes,’ said Poole. ‘I saw it, port bow, a quarter cable length away.’

  ‘You mean, “Yes, sir,”’ said Mr Kyte. ‘You’re in His Majesty’s Navy, Poole, and we are at war.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Poole. ‘Beg pardon, sir. The light, sir—it made me forget myself.’

  Mr Kyte scanned the darkness again. Nothing but the swelling sea in the soft dawn. Nothing but the shush of the water along the hull, and the creak of ropes as the ship rose and fell. He looked down at the main deck. The seventy men of the morning watch, dressed in their blue jackets and white duck trousers stared into the darkness. Others looked up at Mr Kyte—waiting for a command—and an explanation.

  Then, without warning, another blue beam shot from the dark cloud. It was closer this time. He could see it clearly. It was a thick blue shaft of light, straight as a sun ray, coming from the dark cloud, going straight down into the sea, illuminating the underwater world beneath for a good sixty yards or so, and going down into the depths.

  Trinity Davies was already hailing him from the upper deck when a second beam struck the water. Same straight blue shaft of light. Same point of origin in the dark cloud above. Two beams. One to port. One to starboard. They were like a ceremonial gateway of light.

  Mt Kyte turned around. Poole was behind him, crouching.

  ‘Stand up straight, Poole,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Poole.

  ‘The men must see that you are unafraid, that you are fearless.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Poole. ‘Beg pardon, sir.’

  ‘Never again, Poole.’

  ‘No, sir. Never again. Fearless.’

  ‘Fearless of even the strangest things produced by war and the heavens.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Mr Kyte turned back to the beams.

  ‘Are we going to beat to quarters, sir?’ said Poole.

  Is was a good question. Beating to quarters meant the bosun’s whistle would blow, drums would pound, commands would be shouted, and the crew would scramble for battle, the one hundred and thirty men asleep in the hammocks below would rush to join the men already on the main deck. The gun crews would rush to the canons ranged along the sides of the Morgause, untying the ropes that held them fast on their wooden carts, readying them for the gunpowder and the cannonballs. The Marines would climb with their muskets into the tops. The powder boys would scramble to the magazine, deep inside the ship, and rush upward with buckets of powder for the gun crews. The wicks would be lit and set in tubs beside each canon. The boarding crews would assemble for the armourer to hand out the cutlasses, rapiers and pistols. The gun ports on the main deck and below would swing open and the Morgause would be ready to unleash thunderous hell and utterly smash any ship within range.

  Beating to quarters.

  Mr Kyte made his decision.

  ‘Yes, Poole,’ he said. ‘Give the order. Beat to quarters.’

  Poole almost broke into a run before checking himself. He was eager for something to be done about the beams.

  ‘Mr Pound!’ he called to the bosun.

  ‘Sir,’ Mr Pound called up from the main deck.

  ‘Per Mr Kyte, we shall beat to quarters.’

  ‘What?’ said Mr Pound.

  ‘We shall beat to quarters!’ called Mr Kyte.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mr Pound.

  Instantly, the mood of the ship changed. Mr Pound’s whistle piped its shrill two tones, and the ship came alive.

  Mr Kyte watched the blue beams and wondered.

  The year was 1803 in the Napoleonic war. The location was the Atlantic Ocean in the lonely waters far south the equator, off the west coast of Southern Africa on His Majesty’s Ship, Morgause. Seas moderate to heavy. Wind from the northeast. Time at sea: sixty days. Mission: to capture the enemy frigate Besançon and retrieve a certain sea-chest, contents unknown, and return said sea-chest to the Admiralty in London. Failure not permitted.

  ‘Mr Poole,’ said Mr Kyte without taking his eyes off the beams.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Pass the word for Captain Burns.’

  Chapter 2

  Captain Alexander Burns, thirty-five years old, unusually tall, strong and determined, was on his first mission since making rank. He heard the commotion coming from the drums and whistle above and from below, as the sailors clattered up the ladders leading to
the main deck.

  He climbed from his hanging cot in the great cabin and reached for his boots. His steward, Gibbons had already entered, bearing a lantern and the Captain’s hat and coat with its one epaulet, signifying the rank of captain but not post-captain, the exalted rank that Alexander Burns aspired to most in the world.

  ‘Thank you, Gibbons,’ he said. ‘Just a moment.’

  This was Captain’s Burns’s first mission in command. His first mission on the way to obtaining the post-captain rank. He hoped. His first opportunity to distinguish himself as a captain of a great warship, to bring glory to the Navy and prize money for his crew, and for himself and for his family, which had been Navy men as long as anyone could remember.

  And for his wife, Caroline.

  But there was also the danger of failure. The danger of losing the respect of his crew, his officers and more dangerously, of the admirals who decided his fate.

  He shook his head. Bad thoughts, Burns. Bad thoughts.

  First things must come first. The Besançon and the mysterious chest it carried. Contents unknown.

  ‘Thank you, Gibbons,’ he said again, climbing into the coat, but his mind was on the Besançon itself. Last night, it was sighted hull-up on the horizon, the closest they had come in five weeks, and thanks to a decision to throw every sail possible onto the yards, risking damage to the precious masts, the Morgause had gained on it by nightfall. He hoped to see the Besançon nearer at dawn, but he did not expect it to be near enough for battle. So what was happening? Why the order to beat to quarters?

  His mind raced through the possibilities. The Besançon might have run into trouble, losing her mast. Perhaps it hit a whale and was sinking. Such things happened from time to time. Maybe another French warship had entered the waters—one sent to escort the Besançon and whatever it was carrying in that chest. Anything was possible. Anything was probably at sea.

  Gibbons, a fellow Scot, said in Gaelic, ‘Tha young Poole taobh a-muigh.’ Young Poole is outside.

  ‘Thank you, Gibbons.’

  Young Poole stepped into the cabin, saluted and said, ‘Mr Kyte’s duty sir. Strange light sighted. A quarter cable either side of the bow.’

  Captain Burns who had been buttoning his coat, paused and looked out of the stern window of the cabin, saw only the dark sea and the Morgause’s silvery wake.

  ‘Strange light, Mr Poole?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘From a ship? The lights on a warship?’

  ‘No, sir, from the sky, more like lightning?’

  ‘Lightning?’

  ‘This light is different, sir.’

  ‘How different, Mr Poole?’ He was losing patience.

  ‘It’s straight light, sir. Blue colored. Blue like China plates. It comes down from the clouds, goes into the water and lights it up. Very strange, sir.’

  ‘No ships?’ said Burns. ‘No enemy ships? No sighting of the Besançon?’

  ‘No, sir, but the light is very peculiar.’

  Burns was fond of young Poole. Everyone was. But Burns’s spirits dropped or at least descended. This was a false alarm and a damn trivial one. What was Kyte thinking?

  ‘Very well, Mr Poole,’ said Burns. ‘We shall look at this strange light.’

  Around the Morgause, the preparations for battle carried on. As he turned to leave his cabin, Burns heard the gunroom being cleared. The great guns being moved into position. The gun ports opening on both sides of the Morgause’s hull. The bosun’s whistle shrieking. The gun captains urging the crews to move faster, damn you. Surely this was all a mistake. Mr Kyte was a more experienced officer than Burns himself, though not as distinguished. Why had he ordered this battle readiness?

  ‘Orders for Mr Kyte, sir?’ said Poole trailing behind, hoping to be useful.

  Captain Burns took his hat from the outstretched arms of Gibbons.

  ‘First things first, Ben,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what’s what.’

  Chapter 3

  Captain Burns climbed onto the windy main deck, received the salutes of the crew and the gun captains. The bosun’s whistling had ceased its shrieking. The drums no longer thundered. All was ready for battle.

  He noticed anxiety in the faces of some of the men, not the usual eagerness when the prospect of action was announced. Something strange was happening. Fear was in their eyes.

  He nodded to Lieutenant Robeson, his third in command, who was standing in his other role as captain of the number twelve gun. Robeson saluted back, and called. ‘Good morning, Captain.’ His voice was wary, not eager.

  What on Earth was going on?

  Burns’s first thought was the usual one: the crew didn’t trust him yet. Perhaps they doubted him. They knew his reputation for defeating enemy ships, and for brashness, as Admiral Pellew called it, and for winning prize money for his crews in the form of loot. But he could understand if they were worried about him. His first mission.

  But this was something else entirely. This was real fear.

  He walked to the quarterdeck, the steps creaking beneath his weight.

  ‘Good morning, Captain,’ said Mr Kyte removing and replacing his hat.

  ‘What’s this strange light, Julian?’ said Burns.

  Mr Kyte cleared his throat. ‘Very unusual,’ said Mr Kyte. ‘Like nothing I’ve seen before. Two blue shafts, as thick as four large barrels each hit the water either side of the bow and stayed for ten seconds.’

  Burns looked at the sea as it swelled either side of the Morgause. Dawn was breaking, revealing gray rollers, strangely crisscrossing. But he saw nothing more. No blue shafts of light. No enemy ships. Nothing.

  ‘They came from that cloud.’ Mr Kyte pointed. Burns looked up and saw a heavy dark mass to the east of the ship.

  ‘That one?’ he said.

  ‘Aye, sir. Notice that it is moving against the wind, coming along with the ship, not going with the other clouds.’

  Burns looked up and saw this indeed seemed to be the case. Lighter clouds skidded either side of the dark cloud, yet it didn’t move. This was unusual, though not impossible. The winds behaved in strange ways the higher you went. Every sailor knew it.

  He looked back at Mr Kyte

  ‘Blue lights, this cloud and nothing more?’

  ‘Nothing yet, sir,’ said Mr Kyte.

  What should I say now, thought Burns. The man had ordered the ship ready for battle when no enemy vessel was in sight. It was either madness of incompetence. But Burns held his tongue for the moment, reserving judgement. Kyte had seven more years of sailing experience. He’d sailed far as the colony of New Holland and back. True, he had been unlucky with chances to distinguish himself. All the chances seemed to have followed Burns himself. He had been lucky. Kyte had not. The man was no fool. And yet…

  ‘No sign of the Besançon?’ Burns said.

  Now he was aware of young Poole standing off to the side, listening to every word. It was not the time to dress down one of his officers. That would have to wait.

  ‘No sign, sir, although it might be yet to appear on the horizon,’ said My Kyte, but then, catching the Captain’s doubtful expression, said, ‘Captain, I believe it best to be cautious about these lights. The sea, especially in a time of war, can throw up strange things. Who knows what weapons Napoleon has developed to attack us? The blue shafts of light might hold no danger; they might be a natural phenomenon; but then again, they might be something we should beware of. Perhaps it’s something to do with whatever is in the sea-chest on board the enemy vessel. We both know it contains something dangerous, as the Admiralty said.’

  Burns scanned the horizons. Talking about the Besançon chest in the presence of the crew would also be mentioned in the dressing down later.

  ‘Who else saw the strange light?’ he said.

  ‘Evans in the lookout saw it first,’ said Mr Kyte. ‘The rest of the morning watch saw them directly afterward. And young Poole, of course.’

  ‘I see,’ said Burns. He didn’t doubt there had been some kind of light, even possibly straight light. But surely it was lightening and nothing more. Mr Kyte had reacted in an un-seamanlike way. Actions like these would only provoke mistrust amongst the hands on the Captain’s first mission.