Zeelandia

39. Of Shooting the Sky

After we rose, washed each other and dressed, we sat by the windows in the great cabin as Charles refreshed my memory of the two north poles, the true and the magnetical. Then he discussed shooting the sunset's azimuth and showed me how to adjust the reading from the tables. Next, he reviewed what he had previously said and demonstrated about measuring the altitude of Polaris, and when all was clear in my mind, I busied myself with the astrolabe, shooting the angles of the window slats above the cill until I was confident with its use.

A while later, when Charles was called, we ascended to the deck to another wondrous red sky. Mister Jenkins and Mid Franklin had been relieved of the watch by Mister Cogswell and Mid Edwards, and they greeted us.

As the sun approached the horizon, I asked Charles, "At what point is it best to shoot, Sir? When it touches or when it disappears."

"In theory, when half the sun has dipped, but it matters not. With the motion of the ship, it is difficult to be more accurate than a quarter-point, and the sun progresses much less than that while it dips its full diameter. It is best to do it when its intensity has diminished, to not harm our eyes."

All this while, I had seen and felt Mid Edwards watching me, and though curious about his curiosity, I decided not to approach and ask. When the sun had near-disappeared, I sighted the azimuth with the compass pelorus and in the fading light, calculated with the declination from the tables. Then satisfied with my result, I smiled at Edwards, who turned his lips into a sneer before I approached Charles and said, "A slight bit above one point high, Sir."

Charles nodded as he replied, "Great! As expected, no change." He turned to Mister Cogswell. "Continue steering northwest, half west to make west-northwest, half north."

"Aye, Sir. Continue steering northwest, half west." He glanced at the slate. "As it is chalked."

Warmed by my success, I took an astrolabe from its case and adjusted it to fourteen and a half degrees to await the appearance of Polaris. As the sky coloured and slowly darkened, I brought to mind images of Charles shooting the star a few days ago, and how that evening had led to our first embrace. So far beyond that now. So very far...

A voice calling, "The first star, now," pulled me back to the present, and I turned toward the north and raised the instrument to await the Pole Star. When I had shot it, I took the astrolabe to the shaded lamp above the compass and read, "Fourteen, twenty-three, and a bit, Sir."

"Fine, Boy. That places us just above the latitude of the north coast of Saint Vincent, making it well safe to continue this course."

Moments later, Mister Cogswell arrived beside me to read his, and he reported, "Just above fourteen, twenty-three, Sir."

"Excellent, Mister Cogswell, and young Cavendish agrees with you. Another two hours, we should have raised Saint Vincent and Santa Lucia. Establish our longitude as we sail between them. Prove our log reckoning."

"Aye, Sir. This will afford an opportunity for Mid Edwards to continue learning his compass work and plotting."

As I followed Charles toward the hatch coaming, I weighed Mister Cogswell's words, realising the source of Mid Edward's behaviour. He has not yet learnt the basics. Has he not been tutored? Or is he slow in understanding? Is his attitude toward me from this? Some jealousy, perhaps? Is it now changing toward acceptance and respect?

Saturday, 19th December 1676

Midway through breakfasting on Saturday, Charles said, "Today, before we arrive in waters frequented by pirates, we must prove our powder and practice the gun crews."

"Pirates? Guns?" I looked at him askance. "I thought you have changed from pirate hunting."

"We have. But our passage to Jamaica takes us through waters where they lay in wait for laden merchantmen, and it is folly not to be prepared."

"Oh! When you had told me of the change to trading, I assumed you had set the guns ashore to make room for cargo."

Charles chuckled. "No, that would be a far greater folly. Zeelandia was built as a ship of war, and this has been a large part of her success. Opening our gun ports to show our strength usually stops their attack, and when it does not, half a broadside almost always does."

"Oh!" I tilted my head in question. "Almost always? And if it does not?"

"We fire the other half, then come about to present them with another twenty-one guns. By this time, they are either fleeing or too damaged to withdraw."

"Why would they dare attack a ship of war?"

"Zeelandia was designed to resemble a merchantman."

I chuckled. "A great surprise for them."

Then as I took a bite of ham, I puzzled about what Father had said, and when I had finished savouring it, I said, "But merchantmen carry guns for defence. At least Father's did."

"Aye, they do. But far fewer and a fair bit lighter. And this is what the pirates expect from Zeelandia."

We were silent for a while as we ate, then I asked, "Will the crew actually fire to test?"

"Indeed, they will."

"From where might I watch?"

"You may accompany me to the gun deck, if you wish."

"Oh, I do wish."