Geoffrey Jenkins - Southtrap

She was concentrating on the list in front of her as she spoke.

'My wife waved me goodbye a while back, Linn. From a divorce court.'

'I'm sorry, John.'

'You don't have to be. It was a low-profile emotion which couldn't stand the strain of my absences at sea. After a while she grew colder than the Southern Ocean itself. Nothing much was hurt except some vanity on my side.'

'That sounds very defensive, very modem. Like a punchline from a TV drama.'

'Forget it. I'd much rather hear how you came to be involved in a way-out venture like this cruise.'

It was good to exchange her level voice for my brittle cynicism.

'Well, that old satin souvenir of the Tasmanian ball sparked it off, as I told you. Once the hunt was on, I spent a couple of years doing research in London, and then at the Scott Polar Research Institute in Cambridge. It was for my own interest. The cruise hadn't been thought of at that time. It didn't materialize till later when Dad and Orbit Travels got together. By then I'd accumulated a great deal of background. So it happened that both projects dovetailed very neatly.'

The idea flashed through my mind: if anyone would know about Dina's Island, she would. But before asking, I started off at a tangent.

'Linn, you know that the old clipper men used to steer a course for Australia via the Cape to get them there as quickly as possible — you've heard of a Great Circle Course?'

'Vaguely.'

Time became a major factor on the Australian run during the great gold boom of the eighteen-fifties,' I explained. 'Until then the sailing ships followed a long slow route laid down by the Admiralty. Then a new route was pioneered on the basis of recommendations of a great wind expert of the day, a man called Maury. He urged captains to take their ships far south for the' wind. It was also the shortest distance between the Cape and Australia — a Great Circle Course instead of the old Admiralty route to the north. It worked. It cut about a month off the time.'

She regarded me with interest. 'The way you talk makes me wonder whether you wouldn't like to sail that way too.'

I smiled. 'Sailing is a big love of mine. I've skippered and crewed a lot of yachts. None of them in that direction, unfortunately.'

'Unfortunately? After your warnings about Prince Edward?'

I dodged her question and went on: 'There was one snag about this wonderful new fast route to Australia — Prince Edward Island.'

'Just one little island?'

'Many fine ships went missing in the area. At first it was attributed to the bad weather. Then the real culprit showed up — Prince Edward. You see, the island lies right athwart the shortest and fastest route to Australia.'

They could easily have steered past it.'

I laughed. 'In theory, yes. In practice, maybe. You'll be surprised to know that even today Prince Edward's exact position is not known — some on-the-spot calculations from Marion have put it four miles east of where the charts show it, others a mile west, and still others a mile and a half south. What's really needed is a proper scientific astro-fix — if the weather ever cleared enough to make that possible. I don't believe any of my own calculations, either, when I'm approaching Prince Edward. I believe it when I see it.'

'Are there a lot of wrecks there?'

'The island got such a bad reputation that the old clipper-men coined a new name for it. They christened it Southtrap.'

'But everything has changed since the times you're talking about, John — navigation, everything.'

'Not quite. If you study the track-charts of round-the-world yachts sailing races you'll see how they skid around Prince Edward. On a couple of occasions the Cutty Sark shaved by when making some of the greatest runs of her career.'

'You're quite an authority on Prince Edward,' she commented.

I pulled myself back to the question from which I'd been side-tracked. 'Ever hear of Dina's Island, Linn?'

She looked surprised but replied without hesitation. 'Yes, I have. Strange you should ask. I got quite excited about it while I was researching at the Royal Geographical Society. In fact the follow-up took me to Holland.'

'Go on.'

'I dug around in the Algemeen Rijksarchief at The Hague — that's the marine archives where documents from the early Dutch days at the Cape are housed — and happened on something I thought was really quite remarkable. A century before the official discovery of Prince Edward by the French, the Dutch sent two ships from the Cape to Java. Captain Barent Ham was in command. He strayed south of the usual route to the Indies, and for once the weather was clear. Suddenly he sighted two islands ahead. He named them after his two ships — Maerseveen and Dina.'

'Dina!'

'Yes,' she went on. 'It's reasonably certain, after you've made the necessary navigational adjustments, what it was he'd found.'

I'd guessed by then, of course, but I waited for her to say it.

'Dina and Prince Edward are the same island,' she said.

The Quest sailed early next morning.

I had put to sea before breakfast, but the hour did not deter the crowd. It was like a mail-ship departure. Or like the Titanic, whispered a malign gremlin at the back of my mind as the Quest rounded the breakwater. I set course past Green Point, Sea Point and the terraced warren of seaside hotels, flats and houses spilling down the Cape Peninsula's western flank. Soon the warming sun would bring out tanned bathers like termites to the white beaches. The south-easter was blowing already, but it wasn't as noticeable as the slight tug at Quest's keel of a weak current which the wind generates round Mouille Point during the summer.

As a tug pulled the Quest clear of her berth, the Erebus-Tenor banner, which McKinley had forgotten to unfasten, ripped. Someone ashore snatched a piece for a souvenir; in a moment the idea spread like wildfire through the crowd. I saw the flashes of press cameras as people fought for fragments of the cloth. The incident left a nasty taste in my mouth. Wegger, who was with me on the bridge, stood watching with a face of iron.

I scanned the passengers lining the rail and was disappointed but not altogether surprised to see no sign of Linn. She had gone to the hospital the previous evening — alone, at her own wish — and had come back depressed and tired. Captain Prestrud had not yet recovered consciousness and his condition was as well as could be expected.

The Quest cleared Mouille Point for the run parallel to the Peninsula. Lion's Head, Lion's Rump and Table Mountain itself, slightly obscured by early cloud, looked indescribably majestic against the back-lighting of the early sun. I reached for the bridge telegraph to ring down to the engine-room for more speed, and it was at that moment that I felt there was no more chance of turning back, even if I had wished to do so. The brass pointer of the telegraph, worn smooth by countless hands, was comforting to the touch, an assurance of many voyages safely accomplished. In the quadrant opposite were the words 'finished with engines'. What would the Quest have seen and done, I wondered, before I rang down for that…?

I snapped out of my introverted train of thought and jammed the pointer to 'full ahead'. The repeater swung round with a metallic rattle.

An hour later we were off Slangkop lighthouse, a landmark halfway down the Peninsula towards its extremity, the Cape of Good Hope. The funnel burbled in low, comfortable contralto. I picked up the phone to the engine-room.

'Chief? Everything okay down there?' I asked.

'Aye, Skipper, that it is.'

MacFie's Ayrshire accent was as soothing as the regular sound coming from the stack.

'No problems?'

'Not one. They don't make engines like these any more, laddie.'