Sparrowhawk on the Horizon

A Scholte

Description

"If you choose not to fight, consider yourself beaten"It is the 1850's. Britannia rules the waves and the Great Exhibition seems to flaunt the Empire's superiority to the World. Until news reaches Britain of a new invention: an American yacht rumoured to be faster than anything built in the Old World.Two men, divided by an ocean, yet united by their desire for glory, are determined to see a race between the American vessel and a British rival. But will the British sailing gentry oblige - or will they refuse to race the upstart newcomer?This is a story about transatlantic rivalry, Victorian snobbery and great sportsmanship. It is the story of the world's oldest international sporting trophy: the America's Cup.Recent endorsements:Tucker Thompson, Public Host 35th America's Cup"I loved the book and really enjoyed reading it. It is very well written and I am grateful to have a copy particularly as a relative of George Lee Schuyler one of the owners of AMERICA."Steve Mair, Commodore Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron (current holders of the America's Cup)"What a great story! Fantastic read and a great backdrop to the event in Bermuda. The richness and depth of the tale is one that sets the tone for the following 34 America's Cup challenges. The attitude in 1851 from the Americans shows significant similarities to New Zealand's involvement over the last 30 years - to prove that a fledgling nation can foot it, and beat, the might of the defenders. A must read for anyone even remotely interested in the America's Cup".Rupert Paget, descendent first Marquess of Anglesey who donated the AAGBP100 Cup in 1851 to the Royal Yacht Squadron (that subsequently became the America's Cup)"A very clever combination of fact and fiction. The fact being the AAGBP100 Cup (later the 'America's Cup') of 1851, the fiction being the tale of 2 men who become involved, one from New York and one from London Life in squalid Victorian London and less squalid rural England depicted brilliantly and convincingly. This is a character led story with a good plot, often difficult to find. Would love to say more but don't want to spoil it. Highly recommended. Looking forward to the next volume."

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AMES Publishing Limited
• Date de parution: 24 mai 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781999828226
• Langue: English

Extrait

SPARROWHAWK ON THE HORIZON
By A. Scholte
First published in Great Britain 2017
A. Scholte 2017
The right of A. Scholte to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
Whilst the historical events upon which this book is based are true, it is a work of fiction. Although it contains references to real people and real places, these are used in a fictitious context. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN Hardback: 978-1-9998282-1-9
Paperback: 978-1-9998282-0-2
e-book: 978-1-9998282-2-6
Typeset in Serif - Minion Pro by Action Graphics, Teddington Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

www.1851cup.com
To
MY HUSBAND *
This Book is
Affectionately Dedicated **
* we finally did it
** based on the words of Mark Twain
Most of us have seen the agitation which the appearance of a sparrowhawk in the horizon creates among a flock of woodpigeons or skylarks, when unsuspecting all danger, and engaged in airy fights or playing about over the fallows, they all at once come down to the ground and are rendered almost motionless by fear of the disagreeable visitor. Although the gentlemen whose business is on the waters of the Solent are neither woodpigeons nor skylarks, and although the America is not a sparrowhawk, the effect produced by her apparition off West Cowes among the yachtsmen seems to have been completely paralysing.
The London Times, 18 August 1851
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Advertisement in The Times
Birth place of George Steers
Map of Race Course
Acknowledgements
Sources
Chapter 1
25 June 1851, Somewhere in the Atlantic
Above John s head, feet were moving about on deck; it was the purposeful sound of hard-working men going about their chores. He should get up; they probably expected him to be more involved by now. But the sea felt reasonably calm this morning, so hopefully they could do without him for a while longer. Staying where he was meant he didn t have to face the others just yet.
He looked up at the beams and breathed in the smell of the newly varnished wood. The rhythmic creaking of the boards was slowly becoming less unnerving. How many of these planks had been through his hands? Months of hard work had gone into this ship and now he was lying in a berth in the finished product somewhere out on the open ocean.
He ran his thumb over the scar on his left palm. It could have been a reminder of how physical the job had been over the winter months, but instead it was the result of a stupid incident when the wooden vessel surrounding him was only the ambitious idea of a few men. He recalled how he had been woken by screaming voices.
Wake up, you lazy fool!
John kept his eyes closed; he knew this wasn t meant for him. Someday his neighbours would come falling through the flimsy wall into his room, shouting at each other over his sleeping body. But today he was close to grateful that they had roused him, as he wanted to be at work on time. Shocked by the coldness of the floor, he was dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes. The icy air took his breath away and the freezing particles caused him to cough uncontrollably.
Hey, steady boy! Ole emerged from the darkness that hid his house across the alley.
Sure, big fella, didn t expect you this early. The broadshouldered man was similarly wrapped in several layers of clothing. John liked Ole, and he enjoyed the tales of his native country as the two of them walked along 12th Street to the shipyard on the other side of Manhattan, on the shore of the East River. Even if he had to listen to the same story two or three times, at least this meant he didn t have to say much.
This morning s story was all about the winter days Ole had experienced as a child in his home town, in the far north of Norway. How from October the sun started to set earlier each afternoon until, at the end of November, it showed its rays for barely an hour. After this it would disappear behind the horizon until January, as if the curtains in the sky were drawn for the winter, only to be reopened in the new year for a first tantalizing half hour.
But how do you work in the dark?
Polar twilight; the light that wins over darkness, Ole said cryptically, raising his finger. Teaches you gratitude, and to keep faith; seeing the sun return would not be appreciated in the same way if not for the darkness.
John smiled. Ole s story was new to him, and served as a reminder that this would be his first winter at the yard. The easygoing Norwegian had been the first to acknowledge John s presence at his new place of work. And when he d needed another house some time afterwards, Ole had been the one to suggest he move into Gansevoort Street, close to where he lived himself. From the first morning John had left his new tenement, most journeys into work were spent in each other s company. By the time the men reached the gates, they were a group of four, having been joined by one of the workers from the blacksmith s shop and one of the plankers who was working on the vessel that was nearing completion down at the water s edge.
I ll see you at twelve in the smithy, Ole said in John s direction, to finish that game we started playing on Saturday. I ve got a winning hand and there s nothing I like more than taking your money.
John let out a short laugh and watched Ole disappear into the lumber store before heading to the mould loft. Mister George, the designer, was already present as he entered the room at the top of the stairs. He was in the company of some other men, one of whom was Mr Brown, the owner of the shipyard; the second was the master builder, Da Silva. John didn t recognise the third man but his expensive clothes stood out; they were more appropriate for a bank than a freezing cold shipyard. This man must have arrived in the carriage John had noticed at the gates, with horse and coachman waiting patiently for further instructions.
Could he be the one they were expecting today? John walked to the cupboard near the group of men. He was desperate to know what they were discussing as he searched for drawings he needed for that day s work.
She looks splendid, gentlemen, the visitor boomed.
Thank you, Sir, she won t disappoint you. She will surely be the fastest one out there on the water, I can assure you of that! replied George.
She d better be, George, Brown remarked solemnly. The Commodore here has driven a hard bargain on this one; it could be the ruin of me.
John tried not to smile. In the months he d been working here, he had learned that each of the vessels that came out of the yard more than met expectations. According to Ole, Brown had acquired a considerable reputation in the shipbuilding community; together with George s qualities as a designer, it seemed that the two could do no wrong.
Was the man with the moustache the one they had been gossiping about; the Commodore of the New York Yacht Club who wanted to do business with Brown? John lingered by the cupboard, eager to find out what had been the object of the man s compliment.
Oh, stop trying to fool me, Brown - there s good money for you in this one if she does what you and George have guaranteed. The man they called Commodore directed his attention to something he was holding in his hands. She d better, because I ve got big plans for this lady.
Finally, John glimpsed the piece of wood the Commodore was holding; he recognised it as a half model. He had learned enough about shipbuilding to know that these were carved in preparation for the build of a new vessel. So the rumour was true! Some members of the Yacht Club had commissioned a new ship. This implied more work for the yard - and maybe for John as well. He just hoped that another project could keep him distracted, as work was slowly losing its novelty. Making a cabinet for a ship hadn t turned out to be that different from making one for a home.
Let s talk more about it in my office, suggested Brown, guiding his guest towards the door. We need to get the men started as quickly as possible, as we ll have a very tight schedule.
Once he was sure the men had gone, John walked over to the desk and carefully picked up the half model. The sharp line of the vessel s hull was remarkable; someone had put a lot of effort in carving that out of wood. He ran his hand along the side of it: narrow at the front and wider in the middle, with the section at the back tapering to slender once more. He recognised the beginnings of a fast ship, although it wasn t the usual: this was no steamship.
It explained the long hours George had been putting in over the last few weeks. He must have carved it at night while the others had gone home, because John had seen no evidence of this wooden model before. But why be so secretive about it?
John, why are you still here? Da Silva had come back to the loft. John was supposed to be completing the joinery in the galley of an almost finished vessel, but he didn t want to leave now.
Th