The sea breeze blew gently, the moonlight cool and dim. Clouds gathered in the sky, leaving only pinpricks of starlight. A few sea swallows circled in the night sky, gazing down at the vast, boundless sea, encircling the three anchored sailing ships like a mysterious on.
The flagship "St. Cristobal" flew the flag of the Kingdom of Portugal, anchored between two other ships. Following Captain Dias’s instructions, the expedition fleet usually did not sail at night for safety. The night was quiet and deep, with dozens of crew mbers crowded inside the musty cabins, most already asleep. On the wet deck, only a few sailors on duty and the Sailing Master Pero de Alenquer remained.
Pero stood with a solid build and stern face. He stood under the long mast, holding an iron compass and a wooden angle asurer. He raised his head, watching the stars in the sky, patiently waiting for a long ti. When the clouds slightly cleared, revealing the bright four stars of the Southern Cross, he sprang into action, swiftly climbing up the mast.
Before long, Pero was steadily standing on the lookout platform. He wrapped the mast’s ropes around his arm and carefully observed the bright Gamma and Alpha stars of the Southern Cross. Then, he imagined drawing a line passing through the Gamma and Alpha stars, extending southwards until it was about 4.5 tis the distance between the two stars, leaving an imaginary point in the night sky. This point was the estimated position of the South Celestial Pole!
Next, Pero opened his eyes wide, looking up without moving an inch. He took out the compass, with one foot of the compass directed horizontally, the other foot aid at the imaginary South Celestial Pole. He then fixed the compass and took out the angle asurer, carefully asuring for a while. The asured angle at this mont was the southern latitude where the fleet was located.
"About 32 degrees south latitude..."
Pero silently noted this number. Then, he lifted the angle asurer again, asuring several tis, obtaining numbers between 31-33 degrees south latitude. Once sure of the numbers, he didn’t linger, casting a glance at the east where the endless Southern Continent lay, and quickly slid down from the mast.
It was even later now, and the deck was completely silent. The sailors on duty respectfully bowed to Pero as they saw him. Pero nodded slightly, without saying a word.
On an ocean voyage, the Sailing Master was responsible for navigation and determining latitude, holding a very important position. The thods of determining position were not sothing ordinary sailors could master; one had to be literate, nurate, and have professional nautical training. In the Kingdom of Portugal, those who could serve as Sailing Masters were usually graduates of the naval academy or descendants of navigation nobility, naturally different from the common sailors of humble origins.
Monts later, Pero passed the inspection of the guards and stood in front of the captain’s cabin at the stern. He gently knocked on the door a few tis.
"Praise the Almighty! Honorable captain, Sailing Master Pero at your service!"
"Hmm. Co in!"
Pero lowered his head and carefully pushed open the wooden door, entering the captain’s cabin.
Captain Dias, dressed but lying in bed, sat up. He held a short dagger, with a short knife hanging at his waist, speaking calmly.
"How is it?"
"Honorable captain, I just asured the latitude and observed the weather. The fleet is located between 31 and 33 degrees south latitude, with the wind direction from the southwest. Clouds are gathering in the night sky; there might be wind and rain..."
"31 to 33 degrees south latitude..."
Upon hearing this, Dias pondered silently, thinking deeply. After a while, he asked in a deep voice.
"How is the morale on the ship?"
"The sailors’ morale..."
Pero hesitated slightly, then spoke frankly.
"Not very good. Since setting out from Cape Cross, we have been adrift in the sea for two months, only occasionally going ashore to hunt seals and replenish fresh water. The Southern Continent to the east endlessly stretches out, and for two months, it’s been barren desert, with not even a sign of indigenous people... The crew is secretly spreading rumors that the desert of the Southern Continent is endless, fearing we might never find the end!"
"Hmm..."
Dias nodded, silently gripping the short dagger, seemingly calm as he asked.
"Are there any sailors conspiring together? Any secret gatherings? Has the Quartermaster in charge of weapons shown any abnormal behavior?"
"...Captain..."
Instantly, sweat broke out on Pero’s forehead.
"I haven’t seen any sailors conspiring, and the Quartermaster is perfectly normal... On this voyage, we have not delved into Demon’s land, and only a few have suffered the Curse... The food and water on board are more than adequate; the sailors are just a bit discontented..."
"Hmm, good."
Dias nodded slightly, his expression easing a bit.
Before this voyage, he had thoroughly questioned the crew mbers involved in the previous exploration and learned that the main cause of the previous mutiny was their deep incursion into Demon’s land, being afflicted by Demon’s Curse, leading to many falling ill and dying.
So, for this voyage, he did not linger long in the vile Congo basin, instead heading directly south along the coast. Moreover, the supply ship was filled with non-perishable light wine, dry cheese, hard bread, and salted fish. Now it seed that although the morale was not high, it was still maintainable.
"Pero, after midnight, today is the Epiphany, right?"
"Yes, captain. Today marks January 6, 1488, celebrating the first revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ to the Gentiles after His birth..."
"Very well. On this day of Epiphany, our Lord first acknowledged Himself as the incarnation of God. Let the onboard Priest preside over a solemn prayer! Then, as tradition dictates, let the fleet anchor and rest for a day, distribute stored light wine and food, and hold a celebration feast!"
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