Blue at the Mizzen

by Patrick O'Brian

  The gelding and the children, trained to motionless silence during these usually brief sessions, expanded, breathed again and laughed aloud at the lively expectation of tea at Shelmerston, now almost at hand.

  A few gentle miles more and the gelding lifted his head to the wind, to the homely scent in the wind, and mended his pace: the sandy roads were left behind, the narrow way (taken cautiously, with Padeen at the horse's head) led winding down to the awkward, rock-strewn bay on whose shore stood Shelmerston, an indifferent port inhabited by fishermen, deep-sea sailors and other seamen, any one of whom would turn smuggler, highly-skilled and enterprising smuggler, at the drop of a hat or a private signal from a French chasse-marée in the offing (flags by day, lanterns by night)—a port with tricks of the tide peculiar to itself, a damned awkward bar, and yet surprisingly well-liked by those who lived there. It was at Shelmerston that Jack Aubrey had fitted out and manned Surprise as a privateer during his naval eclipse before reinstatement, filling her not only with man-of-war's men who had followed him in his heavy misfortune but also with Shelmerstonians, rare seamen and perfect for a private ship of war. He and Stephen knew the place and its people well—the ladies of the town had been particularly kind to the children, much smaller then, and apt to do themselves harm—and a journey there, even a stay of a week or so, was considered a finer treat than Bath or Lyme.

  The memorious gelding paced into the stable, and while Padeen tried to extricate the rear-children from the dog-boxes, where in their squabbling they had contrived to entangle themselves in a half-bale of close-meshed netting, Stephen walked into the William's Head. 'Mrs Hake,' he said, 'good day to you, ma'am. How do you do?'

  'Why, it is the Doctor!' cried she. 'Very well, sir, I thank you: and I trust you are the same?'

  'Tolerably so, ma'am: and I should be even more so if you would feed the children. They have been quarrelling and whining this last half hour, but tea and those round things with cream will mend their temper—they are not fundamentally vicious. I have just run down to see whether you have any news of Surprise and Captain Aubrey.'

  'Captain Aubrey, sir?' she replied with a look if not of actual horror then of the very deepest pale stupidity mixed with alarm and as it were distress. 'Surprise and Captain Aubrey?' She sat down heavily, still gazing at him. 'But they was here this morning—snapped up a score of old shipmates, oh ha, ha, ha! They was right happy to go, too, ha, ha, ha! And rode pretty over the bar at three-quarter ebb with the breeze as fair for Seppings' yard as ever you could wish. And you never knew. Oh, ha, ha, ha ha!' She beat her knees and laughed and laughed. 'God bless you, sir, and please forgive me. I'll feed those vermin childer right away. Come, children,' she called from the door towards the stable-yard. 'Tea will be ready this directly minute.' And then to Stephen, 'Which he sent a young gentleman on a pony to tell Mrs Aubrey he was quite well and should be home tomorrow.' She hurried into the kitchen, where she could be heard telling the maids, 'And the Doctor says to me "I have just run down to see whether you have any news of Surprise and Captain Aubrey", and I says to him . . .'

  Stephen walked out on to the familiar strand: news of his arrival had spread, and several of his former shipmates, particularly those he had treated, came to shake his hand, give him good day, and say how well the barky looked, in spite of her wounded bows; but some, even most, were shy of doing so, which puzzled him. Presently he invited five or six men he knew particularly well to come and take a pot of ale with him; and when they had sat down in the parlour he said to the eldest, a former quartermaster, 'What is amiss here in Shelmerston? Why do some of my old shipmates seem uneasy in their minds?'

  'Well, sir,' said Proctor, 'it is like this: with the end of the war—with the two ends of the war, the one when you was in Bellona and this one just now, with Waterloo—well, at the end of the war, for most of the people here it was the end of all peace. I mean the peace of being sure of your victuals, however rough, and a little money to send home. We were turned ashore; paid off. Ordinarily, for a sailorman, living in the usual sort of port, that means finding another ship—not very hard, when trade is brisk. But this ain't the usual sort of port. With our damned bar and our damned rocks, there is hardly any coastwise trade. This was first a fishing-village: but the fishing fell off-would not keep above a score of boats. So presently we became a kind of privateering port; and we did pretty well, sir, as you know, so long as there were enemies to privateer upon—French, Spanish, Portuguese, Americans some of the time, the Dutch and the northern ports like Papenburg and so on. But where are they now? All at peace.'

  'Was there not a little running of uncustomed goods?'

  'Well, sir, I must admit that some people—I name no names, mark you—did not object to occasional smuggling. You had to be a damned good seaman with a right weatherly craft to prosper; yet as I think you know very well, sir, brandy was what you might call the life-blood of Shelmerston.'

  'Well?'

  'Well, sir: just lean over and look out of the window, a little south of east.'

  'Cutters?'

  'Yes, sir. The new sharp-built revenue cutters, very well-manned and very well built—just up the way, and how young Mr Seppings found it in his heart to do so, I do not know. They can eat the wind out of any of ours. And right high on the cliff they have a look-out post. The wicked dogs get half the fine and half the goods. It is enough to make your heart bleed, to see their zeal.'

  'I can well believe it.'

  'So, do you see, when we saw Surprise come in this morning it was like—well, I must not be irreverent, but it was a wonderful sight. And when his honour took a dozen of us aboard to run her up to the yard, oh we were right glad that she was to make a voyage, after repairs.'

  'Did Captain Aubrey tell you about his intention?'

  'Oh yes, sir. He said it was just for surveying the Horn, the Straits and the Chile coast—little chance of any prize, unless we happened to run into a pirate. Hard-lying guaranteed, but nothing much in the way of hard-lying money. But those he picked, oh, was they glad to have a berth with him! They knew something about Captain Aubrey's luck—we all know something about Captain Aubrey's luck: and if you could put in a word for any of us, sir, we should be right grateful.'

  Although the children were very urgent to push on to Seppings' yard, Stephen would have none of it, and presently the dog-cart was creeping up the rocky hill-road out of Shelmerston. 'There is the Sethians' chapel,' he said, nodding in the direction of a white building with enormous brilliant letters of brass on its face. 'Seth,' they read. 'What is Seth? Who is Seth?'

  'He was one of Adam's sons, brother to Cain and Abel.'

  'Oh look!' cried Brigid. 'Just over the horizon! There is Ringle fairly tearing in.'

  'We shall see them all tomorrow,' said Stephen. 'What joy!'

  Yet they had first to pick up Surprise's young gentleman, Mr Wells, whose pony had tossed him into a deep ditch lined with stones and surrounded by brambles, and had then run away. Fortunately he was rather dwarvish even for a first-voyager, and they were able to cram him into the dogcart, although at the cost of blood-stains all round.

  Home, and frocks had to be changed, Mr Wells stripped, daubed with balm, hog's lard and court-plaster—even a few stitches here and there—and then everyone, including Mr and Mrs Andrews, had to be fed. Stephen had known battles more wearing, and he retired to his own room quite early.

  Dr Maturin had certain practices that he would have condemned in others as unhealthy, self-indulgent and even immoral, such as the smoking of tobacco and Indian hemp (or bhang), the drinking of alcohol in all its forms from mild ale to brandy, the taking of opium and coca, and the frequent inhalation of nitrous oxide; but in his own case he had nothing to say against any of them. Indeed, he judged their effects wholly beneficial: and this was because he never (or very rarely) countenanced the least excess. Yet there was still another practice that he had often abandoned as improper, and had as often taken up again in spite of the pricks of conscience
: this was the keeping of a diary—harmless enough in almost all cases and even benign; but not in that of an intelligence-agent. As he knew very well, it might be captured, explanations might be demanded, the code might even be broken, exposing his colleagues, his allies and informers. This was an extremely unlikely event, since he knew many languages and used them all; yet even so it was with a feeling of guilt that he now opened his bag and drew out a very small book—the volumes had grown smaller, more rapidly disposable, with the years, and the writing so minute that few ordinary eyes could read it at all, while Stephen himself had to wear powerful spectacles.

  'After long consideration,' he wrote, 'I think I must treat the whole of Blaine's remarks about Horatio and his inferences as confidential.' And having written this, together with an outline of what was permissible, with his crow-quill he leant back and reflected upon the manner in which he should keep the whole transaction on a purely naval basis. He reflected long upon Jack's character, its curiously unworldly aspects, its frankness; and having walked up and down for some time, scratching himself, he said, 'I think it can be done,' and went to bed.

  The next day—such a pretty day, with dew sparkling on the lawn—William Reade came over, with most encouraging news from the yard. Young Mr Seppings was delighted that his father's diagonal bracing had stood up so well; her bottom, inspected very closely in the slip at low tide, was as sound as a bell; and he would undertake to make her bows sounder than a whole chime of them in ten working days. But he must insist that no officer, no carpenter or carpenter's mate, and no bosun or bosun's mate should come aboard. He would undertake to find perfectly suitable food and lodging for all hands—in Pompey itself for the officers if need be—but he and his shipwrights must be left to work without advice, however kindly meant. And if Captain Aubrey agreed, he had but to send word by the fishmonger's cart and they would start tomorrow.

  There was no hunting or real shooting at this time of year, but there was cricket and there was fishing, and some very beautiful days they had at both, for Stephen, having at last grasped the principles of the complex game, turned his old skill at hurling to great account, striking the ball all round the field and running between the wickets like a man demented, shrieking to Padeen (his frequent partner) as he went.

  Yet on an unlucky Friday a messenger came over from Portsmouth, where the semaphore had received a signal to the effect that Captain Aubrey's presence was required in London forthwith. His officers, most of whom were now staying in the house, together with some of the midshipmen far from home and Jack's half-brother Philip, sympathised with him very much indeed as he and Stephen left in a post-chaise, and assured him that they would do their very best to crush the village eleven in tomorrow's match.

  But this was not the war-time Admiralty: there were night-porters on duty, to be sure, and a junior officer was summoned to receive them: but he very much regretted that Sir Joseph was not expected until Monday, and most unfortunately he was gone into the country. The official could not absolutely assert it but he thought there was some question of very recent charts becoming available.

  'Well,' said Jack, as they walked out, 'in a world as unsteady on its feet as this, let us hope that Black's will at least give us supper and a bed. Wilson,'—this to the porter—'be a good fellow and hail us a coach, will you? And put our bags aboard.'

  'Where to, sir?'

  'Oh, Black's, in St. James's Street.'

  Here indeed they were properly received: beds were promised, and they hurried upstairs to drink a glass of wine while their supper was preparing. Although the club was fairly empty, this being Friday, there were several people they knew, and it was some time before they were called away to their table.

  'Lord, that went down well,' said Jack, gazing upon a rigorously empty plate: and to the waiter, 'Charles, would you get me some toasted cheese? I know the Doctor will eat sherry-trifle, but I should like toasted cheese, done to the very point of perfection.'

  'Point of perfection it is, sir,' said Charles.

  Charles had not been gone three or four minutes and Jack was considering his decanter—were two full glasses there?—when he became aware of a tall, bulky form in the candlelight: a man who had stopped just short of their table. Glancing up, he saw the Garter ribbon, recognised the Hanoverian face, and stood up; Stephen with him.

  'Captain Aubrey, good evening to you, sir. Doctor, good evening.' Turning to Jack, he went on, 'My name is Clarence, sir. You may not remember me, but I had the honour of meeting you just after your magnificent cutting-out of the Diane.'

  'I remember it perfectly, Your Highness.'

  Prince William laughed in a rather confused manner as Charles edged round him with the trifle and the toasted cheese. 'The odd thing is that I was thinking of you just this very afternoon—and now here you are! Ha, ha! Some little while ago an Admiralty friend told Dr Maturin that I took an interest in a deceased shipmate's boy. I do not know whether the Doctor has mentioned him to you? His name is Horatio . . .'

  'He could not have a better, sir,' said Jack, looking rather sternly at his toasted cheese, rapidly losing its perfect crust.

  'Horatio Hanson: Hanson was lost in Serapis . . .' Prince William went on at some length about that particular storm and his service with Nelson in the West Indies. Then recollecting himself he said, 'But I am keeping you from your dinner—keeping you standing—a shocking thing to do to an officer of your distinction—forgive me. Would you do me the honour of taking coffee with me when you have finished? There is no sort of hurry.'

  They said they should be very happy, and when he had gone the necessary three or four yards they sat down again. When Jack had picked at his ruined cheese for a while he drank the rest of his wine and said, 'There is something very amiable in taking care of a former shipmate's son.'

  'Certainly there is.'

  'You did not tell me he formed part of the Admiralty?'

  'Did I not?'

  'Well, it don't greatly signify: I shall tell him just what I told you between Haslemere and Guildford—that I cannot take sucklings on such a voyage. Come to think of it,' said Jack after a pause, 'I have heard that he is very good to his old ratings in Greenwich. Shall we go?'

  The Duke had taken a discreet place in the far corner, and although his voice was naturally loud, as became a sailor, the room could have had many more people in it without inconvenience. He was clearly nervous; and since with fat men anxiety is often turned into sweat, his large face glistened. 'Roger, you whoreson bugger, where is that fucking coffee?' he called to a waiter as they approached: then 'Gentlemen,' making a half motion as if to rise, 'let me beg you to take some brandy. Pray sit down. Roger, you swab, the best old Nantz.'

  The coffee arrived, the brandy immediately after, and there was an awkward pause. Jack, having sipped his coffee, broke it by saying, 'Your Highness, Dr Maturin did speak to me about Horatio and your wish that he should go to sea in the midshipmen's berth of Surprise.'

  'Yes. I should like to give him the very best start, under a captain for whom I have the greatest respect—a right seaman.'

  'You are altogether too kind, sir. But as far as seamanship is concerned, I do not believe I could tell you anything about ship-handling.' The Duke looked extremely pleased, and took a great draught of brandy. Jack went on, 'But, sir, I told the Doctor just what I shall tell you now, if I may—plain frankness is best between sailors—'

  'Hear him, hear him,' said Clarence.

  'I told him that the contemplated voyage is long and of its nature perilous—fifty and even sixty degrees of south latitude, sir, apart from anything else—and that my midshipmen's berth must necessarily be a hard berth. There are some youngsters aboard at present whom I shall send home, as too tender. A hard berth, with no favours. And of course I must have a good look at him first, to see whether we suit one another or not: there must be good feeling on both sides where a very long voyage is concerned. So since you, sir, who are a sailor, take so respectable an interest in th
is boy, and if what I have said does not disturb you, may I suggest that you should send him with a servant to the Grapes, an inn where Maturin and I often stay in the Liberties of the Savoy—'

  'Why not here?'

  'Because, sir,' said Jack, looking him full in the face, 'this is a place frequented by public men—I dare say we have at least half the Opposition, or more, and several ministers—and I do not wish it to be supposed that I am in any way currying favour with the Court. With the utmost respect, Your Highness, I am not, most emphatically not doing so. If Horatio and I like one another, and if I think him fit to make the voyage and fit to be a sea-officer eventually, I shall take him. Otherwise I shall not.'

  'Well, sir, that is frankness indeed,' said Clarence, looking from one to the other, somewhat taken aback. He wiped his nose with the back of his forefinger—a gesture familiar to Stephen—then after a short silence, he said, 'And I thank you for it. When should you like to see the boy?'

  'At half-past two o'clock on Monday, sir, if you please.'

  At twenty-nine minutes past two on Monday, Lucy tapped at their sitting-room door and said, 'If you please, sir, there is a man in black downstairs with a young gentleman. Shall I show them up? And Doctor, the apothecary asks if you could do with another bottled asp.'

  Jack said, 'Pray show them up.' Stephen said, 'By all means: let him send it round.'

  The visitors walked in. Jack said, 'Mr Hanson, pray take a seat,' and to the other, a discreet upper servant, 'I shall probably be about an hour with Mr Hanson: do you choose to wait in the snug, or shall I send him home in a chaise or a hackney?'