Jack took the paper as reverentially as he would have taken an infinitely more holy substance: tears came into his eyes, and Stephen, knowing how apt the English were to display embarrassing emotion, said in a harsh voice, 'But I must tell you however that the Diane is commanded by an exceptionally capable officer, the brother of that Jean-Jacques Lucas who fought the Redoutable so nobly at Trafalgar. He has beei allowed to pick his crew, and he has trained them according to his brother's methods: their agility in changing the sails and so on surprises qualified observers, even more so the speed and accuracy of their small-arms and great-gun fire. The ship wil most probably have some civilians and their papers aboard and it would be a great stroke if we could seize them intact. Now have you a map, a plan, a chart of the place at all, so that w may pore over it?'
'I have my own survey,' said Jack. 'The second one. Shall we walk into what I rather absurdly call the library? Bring your wine with you.'
Jack Aubrey was singularly exact and methodical in matter of this kind and within two minutes he spread out a slightly yellowed sheet on the library table, observing that he had made it with Mr Donaldson, the master of the Bellerophon, the best hydrographer in the Navy, during the year ninety-seven: 'the variation of the compass had altered thirty-one seconds eastwards since then and some of the soundings would need revision, but he would undertake to lead in and moor his ship under the batteries without a pilot.'
The chart showed a deep narrow harbour, less than a quarter of a mile wide at its mouth and two miles deep, with a six-gun battery at the bottom of it, the entrance narrowed by breakwater. Both shores were fairly steep-to, but that on the southern side, which ran out in a bold headland carrying a lighthouse, was much higher except at its junction with the mainland, where the low isthmus was guarded by a considerable fortification. The town spread over most of the headland east of the lighthouse and on the other side of the port; the men-of-war lay along a fine stone quay on the south side of the harbour; the merchant-men were generally but not always on the other side, while the smallcraft and fishing-boats kept to the bottom. The town might have four or five thousand people as well as the garrison, and there were three churches. And of course the quite well known ship-building yards and stores.
'This,' said Jack, pointing to the isthmus, 'is where we landed at the beginning of the war and took them from behind, burning the yard and a twenty-gun ship on the stocks. Lord, what a famous blaze! Tar, paint, timber and sailcloth all roaring away in the strong southerly breeze—you could read as easy as kiss my hand. It was after that caper they threw up this battery. As you see, these sand-banks made it difficult for a ship drawing as much as a frigate to move straight in and out; and since the Diane don't want to run into the main off-shore squadron well to the north and since she must soon shape her course south-west, this is how she must come out on the ebb, and this'—pointing to a bold headland—'is where we must wait for her, all lights dowsed. We call it Cape Bowhead.' He added some remarks on the breezes to be expected, the tides, and the effect of the wind upon them.
At last, when Stephen had the port, its approaches and the surrounding hills very clearly in his mind, Jack put the chart away and stood gazing out of the window at the slope that ran up to his little astronomical observatory with its copper dome. His credit with his children was, he found, enormously important to him: the pleasure of showing away with the West India merchants' silver had been far greater, of far more essential consequence than ever he could have conceived without experiencing it. They knew something of what had happened, but how exact their knowledge was or what they thought of it he could not tell; yet he did know that from this point of view alone, restoration to the Navy List would be well worth a right arm: even the thought of its real possibility made his head swim. He was on the point of speaking of his reflections in a general, impersonal way when Killick, in his ceremonial coat, opened the door and said 'Wittles is up sir, if you please.'
Mrs Williams was not gifted with any very high degree of perception, but she was as startled as her daughter when they saw Jack follow Stephen in, and she whispered 'If you cannot get Killick to keep the decanters well away from Mr Aubrey, I am afraid we shall have to leave the gentlemen very early in the meal.'
Chapter Five
Jack Aubrey had always disliked the practice, by no means uncommon in the Navy, of coming aboard without notice and catching his ship's people unawares; but this time, there being neither ship's boat nor coxswain at hand, he had no choice. And he was just as glad, because now as he and Stephen were being taken out in a Shelmerston skiff, he saw that the Surprise was a quite unfeigned model of industry. Stages were over the side; the last traces of blue paint had vanished under a fine fresh white; Mr Bulkeley and his mates were creeping about the rigging like huge spiders, renewing fair-leads and clapping red leather jackets on to the larger strops, a very pretty touch; and although her trim was not quite what he could have wished—she was a trifle by the head—it was clear that she had most of her water in. Shelmerston water was the best south of the Thames for going far foreign, but it was not easily come-at-able and in his absence the Surprises must have made many a weary voyage in the boats.
As he contemplated the ship he listened with half an ear to the boatman, whose son (like so many others in the little town) was very wishful to ship with Captain Aubrey: he was a right seaman, had made three Canton voyages and one to Botany Bay, rated able from the first, and was a rare hand with the fiddle; sober, too, and not in the least quarrelsome, except on the enemy's deck; Church of England, and (emphatically) always obedient to command.
'Ay,' said Jack, 'I am sure he is a good young man. But we have all the hands we need, you know. Still, when the rest of the prize-money comes in and is properly shared out there may be some vacancies: I believe there are men who mean to set up on their own, or buy public houses.'
'But what about the awkward sods you turned away, your honour?'
'Lord love you, their places were filled up that very evening. No. Let your boy come and see me or Captain Pullings when everything is settled, in about a fortnight's time, and we will have a look at him. What is his name?'
'Abel Hayes, sir, if you please. Abel. Not Seth,' said the boatman with a particularly significant look: its significance was quite lost on Jack, who said, 'Just pull me round the ship, will you, before going alongside.'
The skiff passed the frigate's stern at about a cable's length and moved up her immaculate starboard side: immaculate but for the name Seth painted neat and clear on the white band, amidships, between the black ports of guns twelve and fourteen. Jack made no observation, but his face, which had regained something of its former habitual pink-gilled gaiety during their journey down, tightened, became grey and humourless once more. 'Larboard mainchains,' he said after a pause: and arriving there he ran up the side to the quarterdeck, which he saluted, every quarterdeck having carried a crucifix less than three hundred years before: the salute was returned by Davidge and West and by Martin, who had reported on Saturday, to avoid the Sunday travelling that disturbed neither Jack nor Stephen. All three were much better dressed than when first they joined the ship and evidently far more prosperous; yet they all had anxious, careworn expressions. 'Good evening, gentlemen,' said Jack. 'I am going below, Mr Davidge, and shall be happy to hear your report in five minutes time.'
There were several letters and messages for him in the cabin, most of them requests to be taken aboard, but others brought congratulations and good wishes from old shipmates, some of them as far afield as Greenwich Hospital. He was still reading one of these when Davidge came in and said 'Sir, I am truly concerned to have to report a mutiny aboard.'
'A mutiny, eh? But from the look of the ship I presume it is far from being general.' He had indeed noticed the absence of cheerful talk and laughter as he came aboard and the presence of glum and apprehensive looks; but nothing in the least like ill-will. Man and boy he had known several mutinies quite apart from the great outbreaks at Spi
thead and the Nore and he had heard of many more—they were surprisingly common in the Navy—but never aboard a prosperous, busy ship, with plenty of shore-leave and all the delights that money could buy just at hand. 'Who are the men concerned?'
'Slade, the Brampton brothers, Mould, Hinckley, Auden and Vaggers, sir.'
'Oh dear me.' These were among the best of the Shelmerstonians, two of them quartermasters, one a gunner's mate, the others thorough-going seamen, quiet, solid fellows: prize hands. 'Sit down, Mr Davidge, and give me a short account of the affair.'
Davidge however was incapable of giving a short account that was also sequential, coherent and inclusive; his mind did not work that way. Although he was a competent officer, who had no hesitation in giving a rapid series of orders to deal with a dangerous situation in foul weather on a lee-shore, he wandered sadly in his narration and Jack was by no means sure that he had the whole at his command when Davidge's repetitions and parentheses came to an embarrassed close. What he did gather was that on Sunday morning the seven men, who were all Sethians—'What are Sethians, Mr Davidge?' 'Oh, a kind of Ranters or Methodies I believe, sir: I did not go into that'—Sethians from Old Shelmerston, a village a little way inland, had gone to their meeting-house. They had then had dinner on shore and on returning to the ship some or all of them had gone out on the stage that was still hanging over the starboard side and had there painted the offending word.
Davidge had not noticed it at once, because the gun-room was entertaining Mrs Martin to dinner, her first visit to the ship; but on returning from seeing the Martins ashore he had of course seen the word standing out from a great distance, the ship having swung with the turn of the tide, and he had at once ordered it to be removed. Nobody seemed to know who had done it; nobody seemed willing to scrape it off or paint it out—endless excuses: the brushes had been cleaned—Sunday—best clothes—just going to the head—bowels upset by eating crab. Eventually Auden acknowledged having painted the name. He refused to remove it—said he was unable to do so in conscience—and in this he was backed up by the other six. He was not violent or abusive—no foul language—nor was he obviously drunk—but he and the others stated that if any hand attempted to remove the name, his first stroke would be his last. Davidge and West had had no support from the bosun, gunner or carpenter, still less from any of the hands, who, though in no way riotous, were clearly heard to say that they would do nothing to bring bad luck on the ship. For fear of making the position even worse, Davidge had therefore given no further direct, unmistakable orders: nor, having no Marines of course, had he put the seven men in irons. Since the Articles of War did not apply, and since the ship was not at sea, neither he nor West had been certain what to do. He had nevertheless suspended the men from duty pending the captain's arrival and had forbidden them to come on deck. Perhaps he should have sent them ashore directly; if he had done wrong he was heartily sorry for it; but he appealed to Captain Aubrey's candour.
'Did you consult Mr Martin?' asked Jack.
'No, sir. He only returned a few minutes before you.'
'I see. Well, I think you did tolerably well in a difficult situation. Pray ask the doctors if they can spare me a moment.' In the short time he had to wait various possibilities flashed through his mind, but the arguments for and against each were still equally balanced when the cabin door opened. 'Mr Martin,' he said, 'you have no doubt heard about the present trouble. Please tell me all you can about these Sethians. I have never heard of them.'
'Well, sir, they descend from the Valentinian Gnostics, but the descent is so long, remote and obscure that there would be little point in tracing it. In their present form they are small independent communities with I believe no governing body; but it is difficult to be sure of that, since they were in danger of persecution as heretics for so long that they are naturally reserved; and there is still something of the air of a secret society about them. They believe that Cain and Abel were brought into being by angels, whereas Seth, who, as you will recall, was born after Abel's murder, was the Almighty's direct pure creation, and not only the ancestor of Abraham and all men now living, but the prototype of our Lord. They have the utmost veneration for him, and believe he watches over Sethians with particular care. But they have little opinion of angels, holding that by their—how shall I express it?—that by their mutual impurities they brought about Noah's flood. This should have wiped out their descendants, but some crept into the ark; and they, not Seth, are the ancestors of the wicked.'
'It is odd that I should never even have heard of them. Do they often go to sea?'
'I imagine not. Most of the few I have come across or heard of live in small scattered groups in remote inland parts of the West Country. They sometimes carve the name Seth on their houses; and they fall into two schools, mutually hostile, the old school that writes the S backwards and the new that writes it as we do. Apart from that and an unwillingness to pay tithes, they have a reputation for holding together and for being honest, sober and reliable, not unlike the Quakers. Yet unlike the Quakers they have no dislike for warfare.'
'But they are Christians, are they not?'
'As for that,' said Martin, looking at Stephen, 'there are some Gnostics who would puzzle St Peter.'
'The Valentinians were good enough to say that Christians might be saved,' observed Stephen. 'We might perhaps return the compliment.'
'In any event,' said Martin, 'these people have left the gnosis of Valentinus infinitely far behind: it is quite forgotten. Their holy books are ours. I believe we may certainly call them Christians, though somewhat heterodox on certain points of doctrine.'
'I am glad to hear it; and I am obliged to you, sir, for all you have told me. Maturin, does any observation occur to you?'
'Never a word. I am not to be teaching Martin theology, and he a bachelor of divinity.'
'Then let us take a turn on deck, and after that I will speak to the Sethians.'
He took his turn, and a sweet evening it was; but he had not resolved upon any clear line of approach before he returned to his cabin and sent for the mutineers. In human relations he was no Macchiavel, and it was with perfect sincerity that he now said to them 'Here's a pretty kettle of fish, upon my word. What in the Devil's—what in Heaven's name induced you to paint Seth on the ship's side?'
The seven men stood there toeing a line athwartships in the checkered sailcloth deck-covering; they had the light of the broad stern-window full on them, and Jack, standing with his back to it, saw them with the utmost clarity—grave, steady men, oppressed by the occasion and perhaps somewhat apprehensive, but not sullen, far less malignant. 'Come,' he said. 'Slade, you are the oldest. Tell me how it came about.'
Slade looked right and left at his companions, who all nodded, and began in his rumbling West-Country burr, 'Well, sir, we are what are called Sethians.'
'Yes. Mr Martin has just told me about them: a respectable Christian body.'
'That's right, sir. And Sunday we went to our meeting-house in Old Shelmerston—'
'Just past the smithy,' said the simpler Brampton brother.
'—and there we were put in mind that Seth'—they all jerked their right-hand thumbs up and sideways at the name—'had been uncommon good to us last voyage.'
'That's right,' said his mates.
'And then when we ate our dinner at the William we considered as how, time out of mind, our people had always put the name on their house, come any particular blessing, by way of what we call a thank-witness. So when we come back, we put it on the ship.'
'I see. But on being told to take it off again, you did not do so.'
'No, sir. For us the name is holy. It must never be touched. There is not one of us could bring his hand to do it.'
'That's right,' said his mates.
'I see your point,' said Jack. 'But tell me, when you were eating your dinner, what did you drink?'
'We weren't drunk, sir,' said Slade.
'So I have been told. But you did not eat dry and
it stands to reason that with gold in your pocket you did not drink water or buttermilk: just what did you drink?'
Their account, which had a religious accuracy in this case, came to slightly over a quart of beer or cider for each man except for Slade and Auden, who had shared a bottle of wine.
'That is moderate enough, in all conscience,' said Jack. 'Yet it is amazing how a couple of glasses of wine can affect a man's judgment without his knowing it. If you had not drunk your wine, you would have reflected that the Surprise is a private man-of-war and so she must rely on passing unknown and deceiving the enemy. But how can she pass unknown or deceive the enemy with that name painted clear amidships? Then again, every Christian knows he must do as he would be done by. You have a hundred shipmates and more: are they to be done out of the chance of prize-money because of your particular custom? Clearly, it ain't fair or right or just. The name must go. No, no,' he went on, seeing their lowering and dogged look, 'I do not mean it must be scraped out, nor painted out, nor even touched. We will cover it with a piece of fine sailcloth as we did when we were running down to St Michael's: then maybe we will paint the sailcloth over in case of foul weather; but the name will still be there. So the influence will still be there. After all, it was there when we were painted blue.'
He saw most of the men nod privately, and then when Slade looked right and left they all jerked their heads in assent. 'Well, sir,' he said, 'being it is to be like that, we are quite satisfied; and we thank you, sir, for hearing us so fair.'
'I should have been sorry to turn good seamen away,' said Jack. 'Yet there is still one thing left to be done. You spoke very chough to Mr Davidge, and you murmured. You must beg his pardon.'
Book 12 - The Letter of Marque Page 15
