'Oh Dr Maturin,' she cried, 'I am so sorry Sir Peter is not at home: he is at one of those odious conferences that go on and on for ever, and all to no purpose.'
'I grieve for him, upon my word,' said Stephen. 'But my errand is rather to you than to him. I bought a couple of children this morning in the slave-market, a boy and a girl, twins, of I suppose six or seven. Although they do not speak a word of English beyond the Hail Mary they are literally distressed British subjects. They were picked up by an Algerine corsair that had been raiding the Munster coast—picked up in a drifting boat, brought here and sold. May I beg you to shelter them for two or three days, while I make arrangements to send them home?'
'Dr Maturin,' she said without any change of expression or tone that he could detect, 'I wish I could oblige you, but children are my husband's aversion, his absolute aversion: he cannot bear them.'
'I am told that it is often the case with men.'
'It is like some people with cats: he cannot tolerate them anywhere in the house. But if, as I suppose, from their origin and from what you say, they are Roman Catholics, then I believe the Redemptorist Fathers are the people to apply to.'
'Many thanks, your ladyship,' said Stephen, rising. 'My compliments wait on Sir Peter.'
Outside, cheerfully greeted by his slaves, who showed him a palm-frond torn from the tree, he saw with great satisfaction that Jacob had retained the carriage. 'I came on a fool's errand,' he said. 'Lady Clifford does not choose to house the children. I was truly astonished at her frankness.'
'Were you, though?' asked Jacob, looking at him curiously. 'Nevertheless, we shall be perfectly happy at our lodging-house: but I am sorry for your disappointment.'
It was a disappointment, however, and it shook his faith in his own judgement to a remarkable degree. He sent a note excusing himself from dinner and spent a pleasant evening feeding the children—ingenuous little creatures—with Fatima. Jacob was away, visiting a Lebanese cousin who also dealt in gem-stones, though on a much larger scale, and in negotiating loans. Coming back when Stephen was in bed, he asked him whether he was asleep. 'I am not,' said Stephen.
'Then let me tell you that my cousin has had news that Ibn Hazm's caravan began its return only yesterday. It is difficult country and they will need ten days to reach Azgar, let alone the little port whose name escapes me.'
'Arzila, I think.'
'Arzila indeed: so with our blessed days of grace, I believe we have a fortnight and to spare.'
'That is very good news indeed: I rejoice.'
'And Abdul Reis, the head of one of the corsair groups, says that the wind will diminish tomorrow. If we like to see some of his galleys we should be welcome at the inner harbour, but quite early in the day, because if the wind does as he thinks it will, he may set out for Sardinia before noon. There are advantages in being well-seen by the Dey.'
'Certainly. Listen, Amos: did you ever read an author who said "Never underestimate a woman's capacity for jealousy, however illogical or inconsistent or indeed self-defeating"?'
'I do not think so: but the notion is fairly wide-spread among those who think of men and women as belonging to two different nations; and who wish to be profound.'
Nevertheless, Lady Clifford's behaviour puzzled Stephen, and until he fell asleep he turned and re-turned it in his mind, with no satisfactory answer at all. He was awakened at dawn, not by any of the usual noises of a disorderly house nor by Dr Jacob's steady, persevering snore, but by a little girl's voice in his ear, asking whether there were any cows to be milked.
There were not, but there was water to be drawn with Fatima's help, faces to be washed, prayers to be said, and a perfectly delightful breakfast to be eaten—bananas and dates amazed the children—in a little hidden court behind: soft bread toasted on the brazier that at some distance kept the coffee warm—toasted and spread with honey. 'Are you not cold, children, with nothing but shirts?' he asked.
'Not at all; and they are not just ordinary shirts but proper clothes: Achmet, though quite old, has nothing else,' they replied. 'Here is the other gentleman. Good morning, sir: God be with you.'
Jacob gave them a Hebrew blessing, drank a great draught of coffee, and said to Stephen, 'When you had gone to bed, a parcel came for you. I did not choose to wake you, but there it is in our room. I shall bring it down as soon as I am more nearly myself. How very much better these children look after a night's sleep: you could hardly mistake them for half-starved apes any more.'
In a little while, his good nature returning, Jacob fetched the parcel, forwarded from the consulate: hardly a parcel in the western sense—no paper, no string, but a sombrely gorgeous robe lapped about with silk scarves enveloping the rifle with which Stephen had killed his lioness. Attached to it was a letter with the Vizier's elegant explanation of a mistake among the people of the baggage-train, his well-turned apologies and his hope that if the loss had been mentioned to his present Highness, the return might also be noticed. And after the European signature came a far more beautiful passage of Arabic. 'Please would you read this for me?' asked Stephen.
'It is a blessing, a series of blessings on you and yours, mentioning many of the attributes of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate . . . My impression is that the Vizier was so sure that his friend Mustafa would be elected that he could do whatever he chose to do with impunity; and that he has now delivered himself to you, bound hand and foot.'
Stephen considered, nodded, and then, bringing out another paper he said, 'And may I beg you to read this as well?'
'It acknowledges receipt of four English gold coins of adequate weight in payment for two young Franks, male and female, warranted virgin: it is dated, sealed and signed in due form.'
'Thank you: I did not want them to be snatched away, reclaimed: they have had quite enough to bear as it is.' He looked with intense admiration at his rifle for a while and then asked when they were to meet Abdul Reis, the corsair.
'We could go whenever you choose. The inner harbour is only a few steps from the Gate of Woe.'
'Then the children can come too. I shall confide this to the good Fatima's care'—tapping the wrapped-up gun—'and then we can go.'
The street was extremely narrow and the balconies almost touched overhead: parts of it were encumbered with sheep, goats, horsemen, and Algerine children playing a game that required a great deal of running and screeching. Many of them looked remarkably like Mona and Kevin, who were of the black-haired Irish, and they wore the same kind of tunics. Then, working past three heavily-laden and exceptionally ill-natured camels, Stephen, Jacob and the children were suddenly through the gate, and there was the great sky above them and the sea stretching away and away, wind-whitened still, but much less so. And just this side of its northern limit, Ringle beating in for the shore, just visible from the inner harbour's wall, and recognizable to one who knew her very well.
The children shied extremely at the sight of the galleys that filled the inner port; they fell silent, and each grasped one of Stephen's hands. The Reis, a formidable great red-bearded figure, was markedly affable to Jacob, showing him the arrangement and the ordering of his handsome craft: he would almost certainly set out for Sardinia when the sailmaker brought the new lateen.
'They do not mean to row, then?' asked Stephen, when this had been explained to him.
'Oh no: they only use their oars when the wind does not serve: at present it serves perfectly for any voyage to a little north of east, to north itself, and a little north of west, particularly as the seas are diminishing every half hour.'
'Dear Amos, pray ask him whether that vessel on the horizon that is turning so valiantly into the wind will eventually reach this port.'
Jacob's question to the Reis was interrupted by the coming of the coal-black sailmaker with two pale Sclavonians, lightly chained but heavily burdened; but eventually, when the new lateen was bent to its long, long tapering yard, Abdul looked out to sea, smiled at the sight of her coming about so briskly on the lar
board tack, and said, 'The little American schooner—I have seen her before, the frigate's tender: yes, with the wind lessening like this, she may get in by moonrise—in the early part of the night at all events.'
Stephen said, 'Jacob, if I do not mistake, she will soon be almost exactly in the galley's path, steering for Sardinia: if the Reis would put us aboard her I will give him any sum you think proper. These few hours are so very precious.'
'I am so nearly certain of it that I shall hurry back, settle with Fatima, and bring our belongings,' said Jacob. He made the request, with joined hands, received an amiable smile, and hurried away.
Orders, cries, in much the same peremptory tone usual in the Royal Navy but sometimes with an additional Moorish howl; and as soon as Jacob, helped by Achmet, had put their meagre luggage aboard, the galley began its smooth glide towards the harbour's mouth: the silent children stood pressed against Stephen's side, for although this was not a raiding voyage with the galley full of boarders but an ordinary mercantile carrying and fetching of goods, the diminished crew was still made up of right corsairs, for whom an habitual brutish ferocity of expression was as much a part of their equipment as the knives and pistols in their belts.
The open sea. The Reis put the helm amidships, loosed the sheet and attended to Jacob's further explanation. His red beard opened in a laugh and he said, 'If your friend will guarantee that the schooner will not fire upon us, I will put you aboard for the love of God.'
When this was relayed to him, Stephen bowed repeatedly to the Reis and said to Jacob, 'Could I climb on to some eminence and wave, let us say a handkerchief, when we are nearer, to show our peaceable intent?'
'By all means, if you can find a suitable eminence and remain firmly attached to it in spite of all this heinous pitching.'
Stephen gazed about the unfamiliar rigging: there was a sort of box abaft the masthead, but there seemed no way up to it but levitation. The shrouds, to be sure, had ratlines so that one could climb, as on a ladder, but there was a shocking gap between the topmost ratline and the box, practicable perhaps for an ape or a hardened corsair, but not for a doctor of physic. 'I shall stand in the prow, watching with my pocket-glass, and when we are close enough, I shall make antic gestures.'
The bows of a galley running before the wind did not prove much of a vantage-point, particularly as the children, who would not be left, tangled themselves in the woolded bumpkin; so all three wedged themselves fairly comfortably along what forward rail the galley possessed, and Stephen showed them the wonders of his little telescope. This occupied them until the two vessels were so close that he could distinctly make out William Reade's gleaming steel hook holding him to the starboard shrouds of Ringle's foremast. Stephen inwardly prayed that nothing might go wrong now, and waved his handkerchief: the young master's mate standing behind the schooner's captain with a much more powerful glass, instantly reported this and Reade waved back. Stephen told the children to stand up—their presence would explain the situation—and only by the grace of God did he prevent them from tumbling into the sea as the galley pitched. However their good stout shirts held fast and he hauled them in, gasping and ashamed.
The tedious hours that had dragged by with so little apparent gain since the morning suddenly hastened their pace—faces could be seen and recognized, voices heard. Stephen hurried aft, untied his parcel, wrapped the gun in some shirts and a pair of long woollen drawers and clasped the Vizier's gorgeous robe to his bosom. As the two vessels kissed gently together, the Ringles made the galley fast and thrust across a brow for their unreliable surgeon, who, before venturing upon it, crabwise with a child in each hand, presented the splendid garment to Abdul with a flow of heartfelt thanks, translated by Jacob.
'Why, sir, and here you are!' cried Reade, hehving him in-board. 'How very happy I am to see you, and how happy the Commodore will be. He has been fairly eating his heart out in Mahon. Good-bye, sir,'—this to Abdul Reis—'and many, many thanks to you and your beautiful galley.'
These last words and the Reis's reply were lost as the two vessels separated, Ringle heading for Minorca and the galley for Sardinia, but they went on waving until they were out of sight.
'These children,' said Stephen, 'are Mona and Kevin Fitzpatrick, from Munster—Mona, make your bob to the Captain: Kevin, make your leg.' This in Irish. 'And corsairs picked them up in a boat off the coast, carried them back and sold them in the slave-market here. I bought them, and I mean to send them home in the next ship commanded by a friend and bound for the Cove of Cork. As soon as we are aboard Surprise Poll will look after them: but where can we stow them here? And what can we feed them on?'
'Oh, we have plenty of milk, fresh eggs and vegetables—well, fairly fresh, we having beaten into this hellish wind so long: but edible—and as for sleeping, we will sling a cot in the cabin: these two will fit into it with room to spare.'
'Perhaps they could now be given something in the galley, and be shown the heads. I perceive a certain uneasiness familiar to me from my youth.'
'By all means,' said Reade. 'Do they speak English?'
'Scarcely a word; but they have picked up a surprising amount of Arabic,' said Stephen, looking at Jacob, who nodded.
'Then I shall pass the word for Berry: he has children of his own and he was a slave in Morocco for some years.' The word was passed, the children led away by a kindly seaman, rather old; and Stephen said, 'But may I be forgiven, William: first things first, for all love. Tell me about Surprise and the Commodore.'
'The coffee is ready, sir: should you like to drink it in the cabin?' asked his steward.
'Certainly. Doctors, shall we go below?' He collected his wits as he poured the coffee, and then said, 'Late in the afternoon of the day that horrible blow began the Commodore was far out in the offing helping a disabled ship—Lion, totally dismasted but for about ten foot of the mizzen—and we could just distinguish his signal calling us out. So we slipped moorings, struck topgallantmasts down on deck, roused out our heavy-weather canvas and cleared the harbour. Very soon we were reduced to a storm forestaysail and a few other scraps. When we arrived, guided by minute-guns, we could scarcely see fifty yards for the sand and the flying spray, but we did make out that Surprise had managed to pass Lion a tow to get her head round a little so that she might recover some of her wreckage and set up a jury-rig to give her at least steerage-way. I passed under his lee for orders, and while he was telling me what to do, a heavy Dutchman, part of a scattered convoy, came hurtling down under little more than bare poles, saw us at the last moment, clapped his helm a-lee, severed the tow and struck Surprise just abaft the starboard cathead, carrying away her bowsprit, heads, her forefoot, much of her gripe and starting God knows how many butt-ends.'
They listened, amazed: they both knew enough of the sea and of that particular blast to have some notion of the appalling situation of the three ships in question. They shook their heads, but said nothing.
'It is difficult to believe that we survived those God knows how many days, but at least Ringle could carry and fetch, and we were all fairly well supplied. And luckily the weather, though as foul as can be imagined, was not cold: luckily, for all the beds aboard Surprise had to be stuffed into those shocking started butts, where the sea came pouring in for the first two days, in spite of all the fothering in the world. The bows of sharp-built craft are very, very hard to fother. It was a rough time, with the pumping alone; and I have never seen so much grog drunk with so little effect. And the people, at least our people, behaved very well: never a cross word. In time Lion did manage a tolerable jury-rig, enough to give her five knots; the wind and our leaks grew a little less wicked; and we limped into Mahon on Tuesday morning, making a perfect landfall. We landed our wounded—strains, hernias and falling blocks, mostly—the Commodore had Ringle surveyed—they pronounced her fit—we took some stores aboard, and with the wind veering just enough to let us out of Mahon he sent me off to fetch you, while he and all the shipwrights who could be spared fr
om Lion laboured on repairing Surprise right round the clock. We went with a heavy heart—heavier still when the wind shifted right back into the south and we thought we should never see Africa again. Nor did I think I should ever again bless a southerly gale, though this one is all a man could wish.'
Indeed it was now the kindest breeze, and late the next morning it wafted them up the long, long inlet to Port Mahon, where the naval yard echoed with the caulkers' mallets thundering upon the Lion's hull. But out in the fairway there rode Surprise, apparently as trim as ever she had been, with her captain in a boat under her newly-painted bows telling his joiner just where to place the last rectangles of gold leaf on her upper forefoot.
As soon as he was aware of the Ringle's presence he sent his joiner up the side, spun the boat about and pulled rapidly across the harbour. He was in the plainest of working clothes, but the Ringles had seen him from afar and he was received with all the ceremonial honours that any commodore has a right to, and with much more pleasure and good will than most.
'A very hearty welcome to you all,' he cried. 'I never thought to have seen you so soon, with a full gale so steady in the south.'
'Nor you would not have seen us, sir,' said William Reade, 'but for an uncommon blessing. We could make no headway at all—turned and turned just in sight of Algiers, losing ground on every tack the last day or so; but a corsair galley came racing out full before the wind, her lateens hare-eared on either side; and she was carrying Dr Maturin and his slaves, and Dr Jacob.'
'Doctors,' said Jack, shaking their hands, 'how very glad I am to see you. Come back to the ship with me, and we will all have dinner together—some guests are coming, among them the Admiral, and we have been preddying her fore and aft.'
'Mona,' said Stephen, 'make your bob to the Commodore: Kevin, make your leg.'
Jack bowed to each in return, and said, 'These are your slaves, I presume?'
Book 19 - The Hundred Days Page 23
