Master & Commander a-1

by Patrick O'Brian

  Dr Ramis' face took on a tetanic look; his eyes almost vanished; his head reached forward, quivering. Stephen's lips writhed back; he shook his fist and gibbered a little. A servant came in with a jug of hot water (no second bowls of cocoa were allowed).

  'Now,' said Stephen Maturin, 'let us take our pulses again.'

  'That pilgrim from the English sloop is mad,' the surgeon's servant told the second cook. 'Mad, twisted, tormented. And ours is not much better.'

  'I will not say it is conclusive,' said Dr Ramis. 'But it is wonderfully interesting. We must try the addition of harsh reproachful words, cruel flings and bitter taunts, but without any physical motion, which could account for part of the increase. You intend it as a proof per contra of what you advance, I take it? Reversed, inverted, or arsy-versy, as you say in English. Most interesting.'

  'Is it not?' said Stephen. 'My mind was led into this train of thought by the spectacle of our surrender, and of some others that I have seen. With your far greater experience of naval life, sir, no doubt you have been present at many more of these interesting occasions than I.'

  'I imagine so,' said Dr Ramis. 'For example, I myself have had the honour of being your prisoner no less than four times. That,' he said with a smile, 'is one of the reasons why we are so very happy to have you with us. It does not happen quite as often as we could wish. Allow me to help you to another piece of bread – half a piece, with a very little garlic? Just a scrape of this wholesome, antiphiogistical garlic?'

  'You are too good, dear colleague. And you have no doubt taken notice of the impassive faces of the captured men? It is always so, I believe?'

  'Invariably. Zeno, followed by all his school.'

  'And does it not seem to you that this suppression, this denial of the outward signs, and as I believe reinforcers if not actually ingredients of the distress – does it not seem to you that this stoical appearance of indifference in fact diminishes the pain?'

  'It may well be so: yes.'

  'I believe it is so. There were men aboard whom I knew intimately well, and I am morally certain that without this what one might call ceremony of diminution, it would have broken their .

  'Monsieur, monsieur, monsieur,' cried Dr Ramis' servant. 'The English are filling the bay!'

  'On the poop they found Captain Palliиre and his officers watching the manoeuvres of the Pompйe, the Venerable, the Audacious and, farther off, the Caesar, the Hannibal and the Spencer as they worked in on the light, uncertain westerly airs, through the strong, shifting currents running between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean: they were all of them seventy-fours except for Sir James' flagship, the Caesar, and she carried eighty guns. Jack stood at some distance, with a detached look on his face; and at the farther rail there were the other quarter-deck Sophies, all making a similar attempt at decency.

  'Do you think they will attack?' asked Captain Palliиre, turning to Jack. 'Or do you think they will anchor off Gibraltar?'

  'To tell you the truth, sir,' said Jack, looking over the sea at the towering Rock, 'I am quite sure they will attack. And you will forgive me for saying, that when you reckon up the forces in presence, it seems clear that we shall all be in Gibraltar tonight. I confess I am heartily glad of it, for it will allow me to repay a little of the great kindness I have met with here.'

  Thee had been kindness, great kindness, from the moment they exchanged formal salutes on the quarter-deck of the Desaix and Jack stepped forward to give up his sword:

  Captain Palliиre had refused to take it, and with the most obliging expressions about The Sophie's resistance, had insisted upon his wearing it still.

  'Well,' said Captain Palliиre, 'let it not spoil our breakfast, at all events.'

  'Signal from the Admiral, sir,' said a lieutenant. 'Warp in as close as possible to the batteries.'

  'Acknowledge and make it so, Dumanoir,' said the cap- tam. 'Come, sir: gather we rose-pods while we may.'

  It was a gallant effort, and they both of them talked away with a fine perseverance, their voices rising as the batteries on Green Island and the mainland began to roar and the thundering broadsides filled the bay; but Jack found that presently he was spreading marmalade upon his turbot and answering somewhat at random. With a high-pitched shattering crash the stern-windows of the Desaix fell in ruin; the padded locker beneath, Captain Palliиre's best wine-bin, shot half across the cabin, projecting a flood of champagne, Madeira and broken glass before it; and in the midst of the wreckage trundled a spent ball from HMS Pompйe.

  'Perhaps we had better go on deck,' said Captain Palliиre.

  It was a curious position. The wind had almost entirely dropped. The Pompйe had glided on past the Desaix to anchor very close to the Fonnidable's starboard bow, and she was pounding her furiously as the French flagship warped farther in through the treacherous shoals by means of cables on shore. The Venerable, for want of wind, had anchored about half a mile from the Formidable and the Desaix and was plying them briskly with her larboard broadside, while the Audacwus, as far as he could see through clouds of smoke, was abreast of the Indomptable, some three or four hundred yards out. The Caesar and the Hannibal and the Spencer were doing their utmost to come up through the calms and the patchy gusts of west-north-west breeze: the French ships were firing steadily; and all the time the Spanish batteries, from the Torre del Almirante in the north right down to Green Island in the south, thundered in the background, while the big Spanish gunboats, invaluable in this calm, with their mobility and their expert knowledge of the reefs and the strong turning currents, swept out to rake the anchored enemy.

  The rolling smoke drifted off the land, wafting now this way and now that, often hiding the Rock at the far end of the bay and the three ships out to sea; but at last a steadier breeze sprang up and the Caesar's royals and topgallants appeared above the obscurity. She was wearing Admiral Saumarez' flag and she was flying the signal anchor for mutual support. Jack saw her pass the Audacious and swing broadside on to the Desaix within hailing distance: the cloud around her closed, hiding everything: there was a great stab as of lightning within the murk, a ball at head-height reaped a file of marines on the Desaix's poop and the whole frame of the powerful ship shuddered with the force of the impact – at least half the broadside striking home.

  'This is no place for a prisoner,' reflected Jack, and with a parting look of particular consideration at Captain Palliиre, he hurried down on to the quarter-deck. He saw Babbington and young Ricketts standing doubtfully at the hances and called out, 'Get below, you two. This is no time to come it the old Roman – proper flats you would look, cut in half with our own chain-shot' – for chain was coming in now, shrieking and howling over the sea. He shepherded them down into the cable-tier and then made his way to the wardroom quarter-gallery – the officers' privy: it was not the safest place in the world, but there was little room for a spectator between the decks of a man-of-war in action, and he desperately wanted to see the course of the battle.

  The Hannibal had anchored a little ahead of the Caesar, having run up the line of the French ships as they lay pointing north, and she was playing on the Formidable and the Santiago battery: the Formidable had almost ceased firing, which was as well, since for some reason the Pompйe had swung round in the current – her spring shot away, perhaps and she was head-on to the Formidable's broadside, so that she could now only engage the shore-batteries and the gunboats with her starboard guns. The Spencer was still far out in the bay: but even so there were five ships of the line attacking three – everything was going very well, in spite of the Spanish artillery. And now through a gap in the smoke torn by the west-north-west breeze, Jack saw the Hannibal cut her cable, make sail towards Gibraltar and tack as soon as she had way enough, coming down close inshore to run between the French admiral and the land, and to cross his hawse and rake him. 'Just like the Nile,' thought Jack, and at that moment the Hannibal ran aground, very hard aground, and brought up all standing right opposite the heavy guns of the Torr
e del Almirante. The cloud closed again; and when at last it lifted boats were plying to and fro from the other English ships, and an anchor was carrying out; the Hannibal was roaring furiously at three shore-batteries, at the gunboats and, with her forward larboard guns and bow-chasers, at the Formidable. Jack found that he was clasping his hands so hard that it needed strong determination to unknot them. The situation was not desperate – was not bad at all. The westerly air had fallen quite away, and now a right breeze was parting the heavy powder-fog, coming from the north-east. The Caesar cut her cable, and coming down round the Venerable and the Audacious she battered the Indomptable, astern of the Desaix, with the heaviest fire that had yet been heard.-Jack could not make out what signal it was she had abroad, but he was certain it was cut and wear, together with engage the enemy more closely: there was a signal aboard the French admiral too – cut and run aground – for now, with a wind that would allow the English to come right in, it was better to risk wrecking than total disaster: furthermore, his was a signal easier to carry out than Sir James', for not only did the breeze stay with the French after it had left the English becalmed, but the French already had their warps out and boats by the dozen from the shore. -

  Jack heard the orders overhead, the pounding of feet, and the bay with its smoke and floating wreckage turned slowly before his eyes as the Desaix wore and ran straight for the land. She grounded with a thumping lurch that threw him off his balance, on a reef just in front of the town: the Indomptable, with her foretopmast gone, was already ashore on Green Island, or precious near. He could not see the French flagship at all from where he was, but she would certainly have grounded herself too.

  And yet suddenly the battle went sour. The English ships did not come in, sweep the stranded Frenchmen clean and burn or destroy them far less tow them out; for not only did the breeze drop completely, leaving the Caesar, Audacious and Venerable with no steerage-way, but almost all the surviving boats of the squadron were busy towing the shattered Pompйe towards Gibraltar. The Spanish batteries had been throwing red-hot shot for some time, and now the grounded French ships were sending their excellent gun-crews ashore by the hundred. Within a few minutes the fire of the shore guns increased enormously in volume and in accuracy. Even the poor Spencer, that had never managed to get up, suffered cruelly as she lay out there in the bay; the Venerable had lost her mizen topmast; and it looked as though the Caesar were on fire amidships. Jack could bear it no longer: he hurried up on deck in time to see a breeze spring up off the land and the squadron make sail on the starboard tack, standing eastwards for Gibraltar and leaving the dismasted, helpless Hannibal to her fate under the guns of the Torre del Almirante. She was firing still, but it could not last; her remaining mast fell, and presently her ensign came wavering down.

  'A busy morning, Captain Aubrey,' said Captain Palliere, catching sight of him.

  'Yes, sir,' said Jack. 'I hope we have not lost too many of our friends.' The Desaix's quarter-deck was very ugly in patches, and there was a deep gutter of blood running along to the scupper under the wreckage of the poop-ladder. The hammock-netting had been torn to pieces; there were four dismounted guns abaft the mainmast, and the splinter-netting over the quarter-deck bowed and sagged under the weight of fallen rigging. She was canted three or four strakes on her rock, and the least hint of a sea would pound her to pieces.

  'Many, many more than I could have wished,' said Captain Palliиre. 'But the Formidable and the Indomptable have suffered worse – both their captains killed, too. What are they doing aboard the captured ship?'

  The Hannibal's colours were rising again. It was her own ensign, not the French flag: but it was the ensign reversed, flying with the union downwards. 'I suppose they forgot to take a tricolour when they went to board her and take possession,' observed Captain Palliиre, turning to give orders for the heaving of his ship off the reef. Some time later he came back to the shattered rail, and staring out at the little fleet of boats that were pulling with all their might from Gibraltar and from the sloop Calpe towards the Hannibal, he said to Jack, 'You do not suppose they mean to retake the ship, do you? What are they about?'

  Jack knew very well what they were about. In the Royal Navy the reversed ensign was an emphatic signal of distress: the Calpe and the people in Gibraltar, seeing it, had supposed the Hannibal meant she was afloat again and was begging to be towed off. They had filled every available boat with every available man – with unattached seamen and, above all, with the highly-skilled shipwrights and artificers of the dockyard. 'Yes,' he said, with all the open sincerity of one bluff seaman talking to another. 'I do. That is what they are about, for sure. But certainly if you put a shot across the bow of the leading cutter they will turn round – they imagine everything is over.'

  'Ah, that's it,' said Captain Palliиre. An eighteen-pounder creaked round and settled squarely on the nearest boat. 'But come,' said Captain Palliere, putting his hand on the lock and smiling at Jack, 'perhaps it would be better not to fire.' He countermanded the gun, and one by one the boats reached the Hannibal, where the waiting Frenchmen quietly led their crews below. 'Never mind,' said Captain Palliиre, patting him on the shoulder. 'The Admiral is signalling: come ashore with me, and we will try to find decent quarters for you and your people, until we can heave off and refit.'

  The quarters allotted to the Sophie's officers, a house up at the back of Algeciras, had an immense terrace overlooking the bay, with Gibraltar to the left, Cabrita Point to the right and the dim land of Africa looming ahead. The first person Jack saw upon it, standing there with his hands behind his back and looking down on his own dismasted ship, was Captain Ferris of the Hannibal. Jack had been shipmates with him during two commissions and had dined with him only last year, but the post-captain was hardly recognizable as the same man – had aged terribly, and shrunk; and although they now fought the battle over again, pointing out the various manoeuvres, misfortunes and baffled intentions, he spoke slowly, with an odd uncertain hesitation, as though what had happened were not quite real, or had not happened to him.

  'So you were aboard the Desaix, Aubrey,' he said, after a while. 'Was she much cut up?'

  'Not so badly as to be disabled, sir, as far as I could collect. She was not much holed below the waterline, and none of her lower masts was badly wounded: if she don't bilge they will put her to rights presently – she has an uncommon seamanlike set of officers and men.'

  'How many did she lose, do you suppose?'

  'A good many, I am sure – but here is my surgeon, who certainly knows more about it than I do. May I name Dr Maturin? Captain Ferns. My God, Stephen!' he cned, starting back. He was tolerably used to carnage, but he had never seen anything quite like this. Stephen might have come straight out of a busy slaughterhouse.. His sleeves, the whole of the front of his coat up to his stock and the stock itself were deeply soaked, soaked through and through and stiff with drying blood. So were his breeches: and wherever his linen showed it, too, was dark red-brown.

  'I beg pardon,' he said, 'I should have shifted my clothes, but it seems that my chest was shattered – destroyed entirely.'

  'I can let you have a shirt and some breeches,' said Captain Ferris. 'We are much of a size.' Stephen bowed.

  'You have been lending the French surgeons a hand?' said Jack.

  'Just so.'

  'Was there a great deal to do?' asked Captain Ferris.

  'About a hundred killed and a hundred wounded,' said Stephen.

  'We had seventy-five and fifty-two,' said Captain Ferris.

  'You belong to the Hannibal, sir?' asked Stephen.

  'I did, sir,' said Captain Ferris. 'I struck my colours,' he said in a wondering tone and at once began to sob, staring open-eyed at them – at one and then at the other.

  'Captain Ferris,' said Stephen, 'pray tell me, how many mates has your surgeon? And have they all their instruments? I am going down to the convent to see your wounded as soon as I have had a bite, and I dispose of two or three sets.'


  'Two mates, sir,' said Captain Ferris. 'As for their instruments I fear I cannot say. It is good in you, sir – most Christian – let me fetch you this shirt and breeches – you must be damned uncomfortable.' He came back with a bundle of clean clothes wrapped in a dressing-gown, suggested that Dr Maturin might operate in the gown, as he had seen done after the First of June, when there was a similar shortage of clean linen. And during their odd, scrappy meal, brought to them by staring, pitiful maidservants, with red and yellow sentries guarding the door, he said, 'After you have looked to my poor fellows, Dr Maturin – if you have any benevolence left after you have looked to them, I say, it would be a charitable act to prescribe me something in the poppy or mandragora line. I was strangely upset today, I must confess, and I need what is it? The knitting up of ravelled care? And what is more, since we are likely to be exchanged in a few days, I shall have a court-martial on top of it all.'

  'Oh, as for that, sir,' cried Jack, throwing himself back in his chair, 'you cannot possibly have any misgivings – never was a clearer case of -'

  'Don't you be so sure, young man,' said Captain Ferris.

  'Any court-martial is a perilous thing, whether you are in the right or the wrong – justice has nothing much to do with it. Remember poor Vincent of the Weymouth: remember Byng – shot for an error of judgment and for being unpopular with the mob. And think of the state of feeling in Gibraltar and at home just now – six ships of the line beaten off by three French, and one taken – a defeat, and the Hannibal taken.'

  This degree of apprehension in Captain Ferris seemed to Jack a kind of wound, the result of lying hard aground under the fire of three shore-batteries, a ship of the line and a dozen heavy gun-boats, and of being terribly hammered for hours, dismasted and helpless. The same thought, in a slightly different shape, occurred to Stephen. 'What is this trial of which he speaks?' he asked later. 'Is it factual, or imaginary?'