Stephen reflected, grinding still, and then said, 'I do not think I know about Cainites.'
'They derive their descent from the Kenites, who themselves have Abel's brother Cain as their common ancestor: furthermore, the initiated still bear his mark; though discreetly, since they do not choose to have it generally known, there still being so many vulgar prejudices against him. This shared mark of Cain forms the strongest bond imaginable, far outdoing that between Freemasons, and of infinitely greater antiquity.'
'So I should imagine.'
'In early Christian times some of them formed a Gnostic sect; but those belonging to the Beni Mzab have returned to the ancient ways, maintaining that Cain was brought into being by a superior power and Abel by an inferior; and that he was the ancestor of Esau, Korah and the Sodomites.'
'Come in,' called Stephen.
Captain Hobden came stooping under the lintel. 'I beg pardon for interrupting you, Doctor Maturin. I beg your pardon. Here is my apology'—handing his letter—'and here is my dog.'
'You are very good, sir,' cried Stephen, starting up and shaking his hand. 'Do not fear for Naseby: these are very simple operations, and I would not hurt him for the world.'
Seamen, according to Dr Maturin's experience, were even fonder of remedies that could be seen and felt to work at once than most people; and the Surprise's medicine-chest was well stocked with powerful emetics.
'There is little hope,' said Stephen as he slid the dose down Naseby's unresisting throat. 'At this late hour there is little hope, at all.'
'On the other hand, the animal's early detection and subsequent evident guilt may well have diminished or even arrested his digestive secretions.'
'Hold the bucket and belay, there. Stand back.'
Sick, sick as a dog he was: but indeed it was too late. 'Yet at least we have virtually all the bones,' said Stephen, stirring with a pair of retractors. 'And they are almost untouched. All the rest is now meaningless, but once the bones are boiled clean we can wire them together: the hand will be even more emphatically hand-like, and that will comfort the crew. Poll. Poll there! Be so good as to call for a couple of swabbers, and I will take this poor fellow back to his master.'
The wiring-together with the help of the carpenter's finest drills, the very convincing wiring-together, which was completed before the end of the last dog-watch, did indeed comfort the crew. They waited in files to see the dead-white fingers rising tall and high from the neat pattern of carpal-bones set in black-gleaming pitch, the whole enclosed in a stern-lantern glass. Each group, having gazed upon it for the regulation minute, hurried back to the beginning of the line to see it again; and it was universally agreed that a more Glorious Hand did not exist. No one was foolish enough to mention luck, but the Surprises wore a deeply satisfied look that said much more than any open exultation.
At quarters the next day they were still unusually lively and cheerful in spite of the falling breeze, backing so far easterly that it might come foul before the end of the exercise, and that also carried drifting swathes of mist, and sometimes rain. But even downright snow would neither have chilled or damped their spirits, and they ran their guns in and above all out with a fine hearty thump.
Then, just before the drum beat the retreat and hammocks were piped down, an extremely shrill and piercing voice from the foretopmast cried, 'On deck, there. On deck, there. Two sail of ships, four points on the starboard beam. Standing south-east. Just about hull-up.'
'Mr Daniel,' called Jack to the master's mate. 'Follow me aloft with my night-glass from the cabin, will you?' He was settled in the topgallant cross-trees by the time Daniel and the telescope reached him; but whereas the Commodore was puffing, Daniel, in spite of his recent hardships, was not.
'There, sir,' called the lookout some way along the yard. 'Just abaft the preventer-stay.' And there indeed, just for a moment, was a white blur: perhaps two white blurs. Then the low cloud hid them entirely.
'Joe,' said the Commodore, who had known the lookout from childhood, 'what did you make of them at best?'
'Just when I hailed, sir, they were pretty clear. I should have said a right man-of-war, a medium frigate: trim, though foreign. And maybe a merchantman in her wake. Under all plain sail. But when I see them again they had altered course, working to windward; and I am reasonable sure the frigate heaved a white flag aboard, as though for a parley, like.'
Jack nodded, smiling: the white flag, showing either submission or an absence of hostile intent or a wish to speak was often used as a ruse de guerre to obtain intelligence or even sometimes a tactical advantage: in any case he was not going to present his squadron on the lee-bow of any potential enemy. Yet before he called down the orders that would do away with such an uncomfortable situation, a tear in the low cloud and a certain diffused moonlight showed him the two strangers fairly clear. They were not indeed under a press of sail, but they had more abroad than Surprise or Pomone, and they were certainly steering a course that would presently give them the weather-gauge, with all the advantages it conferred—power to attack or to decline battle as they saw fit, and a sense of general comfort. He also saw, though only as a squarish pallor, the white flag that Joe Willett had mentioned; but he paid little attention, his mind being taken up with ensuring that in these variable airs and currents and Pomone's imperfections, first light would find the squadron well to windward of the strangers.
Below him, as he revolved the possibilities, the Marines beat the retreat, hammocks were piped down, and at eight bells the watch was mustered: all these operations were carried out correctly, but with a most uncommon degree of levity—jocose remarks, open laughter, antic gestures with the hammocks.
It was the master, Mr Woodbine, who had the first watch: Jack told him that the squadron should very gradually increase sail—no appearance of anxiety or hurry—and perpetually work to windward, so that at dawn they should certainly have the weather-gage. He then summoned the Ringle, and to her captain he said, 'William, I am not going to ask Pomone to come within hail in this head-sea, so you run down, lie under her larboard quarter and tell Captain Vaux with my compliments that there are two strange sail in the east-north-east—did you see them?'
'Yes, sir: we caught just a couple of glimpses through the murk.'
'What did you make of them?'
'I thought they might be frigates. One was wearing a white flag for a parley.'
'Parley be damned, William. Those wicked brutes are edging away to gain the weather-gage. Obviously we must do the same, and Devil take the hindmost.'
'Amen, sir: so be it.'
'So you run down and tell Pomone, will you? She is a fairly weatherly ship, in spite of bows like a butcher's arse. Then crack on and bear away to windward and see if you can learn anything of them to tell us at first light.'
The Ringle filled and spun about: Jack walked into his cabin and leant over the charts, considering the probable local currents in this weather and at this time of the year. He had had a very good noon observation and both his chronometers agreed admirably: with the present wet obscurity he could hope for no external confirmation, but he was reasonably certain of the ship's position; and in any event there were no cruel coasts nor uncomfortable shoals in this part of the sea. With the present breeze or even with twice the present breeze he had sea-room enough to manoeuvre against the potential enemy until noon tomorrow: his only anxiety was the Pomone, with her unhandy crew. He was unwilling to use top- or even stern-lanterns, which might so easily betray his motions; but in order that poor Vaux with his band of boobies should not lose the pennant-ship altogether he had a stout, well provisioned boat veered astern, carrying Bonden and half a dozen of his shipmates, who were to guide the frigate with a fisherman's light if ever she offered to stray.
This accomplished he took a last look at traverse-board and log-readings, pencilled a tentative disk on his chart, with the exact time, returned to the deck and the familiar, welcome task of driving his ship to windward, taking advantage
of every very slightly favourable shift in sea or wind. With his own people round him, keenly attentive to his orders and expert in carrying them out intelligently, with the utmost speed, he made such excellent way that two bells later and with the utmost hesitation Harding, his first lieutenant, begged his pardon and observed that Pomone was dropping far behind, while there was real danger that the cutter astern might tow under.
His words aroused displeasure, strong displeasure among all within earshot: but on looking round Jack cried, 'By God, you are right, Harding . . . I am driving her altogether too hard.' He raised his voice and gave the orders that deadened her way—orders that were obeyed slowly, with sullen looks, but that nevertheless changed the voice of the sea on her cutwater, down her sides and under her rudder from a thrilling urgency to something quite commonplace in a matter of minutes.
'Beg pardon, sir,' said Killick, 'but supper will be on table whenever you please.'
Stephen was already in the cabin, trying to play a half-forgotten tune pizzicato on Jack's second-best sea-going fiddle. 'I heard this long ago at a crossroads meeting something north of Derry and perhaps just in the county Donegal, the kind of gathering for music and song and above all for dancing that we call a ceilidh; but there was a dying fall near the end that I cannot recapture.'
'It will come to you in the middle of the night,' said Jack. 'Pray draw up your chair and let us fall to: I am fairly wasted with hunger.'
They ate a large quantity of ox-tail soup, Jack fairly shovelling it down like a boy, then half a small tunny, caught by trolling over the side, and then their almost invariable toasted cheese, a Minorcan formatge duro, not unlike Cheddar, that toasted remarkably well.
'What a joy it is to satisfy desire,' observed Jack when all was done. He emptied his glass, threw down his napkin, and said, 'Will you not turn in now, Stephen? It is very late. I shall be doing nothing but work steadily to windward: there will be no excitement until well on in the morning watch, when I hope to find these skulking villains under our lee.'
Comfortable words: but scarcely had hammocks been piped up (at six bells, this being a Sunday morning) and scarcely had the sound of stowing them in the nettings been superimposed upon that of the decks being thoroughly cleaned, than something very like a battle broke out, starting with fairly distant gunfire, then deep-voiced cannon no great way off.
Yet there was no interruption in the steady swabbing overhead, the flogging of the spotless quarterdeck to spotless dryness, no excited cries, no orders, and above all no beating to quarters; and as the Surprise began to fire Stephen's mind arose, not without difficulty, still somewhat bemused from an extraordinarily vivid, and coloured dream of wiring a small primate's skeleton together, Christine Wood directing or performing the more delicate movements, and he realized that this was not an engagement at all but the leisurely, regular, and perfectly dispassionate return to a salute.
A young gentleman darted in, stood by Stephen's cot and in a very shrill voice he cried, 'Sir, if you please: if you are awake the Captain desires you will come on deck, in uniform.' He had obviously been told to emphasize the last words, and this he did with such force that his voice broke an octave above its usual pitch.
Messages about uniform and respectability had also reached Killick, who now, opening the door, called out, 'By your leave, Mr Spooner, I have to attend to the Doctor. Captain's orders. Not a moment to spare—the Devil to pay and no pitch hot.' Quite what he meant by this was far from clear, but he hustled the boy out, and with a zeal to be equalled only by his desire for forgiveness he plucked Stephen's nightshirt from him, sponged and soaped his face, shaved it as close as a bridegroom's, clothed him in clean drawers, a cambric shirt and his regulation garments, hissing the while as though to soothe a restive horse, arranged his cravat, clapped on and smoothed his best wig—all without a word in answer to Stephen's now peevish enquiries but with an intensity that compelled respect—and so led him up to the quarterdeck, delivering him to Harding by the capstan with a final tweak.
'There you are, Doctor,' cried Jack, turning from the starboard rail, 'a very good morning to you. Here's a glorious sight.'
Blinking in the glare of the early sun, Stephen followed his pointing hand, and there rode a fine proud frigate together with a smaller, shabbier companion, probably a twenty-two-gun corvette: they were both wearing the Bourbon ensign, a white flag with a white cross; and rather more than half-way between the two French ships and Surprise a captain's barge was rowing with an even stroke.
Stephen had been quite extraordinarily far down in his dreaming sleep, and even after his brisk handling and the brilliant dawn all round he found it hard to fix his mind on Jack's explanation: '. . . so there he is in his barge, coming across to breakfast. Do not you recognize him, Stephen? Surely you recognize him? Take my glass.'
Stephen took the glass. He focused it, and there, sharp and clear in the early sun, was the happy, familiar face of Captain Christy-Pallière, their captor a little before the Algeciras action in 1801 and then their host in Toulon during the brief peace that followed. 'How happy I am to see him,' he cried.
'Yes. He declared for the king at once, and so did all his officers—they had almost finished refitting in a little yard south of Castelnuovo, bar some spars and a certain amount of cordage—but many of the other sea-officers up and down the coast were all for Bonaparte or for setting up on their own account, and some are preparing for sea. He had meant to head straight for Malta, where he had friends, but the wind would not serve (as it does not serve for us) so he came by Messina, and in the straits he picked up that corvette, commanded by a cousin of his.'
Already the Marines were beginning to form on the quarterdeck; the bosun had his ceremonial whistle, the sideboys were fiddling with their gloves. Stephen was gathering his wits, but not as quickly as he could have wished—the dream still hung heavily about him. He glanced aft, where the Pomone lay with a backed foresail, heaving on the swell; and the sight of her, though she was not vessel he could like, brought him more nearly into the present world. The Ringle, with a tender's modesty, rode under the Commodore's lee.
The French barge hooked on: the side-boys ran down with their padded man-ropes, and the moment Captain Christy-Pallière set foot upon the steps the bosun raised his call and piped him aboard in style.
'Captain Christy-Pallière,' cried Jack, taking him most affectionately by the hand, 'how very happy I am to see you here, and looking so uncommon well—I do not have to introduce Dr Maturin, I am sure?'
'Never in life,' said Christy-Pallière in his perfect English. 'Dear Doctor, how do you do?' They too shook hands, and Jack went on, 'But you will allow me to present my first lieutenant, Mr Harding. Mr Harding, this is Captain Christy-Pallière, of His Most Christian Majesty's frigate Caroline.'
'Very happy, sir,' said each, bowing; and Jack led his guest below.
'First, Commodore,' said Christy-Pallière, taking his seat at the breakfast table, 'let me congratulate you on your broad pennant. I have never saluted one with half so much pleasure in all my life.'
'How kind you are to say so: and may I say how very agreeable it is to have you sitting here as a friend and an ally. Apart from anything else, I know how short-handed or rather short-shipped poor Admiral Fanshawe is in Mahon. He will greet you with open arms, if only to convoy a few merchantmen to the chops of the Channel.'
'Might I beg you to give me an introduction?'
'Of course I will. May I help you to another sausage?'
'Oh, if you please. I have not smelt this divine combination of toast, bacon, sausage and coffee since last I was with my cousins in Laura Place.'
They talked about the cousins and about Bath for a few moments and then settled to really serious eating. Grimble, Killick's mate, had been a pork-butcher by land, and given a bold, thriving hog he could turn out a Leadenhall sausage of the very first order.
Eventually they reached toast, marmalade and the third pot of coffee, and Jack Aubrey said, 'My
orders take me to the Adriatic. With a favourable wind I shall look into Malta for possible but improbable reinforcements and the latest intelligence from those parts, and then proceed to Durazzo and beyond for the purpose of strengthening royalists and of capturing or destroying Bonapartist or privateering ships. Would it be indiscreet to ask you how the land lies along the coast? I mean the places where there are shipyards that would concern me one way or the other?'
'It would not be in the least indiscreet, my dear Aubrey,' said Christy-Pallière, 'and I will freely tell you all I know. But the situation there is so extremely complicated, with doubtful loyalties, concealed motives, blunders in Paris, that I should have to collect my wits—recollect myself . . . and I think I could best give you a fairly clear notion of things as they were when I left Castelnuovo if I were to be looking at your charts.'
It was clear to Stephen that Christy-Pallière felt that matters to do with intelligence were no proper subject for general conversation. He agreed most heartily, and presently—two cups of coffee later—he excused himself: not only were there his morning rounds but he also had a minor operation to perform.
'We shall see you again in the sick-bay towards the end of divisions,' said Jack to him, and to his guest, 'I am so glad that you are here on a Sunday. I shall be able to show you one of our Navy's particular ceremonies: we call it divisions.'
'Oh indeed?' cried Christy-Pallière. 'Then in that case may I beg that Caroline's secretary may be present? He takes the utmost interest in these matters, and he is writing a comparative study of the different nations' naval economies, disciplines, ceremonies and the like.'
'Does the gentleman speak English?'
'Not a word,' cried Christy-Pallière, laughing at so wild a notion. 'Richard speak English? Oh dear me no. Wonderfully fluent in Latin, but English . . . oh, ha, ha, ha!'
The Hundred Days Page 11
