The Final, Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey

by Patrick O'Brian

  The day itself was by no means as trim as it would have been, but for the Legate’s visitation; yet even so, at tea-time Killick came in, followed by Grimble, a procession of two, bearing the tea-tray (a great Spanish salver captured long ago) and a reasonable amount of anchovy toast, tea-cakes and a noble muffin.

  Jack took tea seriously, as well he might, being so much exposed to the elements; indeed, he finished the two-men’s muffin single handed; and then, wiping his buttery fingers, he directed an intelligent, almost a political look at Stephen, paused for a while, and then said, in substance, exactly what Stephen had expected him to say. ‘There are, as you know better than I – far better, indeed, a good many of our people are …’ Here he hesitated trying to find which was least offensive: Papists? Romans? Mumbo-Jumbo certainly would not do. People of the old faith sounded obsequious. ‘Most of them are Irish, of course; though quite a few come from the English north country. And then there are the mere foreigners … that is to say, the foreigners.’

  ‘There is something to be said for the word Catholics. It is in general use in Ireland.’

  ‘Just so: thank you, Stephen. Well, in strange towns you quite often lead your band to a place where they hear what they expect to hear – a place where they are quite at home.’

  ‘Just so. And, if you recall, I nearly always bring them back to the ship sober.’

  ‘Indeed you do: thoughtful, contemplative and, as you say, dead sober. Now it just happened to cross my mind that was you to take them all to the cathedral, where I have no doubt the Legate will be pontificating, as is but right and proper, and if they were to be perfectly neat, fit to pass an Admiral’s inspection, most uncommon solemn and pious, if you understand me, and was they to sing out good and hearty in the right places, it might tend to create a good impression, and persuade his Holiness that we were not all a band of gin-sodden raparees, given over entirely to whoredom and things I do not like even to mention. I hope you do not find my suggestion offensive, Stephen? For it is only a suggestion, do you see, not in any sense an order.’

  ‘A very good suggestion, too. And I shall pass the word about my fellow-papists, letting them know, among other things, that it is for the honour of the ship that we should not all be blacked with a whole number of brushes – Lutherans, bigots, church-burners, destroyers of monasteries, sodomites and a number of other words that will instantly occur to your mind. But first, with your permission I will go ashore and gather what information I can: at present I swim in a sea of unknowing. The only thing that is at all clear is that upon the whole the people here do not love us as much as they should.’

  What he said was quite true. Neither the British seamen nor the Royal Navy seemed really popular. Quite early in the morning a large scow, filled with much of the city’s night-soil, heaved its massy burden overboard so close to the frigate’s side that her paint-work was horribly fouled and her yardarms much endangered: all this to the cry ‘Filthy sods,’ which the Portuguese had obviously learnt from a merchantman and which they repeated with unflagging zeal for a very long time, stopping only when some facetious hands from an incoming trawler started throwing their more putrid cargo on to Surprise’s deck. The trawler, curiously enough, was garlanded if not with roses, then at least with some bright pink tropical flowers. Nor was she alone in this: very considerable numbers of other fishing-craft, from whalers down to one-rod tunny-men, came swarming up the bay.

  During a pause in the hoots, the pelting and the obscene gestures, Stephen and Jacob returned, unhurt, unmolested, undefiled – they did indeed look very like foreigners, poor souls. They asked Jack to come below, and in the cabin Stephen said, ‘Sir, I shall speak for us both, if I may, although Dr Jacob’s information is of greater value than mine and his connexions far more varied. In the very first place the extreme clerical what I might call right wing element means to overthrow the governor and the government tonight or tomorrow. The Legate, who has great influence with the very large service population and above all with their leaders is here to prevent or at least to soften this movement: the ultra-clericals have little in the way of armed support, and that is one of the reasons why they have made so much of this alleged Protestant business, and why we were pelted with dung. May I say how extraordinarily wise you have been not to retaliate? To continue: this is the day upon which the fishing-boats are blessed, a very considerable feast indeed, a holiday of obligation.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I shall not go on prating any longer, but let me beg you to come on deck now, with your glass: and if necessary to go into the top to see the Legate arrive at the top of the steps from which he blesses the fishermen and their craft.’

  Jack Aubrey did exactly what he was asked to do, giving Jacob a hand at the last stage; and there they stood all three, gazing out to starboard at the far, but not so very far, side of the harbour, where a noble flight of stairs led down to the water. At the side of the step stood soldiers in scarlet cloaks; and on the water the boat’s kedges dropped, sails stowed, floated quietly for their blessing. Suddenly the prodigious, all-pervading sound of the vast crowd dropped to something not far from silence, instantly filled by the glorious sound of trumpets; and as the Legate, a fine tall upright figure in a white gown, advanced to the head of the steps, the people cheered to the very vault of the sky.

  ‘By God, he’s black,’ said Jack Aubrey, and a moment later his face was contorted with emotion.

  ‘He is very happy,’ murmured Stephen. ‘Presently he will come over.’

  Presently was a strange word to use: but while it lasted the Legate blessed, marked boats by the score, by the hundred, with holy water; and finally after an immense thunder of drums he told the assembly that the ceremony had been accomplished: they might now sail with God: It was as much a dismissal as Ita, missa est; but although something like silence came down upon the bay almost no one moved. They stood watching the Legate’s splendid barge as it pulled straight across to the Surprise. The Legate came up the side like a right seaman and hurried across the deck to his father. ‘Dearest Sam, you have not changed,’ said Jack as they clasped hands. Then Sam knelt and patted his father’s feet, a gesture as natural as the sun.

  Then Stephen led his men forward, and they all kissed the Legate’s ring. ‘We must go,’ said Sam, lifting his ear to a distant bell. ‘But, sir, may I beg for my supper tonight?’

  ‘I shall look forward to it extremely,’ said Jack, and he went below while he could still do so with a decent composure.

  MS I, 17In the close-packed community that made up the crew of a man-of-war there was extremely little privacy: they ate, slept, washed, relieved themselves in public; in public they were flogged, unless they happened to be officers – and in that case a severe admonition was very soon made known throughout the ship. Each man and boy knew exactly what the others earned and how much the married men sent home. And although the officers sometimes had private means, and were sometimes unwilling to speak of them, they also had servants, who knew whether their masters were bearing hard up for Poverty Bay or spreading all canvas for Port Lavish itself. The paternity orders that had brought many hands aboard were the subject of often-repeated wit.

  There were few Surprises therefore who were much astonished at the very strong resemblance between the Nuncio and his host. It was perfectly well known that the younger man was one of Mr Midshipman Aubrey’s indiscretions when, as a long-legged youth, he had served on the South African station, and that the boy, brought up by Catholic missionaries in Mozambique, had presented himself to his father in the West Indies, bearing the present of a charm, a ju-ju, from his affectionate mother, that had kept Jack alive through some really desperate encounters. Killick was of course a fount and a reasonably honest fount of information, much of it derived from Barret Bonden, Jack’s coxswain and valued friend until he was killed in battle, a source of much greater value.

  From this general history, therefore, what newcomers there were in that long harbour-watch, learnt that the good fathers, hav
ing taught Sam his letters and a considerable amount of Latin – the English he picked up with no sort of trouble – destined him for the minor orders: for nothing more, because of his illegitimate birth. But Stephen Maturin who, though a bastard himself, was very well-connected, obtained a dispensation for the young man, to whom he was particularly attached: and Sam had risen very fast indeed. To be sure, he was unusually intelligent and exceptionally good-natured: but he was also very black, shining black. And this was a time when a strong current of opinion in the Church felt that the rapidly increasing black world should be given very much more attention. On the merely practical side, the very, very large number of black MS I, 18men and women, slaves or hired labourers, particularly in South America, must necessarily influence the balance of power in time. Father Panda, who was a natural-born linguist, had already done excellent work in Brazil; and now he was sent to the Argentine with greetings, and perhaps some good advice to those who were, or who were about to be, in power.

  * The letters MS indicate where, in the text narrative, the beginning of each facsimile page of manuscript occurs. Click on the link to view the facsimile manuscript page; click on the facsimle page to return to the text narrative.

  ** Facsimile pages MS I, 3a and 4 mostly overlap. See O’Brian’s note in the margin of MS I, 3a.

  *** The manuscript breaks off here for several pages – see O’Brian’s note – and the narrative is continued in the typescript.

  Chapter Two

  MS II, 1‘My God, that was a damned good dinner,’ said Captain Aubrey, rather loud, as though he were addressing the mast-head. He was not referring to his own meal with Sam, though that had been a capital feast in the naval style, ending with a truly sublime spotted dog, one at each end of the table, and improbable quantities of port. No: this was a physically far more gorgeous entertainment, a dinner given by the Governor in honour of His Excellency the Most Reverend Doctor Samuel Mputa (he had kept his mother’s name), Papal Nuncio to the Republic of the Argentine, whose government he and his allies had undoubtedly saved very recently indeed, when a numerous body of influential moderates, together with their black followers, had defected from those who were about to break out into open rebellion, and had betrayed their arsenals. It was a dinner of high ceremony, served on gold plate of more than ordinary magnificence, with some particularly valued dishes, such as the River Plate lobster in a bitter chocolate sauce, and seventy of the finest guinea-pigs ever brought down from the mountains.

  To be sure, it did lack something of the family atmosphere that had hovered in the frigate’s great cabin, with every guest and servant aware of the relationship and wholly in favour of the young parson’s seamanlike ways, to say nothing of his willingness to drink his wine. Here the connexion, though not unnoticed, was much less obvious, Jack being seated, not indeed below the salt, but very much nearer to it, then his son at the very top, on the Governor’s right hand.

  He uttered these fine ringing words addressed to the Nuncio, a little way below him, as he made his way cautiously down the palace steps, Killick and, absurdly, Awkward Davies hovering at no great distance – pitiless steps with no rail, very sharp edges, deep treads; and it was usual to make an inward promise of a fortnight’s or even a month’s pay to one’s patron saint before embarking on them in the darkness.

  There were only six steps to go under the high-held torches when a small fat boy thrust his way through the crowd and called out, ‘Sir, oh sir, if you please! The squadron is in the gut, just stemming the tide.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Wells,’ said Captain Aubrey; and craning his neck to peer in the direction of the gut he missed his step and fell into His Excellency’s waiting arms. Davies’ prodigious strength supported the double burden: they recovered their balance, and Jack, walking along quite steadily, said, ‘Sam, I am so very happy. The squadron is down there in the gut, stemming the tide. Even with this breeze they will be moored here off the island by slack water, and you will see me go aboard, ha, ha, ha! Now cut along, there’s a good fellow: you must get a decent night’s sleep.’ MS II, 2A decent night’s sleep: there were not many people aboard the frigate who had the least expectation of such a thing. Surprise had three mastheads, and all were firmly occupied by the nimblest, most far-sighted young men on her books, quite irrespective of rank, and they called down every movement of their distant friends together with the even more portentous news of faintly discerned sails far down the immense estuary, conceivably the main squadron under the orders of the commander-in-chief, South African station, Lord Leyton. The Surprise and her tender Ringle would soon come under the very close, very knowing inspection of at least one senior flag-officer and of the less authoritative but sometimes even more wounding scrutiny of large numbers of officers and above all of ratings; and there was nobody aboard either of the vessels who wished his own to be mocked, fleered at or called a second-hand mud-scow. They wanted no advice on cleanliness, seamanlike appearance or the priddying of decks, no facetious observations about their attire; and even the watch below spent much of their precious sleeping-time beautifying themselves and the ship. Perhaps the most active was Killick: Captain Aubrey had served as a commodore, so he already possessed a rear-admiral’s uniform: these garments had been a great source of joy to Killick, but an even greater source of anxiety – termites in Malaysia, a shameless wombat in New South Wales, while from south of the Horn to the trackless wastes of the pampas innumerable forms of vermin had gnawed or attempted to gnaw the superfine broadcloth or ruin the gold lace with their squalid dejections. During this anxious night, with so many of his shipmates scouring MS II, 3piss-dales or polishing musket-cocks, begging valuable slush from the cook or (more fruitfully) from his mates to give the round-shot something of a gleam as they lay along in the garlands by the great guns – during this active time he sat in the remarkably well-lit space where the surgeons often dissected their specimens or skinned their birds, sat there with Jack’s best, rarely-used sea-chest open before him, half its contents spread out on a piece of sailcloth. His face was as pale as it could be, and it expressed not only horror but anguish too: for this strong clear light showed that his zeal in earlier, darker times had robbed the cloth of all its bloom. In places it was threadbare; and the heap of clothes had something of the sad, abandoned air so evident in the secondhand barrows of Monmouth Street.

  ‘Pass the word for Killick,’ called a voice from the quarterdeck, and the cry was repeated until it echoed from the open chest itself. Automatically the steward obeyed. ‘Sir,’ he said faintly to the towering captain.

  ‘Have you laid out my number one uniform?’

  ‘Well, sir, in a manner of speaking,’ said Killick. ‘Which it ain’t what you might call weathered very well.’

  Jack had never seen his steward so deeply moved. ‘Be damned to that,’ he said. ‘Every God-damned thing in that chest was frozen stiff week after week, off the Horn. Just look out my ribbon of the Bath, will you? It sets off an old coat very well.’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ said the officer of the watch. ‘Suffolk is launching a boat.’

  Very true. Her barge was lowered down in a commendable fashion and manned: her acting-captain took his place by the midshipman in the stern. They pulled across with a particular accuracy of stroke and the coxswain brought her kissing alongside with barely an impact.

  Captain Simmons came aboard nimbly in spite of his packet MS II, 4of letters. He saluted the quarterdeck and said, ‘Good morning, sir. I thought you would like these’ – holding up the bundle – ‘as soon as possible.’

  ‘Good morning, Simmons – a very good morning to you – how pleasant to see you again. You could not have judged better. We have had no news from home this many a day. Such a welcome packet: thank you very much indeed.’

  ‘Not at all, sir. Do you choose to come back in Suffolk’s barge with your own coxswain?’

  ‘Thank you, Simmons, but I think I shall shift my clothes, look through the chief of these papers and then come acr
oss at about four bells.’

  At the fourth stroke he ran down to the sadly weather-beaten boat where his coxswain was already sitting in the bows with his precious burden – ran down looking very grave. The red ribbon of his order shone in the light as he came aboard the Suffolk, but his face was as grave as ever: this was a profoundly serious occasion and he scarcely smiled as Simmons presented his officers.

  This ceremony over, he nodded to his coxswain, standing there by the mizzen, and said, ‘Heave out the flag.’

  The folded bundle soared aloft, followed with the utmost concentration by all hands: at exactly the right moment, the exact height to an inch, the coxswain snapped the tie and the rear-admiral’s blue flag streamed out bravely in the wind, instantly greeted by the first of thirteen solemn guns, enormously loud, salutes from all the members of the blue squadron, distant cheering from Surprise and clouds of wheeling, discontented gulls.

  ‘May I suggest a tour of the flagship, sir?’ asked Simmons, with what cheerfulness he could muster; and together they paced along the decks, through the heady scent of powder, watched with discreet intensity by all who could decently do so and by some who could not. MS II, 5‘Tell me, Simmons,’ said Jack as they left the main magazine, walking delicately, as well they might with so many tons of gunpowder just behind them, ’does the Admiral sail with a flag-captain?’