The Letter of Marque

by Patrick O'Brian

  After some moments of hesitation, with the men looking at one another with doubtful faces, Auden said, 'The rub is he is such a fine gentleman, sir; we are only simple chaps, and should not know what to say.'

  'You must go up to him,' said Jack, 'and pull off your hats, as is right, and one of you must say "We ask your pardon, sir, for answering chough, and murmuring." '

  'It is a little awkward, not having Killick here until tomorrow,' said Jack Aubrey, helping Stephen to a great piece of the veal and ham pie that Sophie had put up for their supper, 'but I would not have had him here this evening for a hundred pound. He is somewhat given to listening, you know, and although I spoke perfectly sincerely to the Sethians, I could not have carried on about moral duty and the rest with him in earshot.'

  'When shall we see the men from Ashgrove?' asked Stephen.

  'About four in the afternoon, I believe, if all goes well and the coach don't overset. About the same time as Pullings.'

  'Well, that is the black dismal news, upon my soul. I forgot to put up a clean shirt, and I had forgot to change this one last week, and in their swelling pride and glory now that they have two guineas to rub together the gun-room mean to ask us to dinner tomorrow so that you may be introduced to Mrs Martin. I have a great esteem for her, and should not wish to appear a shoneen dragged in from the Liberties.' He looked at the cuff of his shirt, which had been somewhat squalid before their long night in the greasy chaise, and which was now a disgrace to the ship.

  'What a fellow you are, Stephen,' said Jack. 'After all these years at sea you still have no notion of life aboard. Give your shirt to any old Surprise you have cured of the pox or the flux, any Surprise you like to name—Warren, Hurst, Farrell, anyone—and he will wash it in fresh water abaft the scuttle-butt, dry it in the galley and give it you in the morning. In the meanwhile you walk about in a dressing-gown. I shall look forward to seeing Mrs Martin at last, particularly as you so rarely praise a woman. What is she like?'

  'Oh, she has no pretensions to beauty, at all. She has no pretensions of any kind for that matter, intellectual, artistic or social. She is neither tall nor slim and on occasion she wears spectacles; but she is perfectly well bred and she has so sweet a nature and such a fund of good humour that she is a most valuable companion.'

  'I remember your telling me that she nursed Martin quite devotedly after you had opened his belly. I shall be happy to have the meeting at dinner-time, because a few hours later it would be too late, and I should not wish to seem wanting in attention. But as soon as Pullings and Bonden and Killick and the rest are aboard I believe we can put to sea: there may still be a little to fetch in the way of stores and perhaps I may be able to pick up a cook; but this tide or the next will see us out in the Channel.'

  'You astonish me, brother: I am amazed. The Diane does not sail until the thirteenth. Today, if I do not mistake, is the fourth. In less time than that we could swim to St Martin's or rather to the point in the ocean where you mean to intercept her.'

  Jack uncorked another bottle of wine, and after a while he said, 'In the night, as we were coming down, I turned the whole thing over this way and that; and I have thought about it since, bearing in mind what you told me about her commander and his picked crew. And it appears to me that rather than waiting off the cape for him to come to us, with all the chances of thick weather, awkward breeze, weather-gage and so on, the clever thing is for us to go to him. Besides, it is very likely that a corvette or a brig will see him clear of the Channel. When French gunnery is good, it is very good; and although the old Surprise could do it, with our present complement we cannot fight both sides of the ship at once as well as I could wish.'

  'Will you not engage more men, then, for all love? Are they not calling out after us in the street, begging to be taken on?'

  'Believe me, Stephen, it would not answer. You cannot make a gunner in a week, no nor in a great many weeks. And then again, we cannot go into the street and whistle for Marines. You will say they are only soldiers, which is perfectly true, but they are steady, trained, disciplined men, and the thirty-odd we used to have were very valuable in action. You have but to remember their small-arms fire.'

  For a moment it occurred to Stephen to ask why the Surprise did not have her former complement, with the equivalent of these Marines, by whatever name they came aboard; but the answer was obvious—in this, as in so many other things, Jack was sparing his friend's pocket.

  'Dear Lord,' said Jack smiling, 'I told you just now that I was perfectly sincere in talking to the Sethians as I did; and certainly I meant every word I said. But I dare say the fact that I was damnably unwilling to part with seven prime hands made me a little milder than I might have been with a full complement and the Articles of War behind me. Yet on the other hand it is but fair to say that coming down heavy in a case like that is just the kind of thing that upsets a ship's company worse than hard-horse officers, too much flogging, and no shore-leave—far worse.'

  'You acted for the best, sure: men will go to the stake for names much less respectable than Seth,' said Stephen. 'So you mean to put to sea, I find?'

  'Yes. Because it seems to me that the best thing to do is to cut her out—to try to cut her out—by night. You can cruise for a ship very assiduously indeed quite well in with the shore and still miss her; but if you run into her port before she has sailed you are at least sure of finding her, which is the necessary beginning for any sort of battle.'

  'I should never deny it, brother.'

  'So, do you see, I mean to weigh tomorrow at the latest, tell the people what we are about, make them understand the shape, nature, soundings and bearings of St Martin's on a thundering great chart I shall draw, showing just where the Diane lies and where we shall lie, and then run down to Polcombe or any of those little lonely coves, according to the weather, moor the ship, and practise cutting her out with the boats night after night, till every man knows exactly where he is to be and what he is to do.'

  'I applaud your design extremely,' said Stephen. 'And if during these exercises the ship could refrain from any communication with the shore, how very charming that would be: schemes of this kind are so very easily blown upon, particularly on a smuggling coast, with much going to and fro. Perhaps it would be out of place to suggest the hiring of some fine stout desperate fellows just for this operation?'

  'I quite take your point about no communication, and I had it in mind myself; but as for your hired ruffians, I am sure William and his companions will provide us with all the volunteers their boats can hold—men accustomed to naval discipline. My only dread is—' he coughed '—that there may be too many, and that they may talk or make a noise.'

  Even a little wine, as he had said earlier in the day, could affect a man's judgment, and he had been on the point of saying that he was most horribly afraid Babbington's zeal and friendship (infinitely mistaken friendship in this case) would lead him to join the expedition: for then in the event of success the Diane would have been 'cut out by Captain Babbington of HMS Tartarus, with the help of boats from the other men-of-war under his command, and from a privateer'. The offer he dreaded could not be refused, since if the Diane were captured the action would make William Babbington, now only a commander, a post-captain, the essential step to a flag and high command. Jack had been on the point of telling Stephen this: but it would not do. William must see it for himself or not at all. Jack had not the slightest doubt of William's affectionate loyalty—it had been most amply proved—but an excellent heart did not necessarily argue a brilliant intelligence, capable of instantly assessing the relative value of the near-certainty of promotion on the one hand and the remote possibility of reinstatement on the other. Yet Babbington, well-connected, with strong parliamentary interest, was pretty well sure of promotion soon in any event, whereas such an opportunity as this might never come Jack's way again in a lifetime. He looked across the table at Stephen, who said 'These night exercises of yours are a most capital notion.'

 
'I hope they may prove so. At least it is better than rushing at a bull in a china-shop without a plan. The Spartan was different. There it was simply a question of hammering the enemy hand to hand. Here we must not only hammer the enemy but sail his ship out of the harbour too, under the fire of his batteries and whatever men-of-war may be present. It has to be done neatly or not at all. Tell me, Stephen, would you say that William Babbington had a quick, lively apprehension?'

  Stephen almost laughed: wheezing with amusement he said, 'I love William Babbington, but I do not think anyone could call his apprehension, his grasp, his intellection, quick or lively, except perhaps Mrs Wray. In the rough sports of war and in the immediate perils of the ocean, no doubt he is eminently quick; but for a rapid appreciation of more complex issues perhaps it would be better to look elsewhere. For these night-exercises of yours, however, springing from one clearly-defined point to another in the wet and the dark, with an express purpose, he would be most admirably suited. As I said, I think them a capital notion.'

  Dr Maturin's views were shared by all hands. They studied the great chart that Jack had chalked out between the mizzen-mast and the taffrail with the utmost attention as the ship ran down under easy sail to Polcombe; several of the hands had been in St Martin's during the peace, and they confirmed the unchanging general disposition of the port, the yard, and the navigable channels. And they, together with all the seamen present, took Jack's point that the one anxious part of the approach was the breakwater that guarded the harbour from westerly seas; it ran out from the south side, under the lighthouse cliff, and sentries patrolled its rampart. The boats necessarily had to pass within hail. But fortunately, the Surprise had two Jerseymen, Duchamp and Chèvenement, 'And if we are challenged,' said Jack, 'they can sing out something short and quick, like "hands and supplies for Diane".'

  When they reached Polcombe the breeze failed them, but they towed her in at slack water, so far in that they would certainly have to tow her out again, since the high cliffs cut off every breeze that would allow her to sail, while the ebb set hard against the reefs of Old Scratch, the rocky island that guarded the mouth of the cove—it might almost have been called a little bay—sheltering it from the heavy southern and south-western seas. Here, watched by a thousand sheep peering from the turfy brink so high above and by a moon-struck shepherd, they moored her with springs to her cables and began to lay out buoys limiting the harbour of St Martin's by the distances and angles that Lieutenant Aubrey had measured so exactly so many years before. They were even able to place tolerably accurate marks representing the tip of the cape with the lighthouse on it and the breakwater with the awkward rampart: by this time it was well on in the evening, but the men's spirits were so high that the boats gathered round Jack's launch, and with a liberty arising from the general good humour, the growing darkness and their distance from the ship, the hands urged him to let them pull out to the point where the ship would lie in the offing and then 'let them have a go'.

  'Very well,' said he. 'But it must be done thorough-pace: a line from stern to stem; pull easy, and all hands to row soft and row dry, not to wet your mates' priming; not a word, no not a single goddamned whisper; this is not Bartholomew Fair, and the first man to speak may swim home on his own.'

  The boats stood out to sea until it appeared to Jack that they were just where he would wish to anchor the ship off Cape Bowhead. Here he gave a clear account, three times repeated without the slightest variation, of where each boat was to board and what each group of men was to do; and he repeated his words about silence with even greater emphasis. The stars were already pricking out in the clear sky, and with Vega and Arcturus as his compass above he guided the line back to the mark for the headland and then after a dog-leg turn at the breakwater, where Duchamp called out 'New hands for the Diane', straight for the unsuspecting ship. They pulled smooth, mile after mile, they pulled away—the quiet tide was just making—until at last Jack murmured 'Cast off and stretch out' and the boats, freed from the line that had kept them together, dashed to the points of attack, the beakhead, the forechains, the mainchains, the mizzenchains and the stern-ladder, and invaded the ship simultaneously with a horrible roar. A party of the most active young topmen raced aloft to loose the courses and topsails; Padeen and an equally powerful black man flew to the cables and stood over them each with a hypothetical axe; two quartermasters seized the helm; Jack Aubrey darted into the cabin, not so much to go through the motions of seizing the captain, his civilians and their papers as to check the time. 'I think it was an hour and forty-three minutes,' he said. 'But I could not be sure of the start. Next time I shall take a dark lantern. Was our howl unexpected?'

  'Entirely,' said Stephen.

  'A complete surprise,' said Martin.

  'Was you terrified?'

  'Perhaps we should have been if there had been less merriment. Old Plaice's hoarse chuckle could be recognized a great way off.'

  Martin said 'Might not a sudden silent attack be even more disconcerting? An unprovoked, unheralded violence contradicting all social contract, which calls for at least a cry of challenge or defiance? But even as it was, the assault terrified your new cook, sir. We were talking to him about a pilaff for your supper when the howl broke out: he uttered a cry in what may have been Armenian and ran from the room, crouched inhumanly low.'

  'A pilaff? What an admirable notion. I dearly love a good pilaff. You will give us the pleasure of your company, Mr Martin?'

  The next few days were quite remarkably happy. The ordinary routine was cut to a minimum, and apart from attacking the ship twice a night, the hands spent a great deal of earnest, concentrated effort in cutlass or boarding-axe practice and in pistol-fire. The rest of the time—for these were sunny days—they lay about the forecastle or gangways with an easy lack of restraint rarely to be seen in a man-of-war, public or private. It astonished the watchers who had come to join the sheep high above, and the nearby hamlets learnt that a pirate was moored in Polcombe cove, intending to ravish the countryside, carrying off the maidens to Barbary. At this the young women for some miles around hurried to the edge of the precipice, to view their ravishers, and perhaps to implore their mercy; while a revenue cutter, suspecting uncustomed goods, ran in and had to submit to the ultimate humiliation of being heaved off the tail of the Old Scratch reef by two cables, spliced end to end and carried out to the Surprise's capstan.

  Jack was physically extremely active, which suited him through and through: during the night attacks he often took Stephen's personal skiff and accompanied the line of boats, paying close attention to the style of pulling in each and timing the various stages of the operation to the second. And after the first assault, which had been carried out mostly for the fun, he organized a kind of resistance. The defenders were allowed nothing more lethal than swabs, but the delay they were able to cause gave him a somewhat better estimate of the probable duration. In common justice the teams were changed and mingled, half-watch by half-watch, and twice a night Jack Aubrey either attacked or defended. All hands expended an immense amount of energy, and their captain, as was but right, expended even more. He was a powerful swimmer and during his naval career scarcely a commission had passed by without his having saved some Marine or seaman from drowning, so that there were at least half a dozen old Surprises now aboard who would have perished but for him; but at present he far outdid the past, for in repelling boarders he and his mates often flung them backwards into the sea and in one night alone he plucked out five—no fuss: simply an ape-like arm reaching down from the chains or a boat's gunwale and heaving them bodily up.

  This intense physical activity did him a great deal of good, of course—his powerful great body called for much more than shipboard life could ordinarily give him—but it did even more good to his wounded heart and mind, since there was no time for the misery of retrospection nor for the corresponding phantasms of unrealistic success that so very often struggled for expression.

  The combination brought
back something of the appetite he had had before his trial: it would have been a shame if it had not done so, for Killick had laid in captain's stores on a scale he thought suitable to their new-found wealth, and the captain's cook, Adi, would have graced Lucullus' flagship. He was a gentle timid little greyish-brown man, round and greasy, easily moved to tears: he was utterly useless as a combatant, since no words, good or bad, could induce him either to attack or defend the ship; but he understood the whole range of naval cookery from Constantinople to Gibraltar; and although his maids of honour brought Rosia Bay to mind rather than Richmond Hill, they went down wonderfully well; while he could also turn out a creditable suet pudding.

  From Maturin's point of view also these days were a blessed holiday. He could do nothing about his future plans, being as far out of touch with London as if he were in the Pacific; and although Diana was never far from his mind—he carried her talisman in his breeches pocket—his chief present occupation was to take in as much sun as his meagre form could absorb. He had been starved of it so long during the English winter that in these brilliant days he grudged every moment spent between decks or in the shade.

  Fortunately for him and Martin, who formed no part of the boarding or defending teams and who otherwise would have been left to mope, there was Old Scratch, a delight for both the naturalist and the sun-worshipper. At one time sheep and rabbits had been introduced: the sheep had long since vanished but the rabbits were still there, and it was on their close-clipped southern lawns that Stephen basked when he and Martin were not taken up with the many other delights—the tide-pools, the seals that bred in the northern sea-caves, the uncommon plants such as bishop's snodgrass, the puffins nesting in rabbit-burrows, and the stormy petrels, which could be heard churring in their companionable way, far down in their musky holes.

  It was on one of those perfect afternoons, with a long south-western swell beating with slow, deep, measured strokes on the seaward face of Old Scratch, that they sat on the grass, watching the series of small waves that followed each impact and that ran into the cove in spreading half-circles, diminishing with perfect regularity until they lapped against the ship, a fan-like pattern of quite unusual beauty.