'Take care of that pot, Mr Richards,' said Jack, as the Sophie gave a skittish lee-lurch in the freshening breeze. 'You had better cork it up and hold the ink-horn in your hand. Mr Ricketts, let us see these men.'
They were a lacklustre band, compared with the regular Sophies. But then the Sophies were at home; the Sophies were all dressed in the elder Mr Ricketts' slops, which gave them a tolerably uniform appearance; and they had been tolerably well fed for the last few years—their food had at least been adequate in bulk. The newcomers, with three exceptions, were quota-men from the inland counties, mostly furnished by the beadle; there were seven ardent spirits from Westmeath who had been taken up in Liverpool for causing an affray, and so little did they know of the world (they had come over for the harvest, no more) that when they were offered the choice between the dampest cells of the common gaol and the Navy, they chose the latter, as the dryer place; and there was a bee-master with a huge lamentable face and a great spade beard whose bees had all died; an out-of-work thatcher; some unmarried fathers; two starving tailors; a quiet lunatic. The most ragged had been given clothes by the receiving-ships, but the others were still in their own worn corduroy or ancient second-hand coats—one countryman still had his smock-frock on. The exceptions were three middle-aged seamen, one a Dane called Christian Pram, the second mate of a Levanter, and the two others Greek sponge fishers whose names were thought to be Apollo and Turbid, pressed in circumstances that remained obscure.
'Capital, capital,' said Jack, rubbing his hands. 'I think we can rate Pram quartermaster right away—we are one quartermaster shy—and the brothers Sponge able as soon as they can understand a little English. As for the rest, all landmen. Now, Mr Richards, as soon as you have finished those descriptions, go along to Mr Marshall and tell him I should like to see him.'
'I think we shall watch almost exactly fifty men, sir, said James, looking up from his calculation.
'Eight fo'c'sle men, eight foretop—Mr Marshall, come and sit down and let us have the benefit of your lights. We must work out this watch-bill and quarter the men before dinner: there's not a minute to be lost.'
'And this, sir, is where we live,' said Mowett, advancing his lantern into the midshipmen's berth. 'Pray mind the beam.! must beg your indulgence for the smell: it is probably young Babbington here.'
'Oh, it is not,' cried Babbington, springing up from his book. 'You are cruel, Mowett,' he whispered, with seething indignation.
'It is a pretty luxurious berth, sir, as these things go,' said Mowett. 'There is some light from the grating, as you see, and a little air gets down when the hatch-covers are off. I remember in the after-cockpit of the old Namur the candles used to go out for want of anything in that line, and we had nothing as odorous as young Babbington.'
'I can well imagine it,' said Stephen, sitting down and peering about him in the shadows.
'How many of you live here?'
'Only three now, sir: we are two midshipmen short. The youngsters sling their hammocks by the breadroom, and they used to mess with the gunner until he took so poorly. Now they come here and eat our food and destroy our books with their great greasy thumbs.'
'You are studying trigonometry, sir?' said Stephen, whose eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could now distinguish an inky triangle.
'Yes, sir, if you please,' said Babbington. 'And I believe I have nearly found out the answer.' (And should have, if that great ox had not come barging in, he added, privately.)
'In canvassed berth, profoundly deep in thought,
His busy mind with sines and tangents fraught,
A Mid reclines! In calculation lost,
His efforts still by some intruder crost,' said Mowett.
'Upon my word and honour, sir, I am rather proud of that.'
'And well you may be,' said Stephen, his eyes dwelling on the little ships drawn all round the triangle. 'And pray, what in sea-language is meant by a ship?'
'She must have three square-rigged masts, sir,' they told him kindly, 'and a bowsprit; and the masts must be in three—lower, top and topgallant—for we never call a polacre a ship.'
'Don't you, though?' said Stephen.
'Oh no, sir,' they cried earnestly, 'nor a cat. Nor a xebec; for although you may think xebecs have a bowsprit, it is really only a sorts of woolded boomkin.'
'I shall take particular notice of that,' said Stephen. 'I suppose you grow used to living here,' he observed, rising cautiously to his feet. 'At first it must seem a little confined.'
'Oh, sir,' said Mowett, 'think not meanly of this humble seat,
Whence spring the guardians of the British fleet!
Revere the sacred spot, however low,
Which formed to martial acts an Hawke! An Howe!'
'Pay no attention to him, sir,' cried Babbington, anxiously. 'He means no disrespect, I do assure you, sir. It is only his disgusting way.'
'Tush, tush,' said Stephen. 'Let us see the rest of the—of the vessel, the conveyance.'
They went for'ard and passed another marine sentry; and groping his way along the dim space between two gratings, Stephen stumbled over something soft that clanked and called out angrily, 'Can't you see where you're a-coming to, you grass-combing bugger?'
'Now then, Wilson, you stow your gob,' cried Mowett. 'That's one of the men in the bilboes—lying in irons,' he explained. 'Never mind him, sir.'
'What is he lying in irons for?'
'For being rude, sir,' said Mowett, with a certain primness.
'Come, now, here's a fair-sized room, although it is so low. For the inferior officers, I take it?'
'No, sir. This is where the hands mess and sleep.'
'And the rest of them downstairs again, I presume.'
'There is no downstairs from here, sir. Below us is the hold, with only a bit of a platform as an orlop.'
'How many men are there?'
'Counting the marines, seventy-seven, sir.'
'Then they cannot all sleep here: it is physically impossible.'
'With respect, sir, they do. Each man has fourteen inches to sling his hammock, and they sling 'em fore and aft: now, the midship beam is twenty-five foot ten, which gives twenty-two places—you can see the numbers written up here.'
'A man cannot lie in fourteen inches.'
'No, sir, not very comfortably. But he can in eight and twenty; for, do you see, in a two-watch ship at any one time about half the men are on deck for their watch, which leaves all their places free.'
'Even in twenty-eight inches, two foot four, a man must be touching his neighbour.'
'Why, sir, it is tolerably close, to be sure; but it gets them all in out of the weather. We have four ranges, as you see: from the bulkhead to this beam; and so to this one; then to the beam with the lantern hanging in front of it; and the last between that and the for'ard bulkhead, by the galley. The carpenter and the bosun have their cabins up there. The first range and part of the next is for the marines; then come the seamen, three and a half ranges of them. So with an average of twenty hammocks to a row, we get them all in, in spite of the mast.'
'But it must be a continuous carpet of bodies, when even half the men are lying there.'
'Why, so it is, sir.'
'Where are the windows?'
'We have nothing like what you would call windows,' said Mowett, shaking his head. 'There are the hatches and gratings overhead, but of course they are mostly covered up when it blows.'
'And the sick-quarters?'
'We have none of them either, sir, rightly speaking. But sick men have cots slung right up against the for'ard bulkhead on the starboard side, by the galley; and they are indulged in the use of the round-house.'
'What is that?'
'Well, it is not really a round-house, more like a little row-port: not like in a frigate or a ship of the line. But it serves.'
'What for?'
'I hardly know how to explain, sir,' said Mowett, blushing. 'A necessary-house.'
'A jakes? A privy?'
'Just so, sir.'
'But what do the other men do? Have they chamber-pots?'
'Oh no, sir, Heavens above! They go up the hatch there and along to the heads—little places on either side of the stem.'
'Out of doors?'
'Yes, sir.'
'But what happens in inclement weather?'
'They still go to the heads, sir.'
'And they sleep forty or fifty together down here, with no windows? Well, if ever a man with the gaol-fever, or the plague, or the cholera morbus, sets foot in this apartment, God help you all.'
'Amen, sir,' said Mowett, quite aghast at Stephen's immovable, convincing certainty.
'That is an engaging young fellow,' said Stephen, walking into the cabin.
'Young Mowett? I am happy to hear you say so,' said Jack, who was looking worn and harried. 'Nothing pleasanter than good shipmates. May I offer you a whet? Our seaman's drink, that we call grog—are you acquainted with it? It goes down gratefully enough, at sea. Simpkin, bring us some grog. Damn that fellow—he is as slow as Beelzebub . . . Simpkin! Light along that grog. God rot the flaming son of a bitch. Ah, there you are. I needed that,' he said, putting down his glass. 'Such a tedious damned morning. Each watch has to have just the same proportions of skilled hands in the various stations, and so on. Endless discussion. And,' said he, hitching himself a little closer to Stephen's ear, 'I blundered into one of those unhappy gaffes . . . I picked up the list and read off Flaherty, Lynch, Sullivan, Michael Kelly, Joseph Kelly, Sheridan and Aloysius Burke—those chaps that took the bounty at Liverpool—and I said "More of these damned Irish Papists; at this rate half the starboard watch will be made up of them, and we shall not be able to get by for beads"—meaning it pleasantly, you know. But then I noticed a damned frigid kind of a chill and I said to myself, "Why, Jack, you damned fool, Dillon is from Ireland, and he takes it as a national reflexion." Whereas I had not meant anything so illiberal as a national reflexion, of course; only that I hated Papists. So I tried to put it right by a few well-turned flings against the Pope; but perhaps they were not as clever as I thought for they did not seem to answer.'
And do you hate Papists, so?' asked Stephen.
'Oh, yes: and I hate paper-work. But the Papists are a very wicked crew, too, you know, with confession and all that,' said Jack. 'And they tried to blow up Parliament. Lord, how we used to keep up the Fifth of November. One of my very best friends—you would not believe how kind—was so upset when her mother married one that she took to mathematics and Hebrew directly—aleph, beth—though she was the prettiest girl for miles around—taught me navigation—splendid headpiece, bless her. She told me quantities of things about the Papists: I forget it all now, but they are certainly a very wicked crew. There is no trusting them. Look at the rebellion they have just had.'
'But my dear sir, the United Irishmen were primarily Protestants—their leaders were Protestants. Wolfe Tone and Napper Tandy were Protestants. The Emmets, the O'Connors, Simon Butler, Hamilton Rowan, Lord Edward Fitzgerald were Protestants. And the whole idea of the club was to unite Protestant and Catholic and Presbyterian Irishmen. The Protestants it was who took the initiative.'
'Oh? Well, I don't know much about it, as you see—I thought it was the Papists. I was on the West Indies station at the time. But after a great deal of this damned paper-work I am quite ready to hate Papists and Protestants, too, and Anabaptists and Methodies. And Jews. No—I don't give a damn. But what really vexes me is that I should have got across Dillon's hawse like that; as I was saying, there is nothing pleasanter than good shipmates. He has a time of it, doing a first lieutenant's duty and keeping a watch—new ship—new ship's company—new captain—and I particularly wished to ease him in. Without there is a good understanding between the officers a ship cannot be happy: and a happy ship is your only good fighting ship—you should hear Nelson on that point: and I do assure you it is profoundly true. He will be dining with us, and I should take it very kindly if you would, as it were . . . ah, Mr Dillon, come and join us in a glass of grog.'
Partly for professional reasons and partly because of an entirely natural absence, Stephen had long ago assumed the privilege of silence at table; and now from the shelter of this silence he watched James Dillon with particular attention. It was the same small head, held high; the same dark-red hair, of course, and green eyes; the same fine skin and bad teeth—more were decaying now; the same very well-bred air; and although he was slim and of no more than the average height, he seemed to take up as much room as the fourteen-stone Jack Aubrey. The main difference was that the look of being just about to laugh, or of having discovered a private joke, had quite vanished—wiped out: no trace of it. A typically grave, humourless Irish countenance now. His behaviour was reserved, but perfectly attentive and civil—not the least appearance of sullen resentment.
They ate an acceptable turbot—acceptable when the flour-and-water paste had been scraped off him—and then the steward brought in a ham. It was a ham that could only have come from a hog with a long-borne crippling disease, the sort of ham that is reserved for officers who buy their own provisions; and only a man versed in morbid anatomy could have carved it handsomely. While Jack was struggling with his duties as a host and adjuring the steward 'to clap on to its beakhead' and 'to look alive', James turned to Stephen with a fellow-guest's smile and said, 'Is it not possible that I have already had the pleasure of being in your company, sir? In Dublin, or perhaps at Naas?'
'I do not believe I have had the honour, sir. I am often mistaken for my cousin, of the same name. They tell me there is a striking resemblance, which makes me uneasy, I confess; for he is an ill-looking fellow, with a sly, Castle-informer look on his face. And the character of an informer is more despised in our country than in any other, is it not? Rightly so, in my opinion. Though, indeed, the creatures swarm there.' This was in a conversational tone, loud enough to be heard by his neighbour over Jack's 'Easy, now . . . wish it may not be infernally tough . . . get a purchase on its beam, Killick; never mind thumbs . . .'
'I am entirely of your way of thinking,' said James with complete understanding in his look. 'Will you take a glass of wine with me, sir?'
'With all my heart.'
They pledged one another in the sloe-juice, vinegar and sugar of lead that had been sold to Jack as wine and then turned, the one with professional interest and the other with professional stoicism, to Jack's dismembered ham.
The port was respectable, however, and after the cloth was drawn there was an easier, far more comfortable atmosphere in the cabin.
'Pray tell us about the action in the Dart,' said Jack, filling Dillon's glass. 'I have heard so many different accounts . . .'
'Yes, pray do,' said Stephen. 'I should look upon it as a most particular favour.'
'Oh, it was not much of an affair,' said James Dillon. 'Only with a contemptible set of privateers—a squabble among small-craft. I had temporary command of a hired cutter—a one-masted fore-and-aft vessel, sir, of no great size.' Stephen bowed. '—called the Dart. She had eight four-pounders, which was very well; but I only had thirteen men and a boy to fight them. However, orders came down to take a King's Messenger and ten thousand pounds in specie to Malta; and Captain Dockray asked me to give his wife and her sister a passage.'
'I remember him as first of the Thunderer,' said Jack. 'A dear, good, kind man.'
'So he was,' said James, shaking his head. 'Well, we had a steady tops'l libeccio, made our offing, tacked three or four leagues west of Egadi and stood a little west of south. It came on to blow after sundown, so having the ladies aboard and being short-handed in any case, I thought I should get under the lee of Pantelleria. It moderated in the night and the sea went down, and there I was at half-past four the next morning. I was shaving, as I remember very well, for I nicked my chin.'
'Ha,' said Stephen, with satisfaction.
'—when there was a cry of sail-ho and I hurried up on deck.'
'I'm sure you
did,' said Jack, laughing.
'—and there were three French lateen-rigged privateers. It was just light enough to make them out, hull-up already, and presently I recognized the two nearest with my glass. They carried each a brass long six-pounder and four one-pounder swivels in their bows, and we had had a brush with them in the Euryalus, when they had the heels of us, of course.'
'How many men in them?'
'Oh, between forty and fifty apiece, sir: and they each had maybe a dozen musketoons or patareroes on their sides. And I made no doubt the third was just such another. They had been haunting the Sicily Channel for some time, lying off Lampione and Lampedusa to refresh. Now they were under my lee, lying thus—' he drew in wine on the table '—with the wind blowing from the decanter. They could outsail me, close-hauled, and clearly their best plan was to engage me on either side and board.'
'Exactly,' said Jack.
'So taking everything into consideration—my passengers, the King's Messenger, the specie, and the Barbary coast ahead of me if I were to bear up—I thought the right thing to do was to attack them separately while I had the weather-gage and before the two nearest could join forces: the third was still three or four miles away, beating up under all sail. Eight of the cutter's crew were prime seamen, and Captain Dockray had sent his cox'n along with the ladies, a fine strong fellow named William Brown. We soon cleared for action and treble-shotted the guns. And I must say the ladies behaved with great spirit: rather more than I could have wished. I represented to them that their place was below—in the hold. But Mrs Dockray was not going to be told her duty by any young puppy without so much as an epaulette to his name and did I think a post-captain's wife with nine years' seniority was going to ruin her sprigged muslin in the bilges of my cockleshell? She should tell my aunt—my cousin Ellis—the First Lord of the Admiralty—bring me to a court-martial for cowardice, for temerity, for not knowing my business. She understood discipline and subordination as well as the next woman, or better; and "Come, my dear," says she to Miss Jones, "you ladle out the powder and fill the cartridges, and I will carry them up in my apron." By this time the position was so—' he redrew the plan. 'The nearest privateer two cables' lengths away and to the lee of the other: both of them had been firing for ten minutes with their bow-chasers.'
Book 1 - Master & Commander Page 11
