“I shall go upstairs - I shall go on deck, and ask whether it would be proper to enqu ire. Ladies, forgive me, I beg.”
No. It would be most improper. Jack was surprised that a man who had seen so much sea-time could suppose the thing possible or even decent - it was not exactly mutinous but it would deserve and certainly receive an exceptionally harsh reproach. But in any case Stephen was talking great nonsense. The Portuguese had been aboard Lord Leyton this hour and more and there had been no sign of mail — nothing handed up the side, no passing out of bags, no hurrying to and fro. No. The boat had done nothing more than deliver a gentleman, the gentleman in regimentals who was now walking up and down the quarterdeck with the Admiral, arm in arm. “I have been staring at him with my glass, in this ill -bred fashion, for some little time,” said Jack. “For although I think I know the face and carriage I cannot put a name to either. Should you like to take a look?”
“Sure, it is very ill-bred: but I might, to make you easy .” Stephen took the telescope, focused it, and almost at once, as the two men on the far ship turned, he said coldly, “It is Henry Miller. He was at Trinity in my time and he killed Edward Taaffe in the Fifteen Ac res when I was in my last year.”
“Miller? Yes, of course, my neighbour over by Caxley. He must be related to the Admiral — Miller is Lord Leyton's family name, and that person over there often spoke of a peerage going to some fairly close connexion. Cousin, of course: they would not be walk ing arm in arm, otherwise.” After a pause Jack went on, “What do you mean by your Fifteen Acres?”
“It is a space in the Phoenix Park - you know the great park in Dublin , I am sure?” Jack nodded. “And that is where people go, particularly the young men of Trinity, to settle matters of honour.”
“Just so: and he killed a gunner officer in Malta, too. He is said to be a very good shot; and he has capital pistols. I have heard him called Hair-Trigger Miller; and to be sure I h ave seen him bring down a great many pheasants.”
“Would you say he was a quarrelsome man, at all?”
“I scarcely know him. We are necessarily acquainted, but he is not the sort of man whose acquaintance I should value – in short, I do not like him. It is not the fighting. As you know, duels are much more usual in the army than with us, or even the Marines. And anyhow you and I have both been out from time to time ... cannot top it the Holy Joe.” Jack stared o ut over the water and went on. “For all I know he may be well enough liked in his regiment: but his reputation in the neighbourhood is so indifferent that I was astonished to learn that he had called on Edward and Christine when they settled in Medenham, and then at Woolcombe when Christine was staying there, with Edward so far in the north. I have no room to blackguard a man for incontinence, being no model myself: but there are limits . . . You know very well, Stephen, how much influence a man with a large household and a considerable estate can bring to bear on his dependents – his dependents’ daughters – and there were some very ugly tales of girls in child being turned away. I know very little: yet his conduct does seem to matc h with the general reprobation.”
“He is not married, I take it?”
“No, nor ever has been. Being almost next in succession to the Leyton title, he is said to be saving himself up for some very brilliant match.”
“Can you square a man’s valuing a peerage very highly with his going out and risking his life so often?”
“Yes, if he is an unusually resentful unloved creature and at the same time an uncommon good shot.”
“Sir, if you pleas e,” said the officer of the watch, stepping aft and taking off his hat, “Flag is breaking out a signal.” Speaking in the high, staccato, expressionless voice usual on such occasions, the duty-midshipman piped up , “Flag to Suffolk: Admiral invites Rear-Admiral and Doctor M-A-T-U-R-I-N to dinner at a quarter past three: repeat a quarter past three o'clock.”
“Rear-Admiral to flag: very happy, ” said Jack in italics. Then he hurried aft to Stephen’s point of discreet withdrawal. “Stephen, I have engaged you to dine with the Admiral tomor row: I hope you do not mind it?”
“I do not mind it, my dear: and it would make not odds if I did. We are all worms under the harrow, in the service: even you, Jack, scintillating in gold lace, are but one of us. I say come, and he cometh: for I am a centurion. I have met few admirals: some high, mighty and almost certainly constipated; others small, jolly, good company: reading men , even. Besides, I long for men’s company: the prattle of the little girls — much though I love them — drives me to an earlier and earlier breakfast, to a later and even later dinner, so that presently the two wil l meet, as they did in Avicenna’s tale. They come to me with a pelagic crab, a starfish, a piece of common wrack, and standing b y my side they cry ‘Oh sir, pray tell us what it is,’ so that I am tempted to utter obscene blasphemy. Oh how I long for dear Jacob’s return!”
“I believe our dep arture depends largely on that,” said Jack gravely; and then after a pause, “I tell you what, Stephen,” he cried, “it is long since we had a real great-gun exercise. The last powder-hoy, for a trifle of whiskey – you know the Irish drink, Stephen, I am sure?”
“I have never heard of it,” said Stephen.
“— gave us a little surplus, so that the gunner is actually at a loss to stow it: nothing could be happier. And if that does not deafen, astound and silence the little girls there is the Devil in it . I shall give orders directly. The whole shooting-match !" Jack did not often stumble on a witticism, and this one gave him particular delight: he repeated it twice.
The whole shooting-match it was, indeed: Suffolk might not have been called a very taut ship, nor more than ordinarily crack, but she could never have been likened to the Margate hoy; and in any case she now carried many Surprises, long used to their captain’s ways and his rigid insistence upon very high standards indeed. The breeze being both steady and favourable Jack laid on his favourite, most profitable form of exercise, one calculated to promote zeal, speed and above all accuracy, to knit a gun-crew into an immensely cooperative whole – never a word passing, never a word called for – and to promote the most valuable sort of competition. The most experienced gun-captains and the older, wiser midshipmen were at the three forward guns; and bitter shame would fall upon any following gun that could not keep up with them in speed or accuracy.
The first three guns had been ordered to fire high, to leave something for the rest of the broadside; and Jack, as a particular treat, silencer or gob-stopper for the little girls, had with Mr Meares the gunner contrived a flimsy but coherent structure that under very light and worn-out canvas would drift until it was abreast of the man-of -war, which would then pound it with the most rapid broadside compatible with the
Suffolk’s timbers – a broadside rolling, but only just rolling.
“Target's away,” h ailed the foretopmast lookout. “On deck, there, target’s away”
“From forward aft as she bears,” called Jack; and there was a long, tense silence, broken only by the gentle wind in the rigging. The little girls, in white frocks, stood on tip-toe: just behind them Sophie and Christine, almost equally tense. The captain of Number One glared along his sights, the lanyard in his right hand, his left making very slight delicate motions to swivel or elevate the huge gun-barrel right or left, up or down a trifle. “Fire!” he cried and heaved on the lanyard: the hammer shot forward and with barely a perceptible pause the gun uttered its prodigious roar, a great jet of smoke and flame enveloping the cannon-ball and the gun-carriage and cannon raced inboard with a screech of trunions under the arched bodies of the crew until the whole was brought up short with a great twang of the tackles; but already there were immensely active hands cleaning any smouldering remnants from the gun, swabbing the barrel, ramming down the next charge of powder, then the ball, then the wads, well thumped down, the crew barely pausing for breath but running the whole mass up against the side with a crash, where the gun-captain pricked and primed his cock, unmoved by the truly appallin
g discharge of his right-hand neighbour as he and his mates made all fast and levelled the warm gun again.
The firing went clean down the battleship’s side at a fine even pace, and even the aftermost piece had its shot at the frail remnant that drifted by. But by then the little girls had almost no voice to screech with nor even the emotional power to do so: the enormous and repeated din, the vibration of the ship and the air, the great flashes and the dense clouds of smoke drifting away to leeward had overpowered them; and the near-stupefaction of their elders was very impressive too. Sophie had seen sloops and moderate frigates at gun-exercise, but never a ship of the line, and she was quite remarkably perturbed, not only by the unconscio n able din but infinitely more by the reflection that this was what his profession inflicted upon her husband: or at least the way of life to whi ch it exposed him. Christine, to be sure, had fired many and many a fowling-piece and even upon occasion a rifled gun, but nothing imaginably on this scale, and she rema ined quite mute, holding Brigid’s hand, until after a good deal of calling-out ri ght forward the cry came down, “On deck, on deck there. Target’s away, sir.”
So it was, a great long affair of all kinds of old casks and nameless objects from the entire squadron clapped together and furnished with enough cloth of a sort to carry the whole downwind. The target appeared on the starboard bow, towed by boats that cast off as soon as it was well on cours e. An active intelligent master’s mate ran down the broadside: “No fire until the Admiral gives the word: then count two between each shot.”
A profound silence: the target drifted halfway down the Suffolk ’s length. “Fire,” said Jack.
The first gun and before it quite ran in the second and so clear along down to the last: and when the smoke cleared and the last repeated echo died away there was nothing but tossing water to be seen. The little girls had strength enough to utter a last gasping ‘Oh,’ and then they were led away, exhausted: but not before a furious Killick had appeared on the quarter deck waving a full-dress coat. “Which I had it all laid out a quarter of an hour long past. Ain't you got . . .” He was going to say ‘no shame?’ but disapproving looks, coupled with Jack’s compliance and a call for the barge checked his zeal.
With a following breeze and a very well-inclined crew the barge fairly skimmed across the sea, hooking on only a matter of seconds late. In any case Lord Leyton was in a good mood – he could be jovial and he could be damned crabbed: but this was a good day. He had heard much of Dr Maturin’s acquaintance, close acquaintance, with Prince William, wh o, in view of his elder brother’s constitution, was likely to be king in the early foreseeable future. “Well, Aubrey” he cried giving his guest a hand as he came aboard, “you very nearly split the heavens with that damned great rolling broadside – God’s my life, thunder and lightn ing was nothing to compare. Don’t I wish you may not have started more than a dozen of your timbers, ha, ha, ha! And don't I wish you may have come by your powder honestly, ha, ha, ha, ha! Allow me to present my young cousin Ran dolph Miller” — beckoning to a soldier in regimentals, smiling just behind him. “But of course you know him already, you are neighbours in the country.”
“How do you do, sir?” said Jack, accepting Miller’s proffered hand.
“And this, sir, is Dr Maturin, I presume?” said Lord Leyton. “How kind of you to come. I have had a particular desire to meet you ever since the Duke of Clarence told me you were a most uncommonly learned man. I am not particularly learned myself, but I love to surround myself with those that are. May I introduce you to Captain Miller, my cousin Randolph – but now I come to reflect, perhaps a Doctor of
Medicine takes rank over a simple soldier . . .”
“Not at all, my lord: but it so happens that we were at Trinity at much the same time , so I already have that honour.”
“Indeed he was: Trinity College, Dublin. Well then, if he too were at Trinity, then he too is one of the learned - it stands to reason. And I dare say he can split an infinitive as quick as any man. But may I introduce . . .”
Presently they were called to the Admiral’s truly splendid dining-cabin, which could seat ten people easily, each with a servant behind his chair and plenty of room for those who came hurrying in with dishes and tureens, sauceboats, trays of bread and of course very large quantities of wine – a grateful Sancerre with the bonito, an Haut-Brion with the admirable duck and an ancient burgundy with the roast beef: unhappily it was corked. The chaplain on Stephen’s right murmured something about ‘a q uaint reminiscence of antiquity’ and Jack did not empty his glass; but their host took no notice of his formal first sip and none of his officers showed any sign of awareness. ‘Stoicism?’ asked Stephen privately. ‘Dislike of offending the great man? Discipline? Stark insensibility?’
When it came to the port, however, the case was altered: all hands, including the parson, drank eagerly; and when they reached the loyal toast there was no man who did not drain his brimming glass and murmur, ‘God bless him,’ with real feeling, and emptied it.
After this ceremony and the chaplain’s grace, Lord Leyton observed that although the glass was sinking it was still quite a fine afternoon, and some of them might like to take their coffee, and perhaps some brandy, on deck. There were general sounds of agreement, a general movement, though with due regard for precedence, and the Admiral keeping Jack by his side until the room was free, said, in answer to h is thanks and congratulations, “Not at all, not at all, my dear fellow - a very simple little feast: though I must admit that they have capital beef in these part. But did you noti ce anything about the burgundy?”
“No, sir: capital wine.”
“Well, I am glad of that. For a moment I thought – but, however, what I wanted to tell you before coffee was that I should like you to weigh on the ebb and to proceed to Saint Helena under a very easy sail and there to wait in that damned uneasy roadstead until you see me plain. Then you must weigh and carry on for the Cape: there is not room for all three squadrons to lie there safely together in a strong sou’wester. But that will already make a very impre ssive show of force, I believe.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“And then I should like you to take my nephew along with you. As you may know, he has been given an appointment at the Cape, and the sooner he is there the better – you might even lend him your tender for the last few days, if the wind drops, as it so often does as you approach the coast. Now let us hurry on deck, before all those God-damned sol diers have drunk all the brandy.”
On deck Captain Miller at once came up to Jack and said, “Sir, I hear with great pleasure that Mrs Aubrey and Mrs Wood are both aboard you, and that perhaps we may be shipmates far as the Cape. Allow me to fetch you a glass of brandy .” Coming back with the glass in his hand he cried, “My dear cousin has just told me that you will be so very kind as to take me with you. Thank you very much indeed. I did myself the pleasure of waiting on Mr Heatherleigh when he and his sister – whom I already knew and admired from my days in Sierra Leone – were settling at Medenham; and later I called on Mrs Aubrey and Mrs Wood at Woolcombe when you were still at sea – I must congratulate you on your children, sir.”
Jack looked at him with some surprise. Their degree of acquaintance did not warrant anything like this familiarity . ‘Has the man drunk too much?’ he wondered inwardly: aloud he said, “Forgive me, if you
please,” and walked across the deck to where Dr Maturin was listening sullenly to Lord Leyton’s harangue – his detailed explanation of how he was going to tell Napoleon how he could have avoided defeat at Waterloo.
“Aubrey” cried Leyton, turning, “cannot you persuade or even order Dr Maturin to stay while I have my interview with the Emperor — with General Bonaparte , I should say? I can read the French pretty well, with a dictionary at hand, but I cannot speak it with anything like the Doctor’s fluency’
“Oh come, my lord,” said Stephen, “what you say sounds very like the French of the northern provinces: and I do assure you I have patients a
board to whom I owe my first duty, to say nothing of what awaits me at the Cape.”
“My lord,” said Jack, “even an Admiral cannot overrule a medical man – it is in the Articles of War – and even if he could he would have no success with Maturin. You may turn a bear from his vomit, but I do solemnly affirm that ten bears of the largest size could not deter Maturin from what he thought right. And I do assure you, my lord, that we have some people on the sick-list in a very parlous state.”
“How do you mean, parlous .”
“ Well, my lord, nip and tuck as you might say, or touch and go. And it is my impression that as soon as his assistant, Dr Jacob, comes aboard he means to operate on a strangled hernia.”
“A twisting of the guts, my lord. The poor soul, swelling above because his shipmates feed him twice at every meal, and the stricture below: the patient is a sailmaker’s mate.”
“Well, I am sorry for him, but I am sure to have nothing to recommend but a double handful of small-shot followed by a pint of caster oil. Yet, it really is a medical business and I shall certainly leave it to them. Would it be a very bloody affair.”
“Shockingly so, I fear: though with clip and swab we will try to diminish the flow.”
“I might mention it to Miller: he walking miles to see the castrating of lamb and bullock – geldings for that matter.” The Admiral then gazed up at the taut sails with unmoved pleasure. “Now with it getting something like the full Trades, clear of the land and its turbulences , we can form the squadron into sailing order and prepare to depart.” At this he sent his guests back to their ships in the rudest manner.
21: The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey Page 6
