The Yellow Admiral

  Jack's face changed. 'Did she say that?' he asked sternly.

  'I believe those were her very words: or perhaps dear, dear love.'

  Jack took the letter, muttered 'Forgive me', and retired.

  He came back after a while, taller, straighter, his face glistening. 'Dear Lord, Stephen,' he cried, 'that was the best letter I have ever received. Thank you very, very much.' He shook Stephen's hand, looking down on him with infinite benevolence. 'And admirably well wrote, too—such a delicate hand.' He gazed about, in a confusion of happiness; then plucked his fiddle from its case, tuned it more or less—it had laid long untouched—and dashed off a truly astonishing trill, interrupted by the bosun's calls as Captain Fanshawe was piped aboard.

  'I do beg your pardon, Jack,' he cried, making his entrance. 'I am abominably late. The current set north-east like a goddam millrace, and we had to pull against the tide as well.'

  'Never mind, Billy, never mind. Even I miscalculate at times. Drink some sherry and recover your breath. You know Dr Maturin, I believe?'

  'Of course I do: we are old friends. How do you do, sir? It is a great while since I have had the pleasure of seeing you.'

  Harding came in at this point, and Killick just behind him, to ask, with half a disapproving eye on Captain Fanshawe, 'whether his honour would choose to have the soup held back still longer, or whether it might be set on table now?'

  It was set on table, a lobster bisque (the one delight of these bleak rock-strewn waters) with the guests gathered round it; and presently Fanshawe, pushing his third plate away from him, said, 'Well, Jack, you and your people look wonderfully rich and happy and comfortable; I don't wonder at it, with such a prize under your belt, and a kindly Commissioner at Dock. But tell me, did the Yard serve out any slops?'

  'Not so much as a tarpaulin jacket,' said Jack. 'I had no money by me, the prize not having been condemned, so there was no question of the customary presents here and there; then again I was much engaged in the country at the time; and although the Commissioner was wonderfully good to me where cordage and spars were concerned, and the powder-hoy, the bloody-minded victuallers were shocking remiss. And since I was in such a tearing hurry to get to sea, I did not stir them up but relied on their coming out to the squadron.'

  'Then you may wait until we ground on our own beef-bones,' said Fanshawe. 'In Ramillies we are down to a few casks of bread, some weavilly oatmeal and what we can catch over the side. No poultry left—pigs a remote dream—precious few rats to be had under fourpence apiece—and as for slops . . . why, the purser told me but yesterday with tears in his eyes, that we had no jackets, no blankets and no slop shoes at all—this with winter coming on . . . The last store-ship was beaten back into Cawsand Bay, so nothing till next month. Can you spare us any? Even a couple of blankets for the sick-berth would be welcome.'

  'I shall ask my purser,' said Jack, looking eagerly at the mutton, just coming in with a certain pomp-mutton, welcome, very welcome, in itself and because it might change the course of Fanshawe's dreary conversation.

  The shoulder, though succulent and expertly carved, did not do so at first. 'No stores and no news,' said Fanshawe. 'The last we had was a great while ago, when Austria declared on our side. But Boney had thrashed the Austrians again and again, and he will certainly beat them this time too. Wellington sits there on the Garonne—the Land of Goshen, no doubt—instead of marching north; so the French ships of the line in Rochefort, La Rochelle and even Lorient can lure the offshore squadron westwards and combine with those here in Brest to cut us to pieces. Not that a battle would be much out of the way with the Admiral so far out of sight of Ushant it is impossible for us to prevent the French getting in with a west wind by either of the two main entrances. We take great pains, as you know damn well, and an anxious time we have of it, what with tides and rocks—more danger in this station than a battle once a week.'

  'Allow me to carve you a slice of mutton, sir,' said Stephen.

  'Well, if I must, I must. Thank you: it is truly capital mutton, perfectly hung. Now I will just quote you a piece from a letter I wrote to my poor wife, and then finish my dirge—apart from throwing out the remark that we do not possess a single second topsail among us all. Here is my piece. "I therefore bid adieu to snug beds and comfortable naps at night, never lying down but in my clothes. We hear no news here, and cannot be in more seclusion from the world, and with one object in view—that of preventing the French from doing harm." There. I have done.'

  'A glass of wine with you, Billy,' said Jack, and the decanter went round, and round again; then the claret was replaced by port and after the first glass Stephen rose, begged Jack's pardon, but he had promised to see his patients at six bells, and he had just heard them strike.

  'Mr Smith and Mr Macaulay,' he asked, far below, 'how do you do, the both of you? I am happy to see you so apparently well.'

  They were well, they admitted, though hungry—the berth had eaten all their private stock and now they were down to ship's provisions—but they were afraid he would not be so pleased with the sick-berth nor with the medicine-chest. The run ashore at Dock had produced such a number of cases of pox that the berth was over-filled and the chest almost bare of venereal medicines. They had also to add that in the last storm but one three men had been washed bodily off the fo'c'sle, and that in the effort to get some sail on the ship to prevent her rolling her masts out, they had four broken limbs and some ugly dislocations, mostly reduced by now, but some with disquieting sequelae.

  Before beginning his rounds Stephen asked, 'How is Bonden, the Captain's coxswain?'

  'The man with the wig? Oh, quite well, sir, though I believe he asked for a purge some time ago. Yes, I gave him rhubarb, ounce a half: and it answered.'

  'Please let him know I should like to see him, when it is his watch below.'

  Eight bells, and with the usual sound of a great wooden hollow rumbling some hundreds of men hurried to and from their appointed places. Bonden was pinned and led to the dispensary, looking anxious. 'Oh, it's you again, sir,' he cried, smiling as he saw Stephen. 'I did not have time, just now, to ask after the ladies: I hope you left them well?'

  'Very well indeed, thank you, Bonden: and they send their kindest wishes. Now I should just like to look at your head.'

  The head, now covered with stubble, was indeed fit to be struck with a top-maul. The scars could be made out, but there was nothing of that yielding either side of the sagittal suture and a little above the lambdoid that had worried Dr Maturin. 'There,' he said, replacing the seamanlike wig, 'in my opinion you are as good as new. I shall tell the Captain: he was much concerned for you.'

  'I know he was, sir—kept me from work as much as ever he could. But you know, sir, Killick and me, we are much concerned for him, if I may be so bold.'

  Stephen nodded and said, 'You may find him better presently.'

  In point of fact he was better already, very much better, recovered from his first almost painful ebullience and sitting there in the evening cabin with deadlights shipped and the Bellona snugged down, a moderate roll and a south-west breeze with a fine steady glass for once, he was perfectly ready to listen with close attention to Stephen's account of Woolcombe.

  'I am heartily glad that Mrs Williams is gone back to Bath to live there with her friend,' he said. 'Sophie was never the same with her in the place. And I must say it was amazingly handsome in Diana to give them the little house.'

  'Dear Diana: she is in funds again. So am I, as I told you.'

  'And for my part I am not quite the abject, bankrupt pauper I was. The lawyers sent me some reports that would have sent me to the masthead if Sophie's letter had not arrived just before them: two of our appeals have succeeded, and Lawrence, that dear good man, says he is virtually certain of winning the third and last. And my share of this last prize should just about set me afloat again, in a very modest fashion.'

  'From all I hear it was a splendid prize. I give you joy of her, brother, with all my he
art.'

  'Thank you, Stephen. She was, indeed. Rather in the style of the Frenchman we took off the Dry Tortugas, Hebe, formerly our Hyaena, you remember. She had taken an English Guineaman and her lovely cargo of gold-dust and ivory. Except that the Deux Frères, this most recent prize, had taken two Guineamen, each of them larger and richer than that dear old Intrepid Fox.'

  Stephen nodded gravely. 'I am sure you pursued her with all the zeal in the world.'

  'So I did, by God. But with no real thought of prize-money—certainly not prize-money to that staggering extent. No. I saw her chasing one of our merchantmen, already within long shot. I was fairly spoiling for a fight: it was the fight I was after and it was the fight I cracked on for. And the plain call of duty too, of course.'

  'It has been reported that you broke away from manoeuvres and chased from a desire for gain.'

  'That was an untrue report. The weather was thick and growing thicker; signals were barely visible. I had to act quickly or not at all, and I may not have been strictly correct in acknowledging, but I certainly did say I was chasing north-west, before the rest of the squadron disappeared from sight. And in fact I did take a dangerous enemy privateer and I preserved a British merchantman: that was my aim. The money, though uncommon welcome to all hands, had nothing whatsoever to do with it—was neither here nor there.' A pause. 'No,' Jack went on. 'I was brought up to think that making money was a very proper thing to do: the proper . . . something . . . of mankind. Pursuit, perhaps: the proper pursuit. My father did not have a great deal of time to improve my morals, but now and then he used to urge me to take notice of various precepts of a religious nature. He was at Eton, you know . . .'

  'That large school near Windsor?'

  'Just so.'

  'A sad place, I fear. I was there with a friend—we had meant to view the castle—but on reaching a place called Salt Hill we were beset, surrounded by a host of boys and youths dressed as Jack Puddings and merry-andrews in antic garments who insisted upon alms, sturdy threatening beggars: we had little between us, and they gave us very ill language indeed before going on to some unfortunate newcomers in a gig. Yet it is true that I have heard they possess a store of Greek between them.'

  'I dare say they have: but it is almost the only Latin that my father learnt, and the text he always quoted to me was

  Rem facias, rem

  si possis, recte, si non, quocumque modo, rem.

  Just where it was in the Bible I am not sure. My father thought it was one of the minor prophets. It often occurs to me when I am shaving or when church is being rigged, but it was not in my mind at all, not for a moment when I was chasing the Deux Frères, though it would have been appropriate in a way, and perhaps even lucky. Sometimes I think I ought to hand it on to George. When all is said and done, a Latin text is something for a boy to possess.'

  'Dear Jack, I am sorry to contradict your father—probably some wicked school-fellow made game of him—but it is Horace, not the Bible; and Mr Pope renders it very well

  Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace;

  If not, by any means get wealth and place.

  and you would never wish that upon your good open-faced little fat boy as ancestral wisdom, sure. But this brings me to my conversation with Sir Joseph Blaine. I conceived that you would not take it amiss if I were to talk to him about you?'

  'Never in life, never in life, upon my word. I have the greatest possible respect and esteem for Sir Joseph. He has been very much my friend—I owe my reinstatement largely to him. Of course you could talk to Sir Joseph Blaine.'

  'I talked to him about your prospects of a flag. He told me that they were not what he and your other friends could wish. He said that your repeated and vehement criticism of the ministry in Parliament, together with your frequent abstentions had done you much harm in Government's opinion; and reports of negligence on the Brest station together with abandoning manoeuvres to indulge in very highly profitable chasing had done the same in that of the Admiralty. He explained the capital importance of Lord Stranraer's friends and dependants in the Commons . . .' Stephen recapitulated Blaine's analysis and went on, 'Sir Joseph felt that your friends might be well advised to urge you to retire as a post-captain rather than expose yourself to the affront of being passed over at a forthcoming flag-promotion. He is, as you say, very much your friend and he did throw out some confused remarks about the possibility of a commissionership or even some civilian employment, conceivably to do with hydrography . . .'

  A silence fell: a silence of voices. The steady heave of the sea carried on, barely perceptible unless one paid attention, and the countless sounds of masts, yards, rigging and the current round the rudder: but then an impact, curiously prolonged.

  'That would be a whale, scraping his side,' observed Jack.

  Stephen nodded, and went on. 'I then raised another point. As you know, I was in France; and there I met some of the men I had known in South America when we were concerned with Peruvian independence: but these gentlemen were from Valparaiso, in Chile. They are as ambitious of independence from Spain as were the Peruvians, and in my opinion they are more reliable; and the Chileans are much more concerned with the naval side of the matter than the Peruvians. Sir Joseph put all this to the proper authorities and in their guarded way they express themselves as willing to give unacknowledged, unofficial support and comfort to the movement.'

  'You are very much in favour of independence,' said Jack. 'I have often noticed it.'

  'You too might think more highly of the state, had you been dependent.'

  'I am sure I should. I beg pardon. Please go on.'

  'What I have to say now is very much up in the air, quite hypothetical. But there is a possibility that this war may come to an end quite soon. It is likely to be followed by a period of confusion, possibly a change of ministry, certainly a vast paying-off of ships and very widespread unemployment in the Navy.'

  'Alas, it is but too true.'

  'Now, suppose that during this period you were withdrawn from the list and from the competition, being employed in Chilean waters, ostensibly and no doubt actually surveying, distinguishing yourself in various ways, behaving much as you did aboard the Surprise not so long since, in a temporary, nominally retired condition, reinstatement being promised, together with the probability of a blue flag in due course—a rear-admiral's flag, how would that suit you? Sir Joseph and Lord Melville think that from the service point of view it could be arranged.'

  'Lord, Stephen: it is a most prodigious attractive prospect.' He considered for some minutes. '. . . to be out of the hurly-burly for a while . . .' he muttered; and then, 'You did say Stranraer's influence was the strongest thing against me, and that if he died his influence would no longer be there—would not pass to Griffiths?' Stephen nodded. 'They say he is very poorly indeed. Is he likely to live, do you think?'

  'Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' cried Stephen, starting up. 'Do you ask me to discuss a patient, sir? Be damned to your impertinence. You will be desiring me to give him a quietus next.'

  'Oh pray do not be angry, Stephen—I did not mean to ask you as a medico—I only threw it out like that—talking in my sleep, as it were—sit down again, I beg—it was a most scrub-like thing to say even silently, and I do apologize without the least reserve. Yours is a beautiful idea: I like it of all things, and am infinitely obliged to you and Sir Joseph. Pray let me fill your glass.'

  They sat reflecting; and when Jack had filled their glasses yet again he said timidly, 'It would be the most beautiful idea in the world, but for that wretched probability—the probability of a flag.'

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas, and a dismal time they would have had of it too, but for a singularly fortunate encounter in the first dim light of December 24th, when the fo'c'sle lookout reported two fishing-boats directly to leeward.

  Fishing in the bay was a dangerous pursuit, for quite apart from storms, rocks and tide-races, the French authorities punished contact with any shi
p of the blockading squadron very severely indeed, sometimes with death; and whenever there was even tolerable visibility watchers with telescopes kept the fishermen in view, while both setting out from port and return were registered. The two boats in question therefore did their best to get away; but they were horribly embarrassed by their catch—a vast net not only crammed with mackerel but also with the porpoises that had been pursuing them and that were now hopelessly entangled in fold upon fold of twisted mesh.

  Happily the fishermen were on the Bellona's seaward side: they could not have been seen from the shore even if the light had been far better. Harding quickly had the quarter-boat lowered, and in a brisk exchange bought net, mackerel and porpoises for two guineas. They were hoisted aboard with infinite good will and almost all the mackerel, as fresh as ever fish could be, were eaten for breakfast, while the porpoises, rather strangely jointed by the ship's butcher, were served out for Christmas dinner and declared better, far better, than roast pork.

  They were, however, but the faintest, most wistful of memories a month or so later—a month still quite bare of store-ships, post or news, other than vague rumours of French reverses in Leipzig and of more convincing recoveries in other places far away—when according to their custom the Bellona's captain and her surgeon met for breakfast.

  'Good morning, Stephen,' said Jack. 'Have you been on deck?'

  'I have not—a good morning to you, however—what little air came down from the hatches as I walked along was so very disagreeable that I chose rather to make my morning rounds before breakfast, close, fetid and nasty though it was down there, in spite of my ventilators.'

  'And I am afraid it is but a fetid, nasty and goddam meagre breakfast that is waiting for you now, very far from the delights of Black's or even Woolcombe. Yet at least the coffee, though precious thin, is liquid and still reasonably hot. Allow me to pour you a cup.' Having done so, he went on, 'If you had not gone below, you would have seen a prodigious curious sky. With the glass rising and falling so often, I really do not know what to make of it: nor does the master. I wish Yann were still aboard. In these waters it is a joy to have a pilot who has fished the whole bay since he was a youngster. I may well be wrong, but I am fairly sure of that odd mixture of strong wind and fog that we met with—that we suffered from—off Patagonia.'