This was a logic that seemed convincing to Bolton, the first lieutenant and the Commodore; and when Jack had extracted the facts from the circumstantial details, a description of the grass-combing bugger that had tried this guardo-move, and an account of Mrs Bolton's state of health, he reached for a pen, and, watched very closely indeed by the four seamen, wrote a letter, which he then read out to them in a harsh, all-hands-to punishment voice that gave the utmost satisfaction:
'Boadicea,
Simon's Town
Sir,
Conformably to the wishes of the men named in the margin, late of the Néréide, and now on board of his Majesty's ship under my command, I acquaint you that unless the prize money due to them for Buenos Ayres and Monte Video, and received by you under their power of attorney, is forthwith paid, I shall state the case to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, with a request that their solicitor may be directed to sue for the same.
I am, etc.
'There,' he said, 'that will clap a stopper over his antics. Now, Bolton, if the Doctor is aboard, I should like to see him when he is at leisure.'
As it happened the Doctor was not on board. He was half way between Cape Town, where he had left Mr Farquhar, and False Bay, sitting in a sparse grove of proteas in a dust-storm, clasping a loose portfolio of plants to be dried for his herbal, and dividing what attention he had left between a small flock of crested mouse-birds and a troop of baboons. Presently he came down to the harbour, where he washed away some of the dust at his usual tavern and received from the landlord (an obliging African of Huguenot descent) the foetus of a porcupine: and here, as he had expected, he found McAdam, sitting in front of a bottle that would have preserved the foetus almost indefinitely. Little of it had been drunk, however, and McAdam entertained him with a reasonable account of their patient's extraordinary activity and flow of spirits. Lord Clonfert, it appeared, was up well before dawn every day (a rare occurrence), inspiring all hands with a sense of extreme urgency; he had bleared Pym's eye over a couple of topgallant yards by means of a thumping bribe; and he was now negotiating with a known receiver of stolen goods for a gig. 'Sure it will break his heart if he is not the first that is ready for sea,' said McAdam. 'He has set his soul on outdoing the Commodore.'
'May we not in part attribute his activity to the roborative, stimulating use of coffee, and to the general soothing effect of mild tobacco, which has set his humours in equilibrio?Tobacco, divine, rare, superexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all their panaceas, potable gold, and philosopher's stones, a sovereign remedy to all diseases. A good vomit, I confess, a virtuous herb, if it be well qualified and opportunely taken, and medicinally used, but as it is commonly abused by most men, which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lands, health; hellish, devilish and damned tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body and soul. Here, however, it is medicinally taken; and I congratulate myself upon the fact, that in your hands there is no question of tinkers' abuse.'
The flying dust, the incessant wind, had made McAdam more gross than usual; he had never cordially liked Stephen's prescription of coffee and tobacco; and from his wavering, red-rimmed eye it seemed that he was meditating a coarse remark. Indeed, he began 'A fig for . . .' but having belched at this point he reconsidered his words, fixed his gaze on the bottle, and continued, 'No, no: you do not have to be a conjuror to see it is all emulation. If the one is your dashing frigate-captain, t'other will be your dashing frigate-captain to the power of ten, whether or no. He will outdo the Commodore though he burst.'
It would not be difficult to outdo the Commodore in his present state, the creature, reflected Stephen as he walked into the cabin: riot, at least, in the article of speed. Captain Aubrey was completely surrounded by papers, including those of the courts-martial that were to be held over the next few days—the usual offences of desertion and violence or disobedience or both when drunk: but time-consuming—and upon them all he had laid out the mildewed sheets of his private correspondence.
'There you are, Stephen,' he cried. 'How happy I am to see you. What have you there?'
'An unborn porcupine.'
'Well, there's glory for you. But Stephen, you are a rare one for making out a secret hand, I am sure. Would you help me try to find out the sequence of these letters, and perhaps even the sense?'
Together they pored over the sheets, using a magnifying-glass, intuition, crocus of antimony, and a little diluted copperas; but to small effect.
'I do make out that the Old Nonpareils we planted had three apples apiece, and that the strawberries failed,' said Jack, 'and she obviously heard from Ommaney, because here is the parlour chimney drawing fit to turn a mill, and a Jersey cow—the children have hair, and teeth, any number of teeth, poor little souls. Hair: with all my heart, though she does say it is straight. Straight or frizzled, 'tis all one: they will look far better with some hair—Lord, Stephen, it must have been their hair I blew away, thinking it was shakings that had got into the cover.' He crept about for some time and came up with a little wisp. 'Very little shakings, however,' he said, folding it into his pocket-book and returning to the letters. 'Neighbours most attentive: here is another brace of pheasants from Mr Beach last Thursday. But in this one she says she is well, surprisingly well, underlined twice: says it again in what I take to be the last. I am heartily glad of it, of course, yet why surprisingly?Has she been ill? And what is this about her mother? Could the second word be palsy? if Mrs Williams has been sick, with Sophie looking after her, that might explain the surprisingly.'
They pored again, and Stephen almost certainly deciphered a hare, a present from Captain Polixfen, eaten jugged on Saturday or Sunday or both; and something about the rain. All the rest was mere conjecture.
'I think old Jarvie was altogether wrong in saying that a sea-officer had no business to marry,' said Jack, carefully gathering the sheets. 'Yet I can see what he meant. I should not be unmarried for the world, you know; no, not for a flag; but you cannot conceive how my mind has been going back to Ashgrove Cottage these days, when I should be thinking about getting the squadron to sea.' He jerked his head over his shoulder and stared out of the scuttle for a while before adding, 'These God damned courts-martial: and what to do about the land-sharks in the yard. To say nothing of the bosun and his infernal capers.'
During supper he picked at his mutton, setting out the difficulty of dealing with Mr Fellowes: disposing of His Majesty's property was an immemorial practice among His Majesty's servants—if the objects were damaged it was almost legitimate by length of custom—and in the Navy it went by the name of cappabar. Pursers, carpenters, and bosuns stole most, having more to steal, and better opportunities; but there were limits, and Fellowes had not confined himself to damaged goods, nor to those of slight value. He had carried cappabar too high by far—the thing was flagrant—and Jack could bring him before a court-martial and have him broke tomorrow. It was Jack's duty to have him broke. On the other hand, it was also his duty to keep his ship in the highest possible fighting-trim: for that he needed a first-rate bosun: and first-rate bosuns did not grow on trees, at the Cape. First-rate bosuns were not twelve a penny. He grew a little heated on the subject, cursing Fellowes for a half-witted zany, a mad lunatic, a fling-it-down-the gutter sodomite; but his heart was not in it; his epithets lacked real warmth and inventiveness; and his mind was clearly still far away in Hampshire.
'Come,' said Stephen, 'if ever the Madras establishment fulfils its undertakings, and we move on La Réunion, which I begin to doubt, Mr Farquhar will be with us, and that will be an end to our music. Let us play my old lament for the Tir na n-Og; I too am mighty low, and it will serve as a counter-irritant. Like will be cured by like.'
Jack said that he would be very happy to lament with Stephen until the moon went down, but with messengers expected from Cape Town and from every official in the yard, he did not expect they would reach any very high flow of soul before they were interrupted. In th
e event they had not even tuned their strings when Spotted Dick appeared, to state, with Mr Johnson's duty, that Iphigenia was off the point, had made her number, and was standing in.
With a brisk south-east wind and the making tide she had dropped anchor before moonrise, and the news that Captain Lambert brought drove all thoughts of England and of music from Jack Aubrey's head. The Iphigenia, that fine thirty-six-gun eighteen-pounder frigate, escorting a small fleet of transports, had reinforced Colonel Keating at Rodriguez to the extent of two regiments of European troops, two of Indian, and some auxiliaries: the numbers were fifteen hundred short of what had been hoped for, but the soldiers had done their best: they had kept very nearly to their time, and the definitive attack on La Réunion was now a possibility, though a hazardous one, above all if the French had moved fresh forces into the island. They would certainly have had time to remount their batteries.
The first thing to do was to find out what ships Governor Decaen had in Mauritius, and, if it could be done, to shut them up in their harbours. 'Captain Lambert,' he said, 'what is the state of the Iphigenia?'
He did not know Lambert at all, a recently-promoted young man, but he liked the look of him—a small round jolly sailor with a capable air—and he fairly loved him when he took a paper from his pocket and said, 'These are my officers' reports, sir, made as we were standing in. Purser: provisions for nine weeks in full,, of all species, except rum: of that, only thirty-nine days. Master: one hundred and thirteen tons of water; beef very good, pork sometimes shrinks in the boiling; the rest of the provisions very good. I should add, sir, that we watered, wooded, and tortolsed at Rodriguez. Gunner: eighteen rounds of powder filled; plenty of wads; forty rounds. Carpenter: hull in good state; knees of the head supported by two cheeks; masts and yards in good state; pretty well stored. Surgeon: in the sick list, three men, objects for invaliding; portable soup, fifty-seven pounds; other necessaries to the 19th of next month only. And as for my people, sir, we are only sixteen short of complement.'
'Then I take it you can sail at once, Captain Lambert?'
'The moment we have won our anchors, sir, unless you wish me to slip. Though I should be happy to take in a little powder and shot, and some greenstuff: my surgeon is not quite happy about his lime-juice.'
'Very good, very good, Captain Lambert,' said Jack, chuckling. 'You shall certainly have your powder and shot. Never trouble with that damned yard at this time of night: I have more than we can safely stow, from St Paul's, and my gunner will have to disgorge the surplus. And you may have six of our bullocks that are waiting on the beach. As for your greenstuff, my purser has an excellent unofficial man on shore, will rouse you out any quantity in half an hour. Mr Peter, be so good as to prepare a letter to the Admiral, to go at once: Mr Richardson is our best jockey, I believe—tell him to never mind the lions and tigers on the road; they are all gammon, for the most part. Then, an order for Captain Lambert—proceed to sea on the ebb, rendezvous off Port-Louis, copies of private signals, alternative rendezvous at Rodriguez after the—let me consider—the seventeenth. And let all captains come aboard. Killick, pass the word for the gunner, and bring a bottle of the Constantia with the yellow seal. The yellow seal, d'ye hear me?'
Between the signing of papers and the interview with the reluctant gunner they drank their bottle, the best bottle in the ship, and the captains began to arrive: their coxswains could be heard answering the sentry's hail in quick succession: 'Néréide', 'Sirius', 'Otter', 'Magicienne'.
'Now, gentlemen,' said the Commodore, when they were all assembled, 'when can your ships proceed to sea?'
If it were not for Pym's vile newfangled iron tanks, the Sirius could be ready in a couple of days: if it had not been for the yard's incomprehensible delay over the long-promised iron horse, the Otter might say the same. 'Néréide will be ready for sea in thirty six hours , said Clonfert, smiling with intent at Captain Pym: but the smile changed to a look of surprised vexation when Curtis said, 'The Magicienne can sail this minute, sir, if I may have leave to water at Flat Island. We are no more than thirty ton shy.'
I am delighted to hear it, Captain Curtis,' said Jack. 'Delighted. Magicienne and lphigenia will proceed to Por-tLouis with the utmost dispatch. Mr Peter will give you your orders; and with this wind you might be well advised to warp out into the fairway to catch the first minute of the ebb.'
They received their orders; they warped out into the fairway; and dawn saw the two frigates beating out of the bay, to vanish, close-hauled, round the Cape of Good Hope by the time the cabin's breakfast of eggs and mutton-ham came aft in a cloud of fragrance. Shortly afterwards Captain Eliot arrived with a formal order from the Admiral directing the Commodore to convene his court-martial, and a letter in which he congratulated Jack on this splendid accession of force at Rodriguez, from which the country might confidently expect wonders in a very short time indeed, particularly as for the next few weeks the squadron would have the use of the Leopard. The horrible old Leopard.
Jack changed into his full-dress uniform; the ominous union flag broke out at the Boadicea's peak; the captains gathered; and with Mr Peter acting as deputy judge-advocate they set about the unpleasant business of trying poor Captain Woolcombe for the loss of the Laurel of twenty-two guns, captured by the Canonnière—the Frenchman's last fight—off Port-Louis before Jack came to the Cape: for until this time a sufficient number of senior officers had never been in Simon's Town long enough for the court to be formed, and poor Woolcombe had been under nominal arrest ever since he had been exchanged. Everyone knew that in the circumstances, with the Canonnière in sight of her home port, carrying an enormous land-based crew and mounting more than twice the number of far heavier guns, no blame could be attached to the Laurel's captain; everyone knew that there must be an honourable acquittal—everybody except Woolcombe, for whom the issue was far too important for any certainty whatsoever and who sat throughout the long proceedings with a face of such anxiety that it made the members of the court very thoughtful indeed. Each of them might find himself in the same position, faced perhaps with ill-disposed judges, differing from him in politics or service loyalties or bearing him some long-nourished grudge: a court of amateur lawyers, from whose decision there was no appeal. Illogically, perhaps, since they themselves had framed the verdict, every member of the court shared in Woolcombe's glowing relief when the judge-advocate read it out, and when Jack handed back the captain's sword with an elegant if somewhat studied formal speech. They were happy with Captain Woolcombe, and the sentences for some of the desertions and embezzlements that followed were quite remarkably light. Yet for all that the sentences took a great while to reach: the stately process went on and on. In his own ship a captain could deal with any delinquent foremast hand so long as the offence did not carry the death-sentence, but he could not touch any officer holding a commission or a warrant; they had to come before the court; and at times it seemed to Jack, on the boil with impatience to get to sea, to make the most of the situation before the French knew of the forces on La Réunion, that no warrant officer in the squadron had found any better use for his time than getting drunk, overstaying his leave, disobeying, insulting, and even beating his superiors, and making away with the stores entrusted to his care. Indeed, a steady diet of courts-martial gave a most unpleasant impression of the Royal Navy: crime, oppression? complaints of illegal conduct, sometimes justified, sometimes fabricated or malicious (one master charged his captain with keeping false musters, on the grounds that he had a friend's son on the ship's books when in fact the young gentleman was at school in England, a perfectly normal practice, but one which would have wrecked the captain's career if the court had not performed some singular acrobatics to save him), brawling in the wardroom, against officers, evidence of long-standing ill-will; and all the bloody violence of the lower deck.
Between these grim sessions the presiding judge turned sailor again, and he drove on the refitting of his ships, fighting a most determined battle against ob
struction and delay. But having all the time in the world, the dock-yard won hands down; they had gauged his needs and his impatience quite exactly, and he had not only to bleed borrowed gold at every vein, but even to thank his extortioners before the last sack of thirty-penny nails and ten-inch spikes came aboard. These actions took place at dawn and dusk, for at dinner-time the president of the court necessarily entertained the other members.
'Pray, Commodore, do you not find passing sentence of death cut your appetite?' asked Stephen, as he watched Jack carve a saddle of mutton.
'I cannot say I do,' said the Commodore, passing Captain Woolcombe a slice that dripped guiltless blood. 'I don't like it, to be sure; and if the court can possibly find a lesser offence, I think I should always give my vote for it. But when you have a straightforward case of cowardice or neglect of duty, why, then it seems to me plain enough: the man must be hanged, and the Lord have mercy on his soul, for the service will have none. I am sorry for it, but it don't affect my appetite. Captain Eliot, may I help you to a little of the undercut?'
'It seems to me perfectly barbarous,' observed Stephen.
'But surely, sir,' said Captain Pym, 'surely a medical man will cut off a gangrened limb to save the rest of the body?'
'A medical man does not cut off the limb in any spirit of corporate revenge, nor in terrorem; he does not make a solemn show of the amputation, nor is the peccant limb attended by all the marks of ignominy. No, sir: your analogy may be specious, but it is not sound. Furthermore, sir, you are to consider, that in making it you liken the surgeon to a common hangman, an infamous character held in universal contempt and detestation. And the infamy attaching to the executioner arises from what he does: the language of all nations condemns the man and a fortiori his act: which helps to make my point more forcibly.'