The Wine-Dark Sea

  'Exactly so, ha, ha, ha! I never thought it could have been done in the time. She spread them not five minutes ago, and already she has gained on us a cable's length. A neat little craft, upon my word. We shall have to set our own. Mr Grainger'—in a louder voice—'I believe we must show her our royals.'

  The Surprise's royals, which were set flying, had already been bent to their yards, with the halliards hitched to the slings and the starboard arm stopped to them, the hands fidgeting to be at it; but no man laid a finger on a rope until Mr Grainger called, 'Now then, our George, haul away,'and the long slim yards fairly shot up through the rigging, up and up, threading lengthways through a cat's-cradle of cordage, up to the masthead, where the light and nimble Abraham Dorkin cut the small stuff stopping the yard to the halliards, swung it on to the horizontal plane of the topgallant yard, fixed it there with a becket, lashed the clews of the sails, its lower corners, to the topgallant yardarm, cast off the beckets, and cried, 'Way-oh!'

  His cry almost exactly coincided with others from the fore and mizzen mastheads, and the royals flashed out at the same moment, filling at once to the gentle breeze. The Surprises cheered; from over the water the weary Franklins did the same; and Jack turned a beaming face to Stephen, his eyes more startlingly blue than ever. 'Ain't that capital?' he cried. 'Now we can have our concert at last.'

  'Very capital indeed, upon my soul,' said Stephen, wondering why they were all so delighted. Certainly the ships, particularly the Franklin, were more beautiful by far with their towering clouds of ordered whiteness reducing their hulls to low slim elegant forms: and as he watched the sun lit the Franklin with more than common force, causing all the staysails to make strong exactly-curved shadows on the square courses, topsails and topgallants behind them. Very fine indeed, and perhaps there was a just-perceptible increase in their gentle pace, a very slightly greater lean from the breeze.

  'Mr Reade,' called Jack, 'pray heave the log.'

  'Aye aye, sir: heave the log it is,' replied Reade, all duty and submission still. The usual ceremony followed: the log-ship splashed over the leeward quarter, went astern at a walking pace until it was free of what mild eddies the Surprise might make, watched with the closest attention by all hands. The moment the bunting that marked the end of the stray-line went over the rail Reade cried 'Turn,' and Norton turned the twenty-eight-second sand-glass, holding it close to his eye. As the last grain fell he bawled 'Stop' and Reade nipped the line a little after the second knot had passed. The quartermaster holding the log reel gave the line a tweak, dislodging a pin so that the log-ship floated sideways, and wound it in. Reade measured the distance between his nip and the second knot with a knowing eye: 'Two knots and a trifle better than one fathom, sir, if you please,' he reported, bareheaded, to the Captain.

  'Thank you, Mr Reade,' said Jack, and to Stephen, 'There, Doctor: ain't you amazed? Two knots and a little more than a fathom!'

  'Profoundly amazed; yet I seem to remember having gone even faster.'

  'Why God love you, of course you have,' cried Jack. 'It is not the absolute speed that I am talking about but the relative speed, the speed in this miserable zephyr of yours. Good Lord, if we can both make better than two knots in an air that would scarcely bend a candle-flame, there is precious little can escape us, without it has wings or carries seventy-four guns.'

  'Hear him, hear him,' said somebody in the waist of the ship, and both helmsmen and quartermaster chuckled.

  'To be sure, there is always the joy of the chase,' said Stephen with what enthusiasm he could command; and after a pause in which he felt he had been disappointing he said, 'For our concert, now, have you anything particular in mind?'

  'Oh, old favourites, for sure,' said Jack. 'I remember your telling me long ago, when we were beating out of Port Mahon in the Sophie, that in Spain they had a saying "Let no new thing arise". I thought at the time it might do very well for the Navy; and I am not so sure there is not something to be said for it in music.'

  It was a very old favourite they began with that evening, Benda's violin and 'cello duet in C minor, and they played it unusually well. There is a great deal to be said for a steady deck under a 'cello: a great deal to be said for a cheerful heart behind a fiddle: and they would have brought it to an unusually handsome close if Killick had not blundered in, tripping over a little stool, unseen because of his tray, and saving their supper only by a miracle of juggling.

  At one time this supper had consisted of toasted cheese held in a remarkably elegant piece of Irish silver, a covered outer dish that held six within it, the whole kept warm over a spirit-stove: the dish was still present, gleaming with a noble brilliance, but it held only a pap made of pounded biscuit, a little goat's milk, and even less of rock-hard cheese-rind rasped over the top and browned with a loggerhead, so that some faint odour of cheddar could still just be made out.

  Jack Aubrey weighed sixteen or seventeen stone, Stephen barely nine, and to avoid the tedium of self-sacrifice, protests against the sacrifice, and privy maundering afterwards it had long been agreed that they should share accordingly: finishing his fourth dish, therefore, Jack also finished his explanation of the remarkable sailing qualities of both the Franklin and the Surprise: '. . . so as I say, although at present we have the current setting against us, I believe I can promise we shall make as much of what breeze there is as any two ships afloat: from the look of the sky and the glass I should not be astonished if we achieved five knots tomorrow. And then, you know, as we slant down towards the equator, there is the counter-current in our favour.'

  'So much the better,' said Stephen. 'Now what do you say to our Boccherini in D major? The minuet has been running in my head these last two or three days; but we have still to work out the adagio.'

  'I should like it of all things,' said Jack. 'Killick. Killick, there. Clear the decks and bring another decanter of port.'

  'Which it is getting wery low, sir,' said Killick. 'At this rate we shall have to rouse up your feast-day eighty-nine, or be satisfied with grog.'

  'Rouse it up, Killick: let us live whilst we are alive.' When Killick was gone, looking pinched and disapproving, Jack went on. 'That reminds me of Clarissa Oakes. She said something of the same kind in Latin, you told me, and translated it for her husband. Lord, Stephen, that was a fine young woman. How shamefully I lusted after her: but it would not do, of course, not in my own ship. And I believe poor Martin was much smitten. Sheep's eyes were not in it. However, I do so hope she will be happy with Oakes. He was not perhaps quite up to her mark, but he was a tolerable seaman.'

  'Little do I know of port wine,' said Stephen. 'Was eighty-nine an uncommon year?'

  'Pretty good,' said Jack, 'but I love it because of its associations. I never drink it without thinking of the Spanish Disturbance.'

  'My dear, you have the advantage of me.'

  'Really? Well, I am amazingly glad to know something you do not. It had to do with Nootka Sound, the place where the fur-traders go. Captain Cook, that great man, discovered it during his last voyage, when he was running up the north-west coast of America; and our people had been trading there and to the northwards for years and years when all at once the Spaniards said it was a continuation of California and therefore Spanish. They sent up a twenty-six-gun frigate from Mexico and seized the English ships and the settlement. It made a great noise when the news reached home, above all as we had not long since been beaten in America; people were furiously angry—my cousin Edward stood up in Parliament beside himself with rage and said England was going to the dogs and the House cheered him—and when the Spaniards would not listen to reason the Ministry began hurrying ships out of ordinary, manning them with a hot press, and laying down new ones. Lord, we were so happy, we sailors turned ashore after the American disaster! One day I was only a wretched master's mate with no half pay, glum, blue, hipped, sitting on the beach and adding salt tears to the bitter flood, and the next I was Lieutenant Aubrey, fifth of the Queen, covered with glory and gold l
ace, or at least as much as I could get on credit. It was a wonderful stroke of luck for me; and for the country too.'

  'Who could deny it?'

  'I mean it was wonderfully well timed, since it meant we had a well-manned, well-equipped Navy to cope with the French when they declared war on us a little later. Bless the Spanish Disturbance.'

  'By all means. But, Jack, I could have sworn your commission was dated 1792. Sophie showed it to me with such pride. Yet our wine is 1789.'

  'Of course it is. That was when the Disturbance started—the very beginning, when those wicked dogs seized our ships. The talking and the rearmament went on until ninety-two, when the Spaniards pulled in their horns as they did over the Falklands some time before. But it all began in eighty-nine. A precious date for me: a wonderful year and I had great hopes of it as soon as the news came home.' He paused for a while, sipping his port and smiling at his recollections; then he said 'Tell me, Stephen, what were you doing in eighty-nine?'

  'Oh,' said Stephen vaguely, 'I was studying medicine.' With this he set down his glass and walked into the quarter-gallery. He had been studying medicine, it was true, walking the wards of the Hôtel-Dieu, but he had also spent a great deal of the time running about the streets of Paris in the headiest state of happy excitement that could be imagined, or rather exaltation, in the dawn of the Revolution, when every disinterested, generous idea of freedom seemed on the point of realization, the dawn of an infinitely finer age.

  When he came back he found Jack arranging the score of their next duet on their music stands. Like many other heavy men Jack could be as sensitive as a cat on occasion: he knew that he had touched on some painful area—that in any case Stephen hated questions—and he was particularly attentive in laying out the sheets, pouring Stephen another glass of wine, and, when they began, in so playing that his violin helped the 'cello, yielding to it in those minute ways perceptible to those who are deep in their music if to few others.

  They played on, and only once did Jack raise his head from the score: the ship was leaning half a strake, and beneath their strings the sound of the rigging could just be heard. At the end of the allegro he said, turning the page with his bow, 'She is making four knots.'

  'I believe we may attack the adagio directly,' said Stephen. 'The wind is in our poop, and we have never played better.'

  They swept into the next movement, the 'cello booming nobly, and carried straight on without a pause, separating, joining, answering one another, with never a hesitation nor a false note until the full satisfaction of the end.

  'Well done, well done,' said Dutourd: he and Martin were standing in the warm darkness abaft the lit companion, alone on the quarterdeck apart from Grainger and the men at the wheel. 'I had no idea they could play so well—no contention, no striving for pre-eminence—pray which is the 'cello?'

  'Dr Maturin.'

  'And Captain Aubrey the violin, of course: admirable tone, admirable bowing.'

  Martin did not care for Dutourd in the gun-room: he thought that the Frenchman talked far too much, that he tended to harangue the company, and that his ideas though no doubt well-intended were pernicious. But en tête-à-tête Dutourd was an agreeable companion and Martin quite often took a turn on deck with him. 'You play yourself, sir, I collect?' he said.

  'Yes. I may be said to play. I am not of the Captain's standard, but with some practice I believe I could play second fiddle to him without too much discredit.'

  'Have you a violin with you?'

  'Yes, yes. It is in my sea-chest. The man who repaired your viola renewed the pegs just before we set off from Molokai. Do you often play in the cabin?'

  'I have done so, though I am an indifferent performer. I have taken part in quartets.'

  'Quartets! What joy! That is living in the very heart of music.'

  Chapter Four

  The next morning Jack Aubrey came up from a conference, a pursers' conference with Mr Adams: Jack, like Cook and many a far-ranging captain before him, was nominally his own purser, just as Adams was nominally the captain's clerk; but by dividing the work between them they accomplished both it and their own specific duties quite well, particularly as the anomalous status of the Surprise meant that her accounts would never have to pass the slow, circumspect eyes of the Victualling Office, for whom all persons in charge of His Majesty's stores were guilty of embezzlement until with countersigned dockets of every conceivable nature they could prove their innocence. At this conference they had weighed a number of sacks of dried peas, and Jack, taking advantage of the steelyard hanging from a convenient beam, had also weighed himself: to his shame he found that he had put on half a stone, and he meant to walk it off as soon as possible. He wished to hear no more flings about obesity, no more facetious remarks about letting out his waistcoats, no grave professional warnings about the price big heavy men of a sanguine temperament had so often to pay for taking too little exercise, too much food and too much drink: apoplexy, softening of the brain, impotence.

  Fore and aft, fore and aft, pacing the windward side of the quarterdeck, his own private realm, a narrow unencumbered path on which he had travelled hundreds, even thousands of miles since he first commanded the Surprise; an utterly familiar terrain on which his mind could let itself run free. The breeze was too far before the beam for the ships, steering south-east, to set studdingsails, but they were wearing everything they possessed, including that uncommon object a middle staysail, and they were making four knots. They were an elegant sight indeed, from any distance; but from close to, a seaman's eye could still see many signs of the battering they had been through: some knots had yet to be replaced by splices or new cordage; the fine finish of the decks had not yet been restored—in some places what ordinarily resembled a ball-room floor still looked more like a bloody shambles; and clouds of hot volcanic ash and scoriae had played Old Harry with the paintwork and the blacking of the yards, to say nothing of the tar. An immense amount of small, unspectacular, highly-skilled work was going on from one end of the ship to the other, and Captain Aubrey's walk was accompanied by the steady thump of caulker's mallets.

  It was early in the day, and although the weather was as fair as could be wished, apart from the lack of wind, the quarterdeck had nobody upon it who was not called there by duty: Vidal and Reade, officer and midshipman of the watch; the men at the helm; the carpenter and two of his crew at the taffrail, putting the frigate's modest decorative carving, her gingerbread-work, to rights. The usual daily procession of Jemmy Ducks, Sarah and Emily, carrying hen-coops and leading the goat Amalthea, had come and gone; and as usual Jack, reflecting upon the rapid growth of the little girls, thought of his own daughters, their present height, weight and happiness, their possible but unlikely progress in deportment, French and the pianoforte under Miss O'Mara. But neither Stephen nor Martin had appeared, nor any of the ransomers. A mile and a half of steady pacing followed these reflexions about home, and then two distinct thoughts arose: 'I must ask Wilkins whether he will act as third lieutenant until we reach Callao: they say he was a master's mate in Agamemnon.' This second thought ran on into a consideration of those young men who, having passed the Navy's examination for a lieutenant, remained senior midshipmen or master's mates because they did not also 'pass for a gentleman', a mute, unwritten, unacknowledged examination whose result was announced only by the absence of a commission—a practice that was becoming more and more frequent. He considered the advantages often put forward—a more homogeneous mess, less friction, the hands' greater respect for gentlemen than for their own kind—and the disadvantages—the exclusion of such men as Cook, the unstated qualifications and the varying standards of those who did the choosing, the impossibility of appeal. He was still considering when, on reaching the rail and turning, he noticed that the young man in question, one of the ransomer mates, was now present, together with some others of those who were allowed to walk the quarterdeck.

  Four turns later he heard Reade's shrill cry of 'Oh no, sir, no. You c
annot talk to the Captain,' and he saw Dutourd headed off, admonished, led firmly back to the group to leeward.

  'But what did I do?' he cried, addressing Stephen, who had just come up the companion-ladder. 'I only wished to congratulate him on his playing.'

  'My dear sir, you must not address the Captain,' said Stephen.

  'You cannot possibly go over to the windward side, without you are invited,' said Wilkins.

  'Even I may not speak to him, except on duty,' said Reade.

  'Well,' said Dutourd, recovering from his surprise and concealing a certain vexation moderately well, 'you are a markedly formal, hierarchical society, I see. But I hope, sir'—to Maturin—'that I may without sin tell you how very much I enjoyed your music? I thought the Boccherini adagio masterly, masterly . . .'

  They walked off, still speaking of the Boccherini, with real knowledge and appreciation on Dutourd's part. Stephen, who in any case was not of an expansive nature, tended to avoid the Frenchman on general principles; but now he would voluntarily have remained in his company had not six bells struck. The sixth was followed by pandemonium fore and aft as the launch, towing astern, was hauled alongside to receive Mr Reade, her crew, barrels of water for the parched Franklin, and two carronades. The precious water, mercifully, could be pumped from the hold into barrels in the boat, but in the nature of things carronades could not: they were lowered down from the reinforced main yardarm, lowered with an infinity of precautions as though each were made of spun glass rather than of metal, and they were received with even more. They were ugly, squat little objects yet they had their advantages, being only a third the weight of the Surprise's regular twelve-pounder cannon but firing a ball twice as heavy; furthermore they could be fought by a much smaller crew—two zealous hands at a pinch, as opposed to the seven or eight gathered round a long twelve. On the other hand they could not fire their heavy ball very far nor very accurately, so Jack, who loved the fine-work of gunnery, disabling an opponent from a distance before bearing down and boarding him, carried them chiefly as ballast, bringing them up only when he contemplated a cutting-out expedition, dashing into a harbour and blazing away at nearby batteries and the like while the boats set about their prey. Or on an occasion such as this, when the disarmed Franklin could be equipped with a two-hundred-and-forty-pound broadside.