The Surgeon's Mate

  The quarterdeck frowned: Pellworm might be an old respected pilot, but this was coming it too high by half; this was taking a liberty with their Captain.

  'Fill the maintopsail,' said Jack in a strong, displeased voice; and more privately to Stephen, 'I am glad we are shot of Mr Pellworm. He is an excellent pilot, but he prates too much. Poetry is not at all suitable on the quarterdeck of a man-of-war, particularly on such a subject: it might make the hands uneasy.'

  It might also be right. There was perhaps something unpleasant in the smiling sky; and although the breeze seemed firmly settled in the north-east Jack was determined not to lose a minute of it but to run down-Channel with a press of sail until he could round Ushant with plenty of sea-room. He would not even stop long enough to take in fresh supplies from the bum-boats that came round the ship, observing in his decided manner 'that they were not here to blow out their kites with lobscouse, nor to choke their luffs with figgy-dowdy, but to convey the Catalan troops to Santandero without a moment's loss of time—dried peas would answer very well until they should reach Santandero,' and with a fresh breeze, a following tide, and a fine sense of urgency they stood south-west.

  A fair wind right down the Channel was rare enough: often and often he had had to anchor for the tide, beat up tack upon tack in the narrow seas, winning a few miles only to be driven back again—weeks sometimes before he could get clear into the Atlantic; but now the familiar landmarks filed by in fine brisk succession: the South Foreland, Dungeness, Fairly, and Beachy gleaming through a wall of rain with solid blue-black cloud behind it; and then late in the evening there was the Wight clear on the starboard bow. Jack climbed into the mizzentop with a telescope and before the green light vanished in the west he thought he caught the glint of his observatory dome at Ashgrove Cottage. He stared at it in a strange confusion of spirits, as though at another world, farther from him now than when he had been in the Antipodes.

  The wind increased with the setting of the sun, and seeing that it would certainly come on to blow they struck topgallantmasts, reefed topsails and made all snug, even to the extent of rolling-tackles and puddening—storm-canvas had been the order of the day since Jutland—and they passed the Start as though they meant to fly out of the Channel without once changing course and reach the Spanish coast before the end of the week, a fitting crown to a most uncommon expedition.

  Once again the dawn broke fair enough after a rainy night, though a heavy swell was setting from the southwest against the wind and tide, sending green water over the Ariel's bows, and they ran past the Eddystone, with Rame Head and the homelike entrance to Plymouth plain beyond it, past the Dodman; and between the Dodman and the Lizard their luck failed them. Without any warning but three black squalls in quick succession the wind chopped about into the west, blowing right into their teeth and bringing very heavy rain. 'We were so nearly clear,' said Jack. 'Another hour and I should have stood south: such a run it would have been! However, whining will do no good, and at least we have a couple of hundred miles under our lee.' He tied his sou'wester firmly under his chin, advised Stephen to make all fast, and returned to the streaming deck.

  'What is amiss?' asked Jagiello.

  'It is another of these vile headlands,' said Stephen. 'This one is called Ushant, and we must get round it, we must weather it, to clear the Channel and reach the Biscay shore.'

  'There are too many of these headlands at sea,' said Jagiello. 'Give me a horse, any day.'

  Jack knew the Ariel by now, he knew her well, a fine, living, responsive little creature; and this was the kind of sailing he liked, driving a stout, well-found ship in a hearty blow, taking advantage of every lull, every kind run of the sea or tide to cling to his windward gain or increase it: he had capable officers, an adequate crew, a well-tempered instrument; and in any case he was glad to have no room for any other kind of thought at this juncture. The sight of home had troubled his mind extremely—recollections of Amanda Smith, legal complications, self-reproach, the potential ruin of his heart, the probable shipwreck of his fortune, all these things pell-mell in a confusion of distress. He kept the Ariel under close-reefed topsails, not to outrun the poor transports, with their load of misery—their hundreds of seasick soldiers below—and their ungainly build, but he could have carried more. Although the little black stormy petrels fluttered on either hand, the breeze was still something short of a fresh gale, and in spite of the heavy seas on the larboard bow he was convinced that he was gaining half a point. The only trouble was the impenetrable thickness of the weather: there would not be the least possibility of an observation today or tonight, nor in all likelihood for some time to come.

  Before darkness they passed a ship of the line and two frigates on the opposite tack, on their way to the Brest blockade: Achilles, Euterpe, Boadicea. They exchanged numbers, private signals, and greetings, and Jack looked long and intently after them, particularly the Boadicea; he had commanded her in the Indian Ocean and he retained a strong affection for the broad-beamed, comfortable ship, slow perhaps, but so reliable once one knew her ways. Standing on a carronade-slide, his arms round a stay, the heavy rain and the flying water beating on his back, he watched her tearing along, all possible canvas abroad to keep up with the swift-sailing Achilles. Mitchell had her now: he had added iron stern davits and a quarterdeck carronade on each side, but he had hardly altered her paintwork at all, the true Nelson chequer; and she still had that odd, fetching, slightly hesitant second lift before she shouldered a heavy sea down her side. 'I shall not crack on like that, however,' he reflected. 'Festino lento does it, as Stephen would say.' And 'God help the inshore squadron on a night like this,' he added, remembering his own time off the Black Rocks and Camaret, the iron-bound coast of Brittany.

  They were blotted out by another squall, coming more from the south this time; and then it was night, a black night full of rain and shattered salt-water that showed bright as it swept over the binnacle lights and the stern-lanterns, the only light in the darkness, a darkness that enveloped the whole ship as she stretched close-hauled for the Lizard over a sea visible only as it broke white over the bows.

  The routine of the ship carried on, of course: dim figures relieved the watch, relieved the wheel, relieved the lookouts, made their way groping along the manlines to strike the bell, heaved the log and recorded the result, huddled carefully over the folding boards in the companion-way. After an hour, when he judged he might have the Lizard fine on the starboard bow five miles away, he made the night-signal that told the transports to wear in succession, put the ship about, and hauled his wind on the other tack. When he had seen them all round in good order, the string of lights heading southward on the long leg that might with luck carry them round Ushant into the Bight of Biscay, he went below. Young Fenton had the deck, no phoenix perhaps, but a steady, reliable officer; and in any case the situation called for no extraordinary exertions, no extraordinary talents; there was nothing unusual about a westerly gale in the mouth of the Channel, however wet.

  'What of the night?' asked Stephen again.

  'Oh,' said Jack, shedding water in every direction, 'it is rather moist. But if this is all the blow Pellworm prated about, it don't amount to much: we could carry whole topsails if we chose, and earth don't groan from shore to shore, not with whole topsails, you know. We wore ship not long ago, and are close-hauled on the starboard tack.'

  'Will that bring us clear of Ushant, do you suppose?'

  'It might, if only the breeze would keep due west; but I am afraid it will back a point or two. We may have to run up to the Scillies to make our westing: still, we shall see in the morning,' said Jack, throwing off his outer clothes and settling in the swinging chair.

  'If we are spared,' said Stephen. 'There is a horrid roar outside, and wet is creeping in.'

  'That is only the ship hauling under the chains with the swell. I dare say it is blowing great guns off the Azores, but here it does little more than make the passengers a trifle queasy and increas
e our leeway by perhaps a point.' He yawned, stated that the glass was rising, repeated that they should see tomorrow, and went fast to sleep.

  For once Captain Aubrey spoke too soon. They did not see tomorrow: tomorrow there was nothing to be seen but even heavier rain, even more spray and spindrift, a narrow horizon of high spiky waves, and dimly the transports, still in accurate line astern: no sun, no hint of the sun at all, and the dead-reckoning of the ships differed by forty miles.

  Once again they wore and once again they ran north through the obscure confusion of elements: the day, such as it was, and the night were repetitions of those that had gone before. To those used to the sea it was not particularly dramatic, little more than thick and dirty weather in the western approaches, but for the landsmen it was an unending present filled with meaningless noise and motion, and for many with seasickness as well. From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues they were told, and it seemed to them that they must have traversed each one of those leagues many many times, with short intervals for brief, ill-dressed meals: and in the end boredom overcame terror except now and then, when a more than usually heavy lee-lurch sent them flying about the deck. Even Jagiello sank into a kind of dismal torpor. The fore and main hatches had been laid long since, and although a good deal of water came in through the Ariel's sides because of her working, very little fresh air joined it: it was long since hammocks had been piped up, and as the hard-working hands were not washed by anything but the rain—since they had no means of washing apart from tubs on the now impracticable deck and then only for their hands and faces—they and their damp, close-packed beds filled the unventilated 'tween-decks with a strong, all-pervading smell of frowsty carnivores, far worse than the collection of vegetarian marsupials Stephen had carried from New Holland in an earlier voyage. He was used to it however; human filth in foul weather had been with him from his first days in the Navy.

  He saw little of Jack Aubrey, but that little was always cheerful and generally hungry. Once he reported that a favourable shift of the wind had brought them well to the west of the Scillies, and once he said that a fleeting glimpse of some star had confirmed him in his persuasion that the next leg would do it; but most of his time below was spent in sleep.

  From this sleep he was aroused after a very late and scrappy dinner by the signal midshipman, a tall thin dark conscientious youth who instantly said in a voice trembling with excitement, 'Mr Grimmond's duty sir and two sail to windward one is Jason and t'other a French two-decker.'

  'Very good, Mr Meares. I shall be on deck directly: in the meantime make the private signal and our number. But first pray pass me my sou'wester.'

  On deck all eyes were fixed to windward, staring into a particularly heavy downpour. For a moment Jack saw nothing, but then the rain swept over them and beyond, the veil lifted, and there on the larboard quarter lay the two ships, steering south-east with the wind at west, racing along in a white turmoil of their own making.

  The position was clear: the French ship was certainly running for Brest and the Jason was certainly in chase. Whether the Jason would ever come up with her was another matter: they were at least two miles apart, much too far for the Jason's bow-chasers to reduce the Frenchman's speed by knocking away a spar; and the Jason, right in the Frenchman's wake, had already spread all the canvas she could possibly bear with safety, probably even more, whereas the chase still had a reef on her topsails. The Jason's only hope was chancing upon an English cruiser, or the blockading squadron in with the land. The Ariel was not cruising; nor was she a cruiser at all where an enemy line-of-battle ship was concerned; but by instantly putting her head south-eastwards and by carrying a press of sail she might cut the line between the chase and Brest at some time in the late afternoon; she might possibly delay her long enough for the Jason to come up. On the other hand, there were his transports: there were his direct orders . . .

  'Jason signalling, sir,' said Meares, his telescope to his eye. 'Enemy in sight and she gives the bearing.' Jack smiled: he had seen some foolish signals in his time, but few as inept as this. 'Again, sir: haul your wind on the starboard tack. And now chase to the south-east.'

  'Acknowledge,' said Jack.

  'Again, sir: make more sail.' And five miles away a puff of smoke appeared momentarily on the Jason's leeward quarter as she emphasized the order with a gun.

  Jack smiled once more: Middleton—and Middleton had the Jason now—had always been very talkative. Yet Middleton was junior to him. Middleton could not know it—he could not know that for the moment the Ariel, a sloop, was commanded by a post-captain—but in fact Jo Middleton had no right to be giving orders. This was no time for formalizing, however; it was a time for decision, instant decision: if he were to act at all it must be now. In this heavy sea the Ariel could not sail as fast as a two-decker. In order to cross the enemy's line or even to reach a point within the short range of the Ariel's carronades before nightfall he would have to take advantage of every cable's length of advance he possessed. Even at this point, even at the point the Frenchman had already reached, the angle was critically fine.

  These thoughts passed through his mind with great rapidity as he stood mechanically assessing the speed and course of the ships far to windward, the strength of the south-west wind, the scend of the sea, the possibility of useful intervention: before the remote thump of the Jason's gun reached them his decision was clear in his mind. He was only sorry he had no time to send Stephen and Colonel d'Ullastret aboard the transports. He said, 'All hands to wear ship,' and he noticed a general look of pleasure on the quarterdeck, nods and grins exchanged. Fulfilling these young men's expectation of him had formed no part of his calculations; but he was glad they were pleased. He reached for the azimuth compass, carefully took the bearings of both ships, and said, 'Mr Meares: to Jason, steer south twenty-seven east. Then alphabetical, Aubrey. Another hoist, and keep it flying: Enemy in sight, chase to south-west.' That should cut Middleton's cackle; but infinitely more important than that, it might win him half a mile or so. There was a strong likelihood that the Frenchman could read the signal, and in any case the sight of the Ariel wearing out of the line would almost certainly make him head farther south for a while. At this distance and in this visibility the Ariel, though clearly a single-decked ship, might be a frigate, even a heavy frigate with a bite worse than her bark; furthermore, her signal to friends beyond the Frenchman's horizon might be true—it might bring half the off-shore squadron pelting down.

  'Mr Grimmond,' he said, 'lay me under the Mirza's lee,' the Mirza being the senior troop-carrier. Then, with the Ariel's maintopsail backed, he took a speaking-trumpet and roared through the wind, 'Mr Smithson, rendezvous in the Bordeaux stream—if I am not there report to the senior officer Santandero—go easy—carry nothing away—no royals, no kites.'

  'Never you fear for us, sir,' called Smithson, waving his capable right hand. 'Good luck to you.'

  The transports knew perfectly well what was afoot, and they gave the Ariel a hearty cheer as she filled and passed down the line.

  'Course south-east by east a half east,' said Jack with the French ship firm in his glass. 'Shake out the foretopsail reef.' Through the murk and the flying spray he caught the movement as the chase braced up, bringing the wind before the beam as he had expected, veering southward from the danger, perhaps the very serious danger, in the north-east. But even so, it would be a near-run thing, he reflected as he stared at the white sails under the low grey sky: the chase must be making nine or even ten knots, and if he failed to cross her forefoot—if he merely fetched her wake—his intervention, brief as it must necessarily be, would prove of little use. Little use, but quite as dangerous.

  'Mr Meares,' he said, 'pray be so good as to ask Jason for her position, and repeat it to the transports.'

  A long pause, caused partly by the difficulty of seeing flags through five miles of haze and rain in a thin grey light and partly by hesitancy aboard the Jason.

  'No observation three d
ays,' said Meares at last. 'Estimate 49°27'N. 7°10'W. Chronometer five hours twenty-eight minutes past noon.'

  As he checked the difference between Stephen's watch and the Jason's—a pretty wide variation—Jack smiled again: Middleton was no scientific sailor—board 'em in the smoke was more his line—but he or his master could not be very far out in the longitude, and that meant the Frenchman had no possibility of fetching La Rochelle with this wind. It was Brest or Lorient for him, unless he chose to run for Cherbourg, through a Channel filled with English squadrons.

  A fine ship, he thought, gazing over the ocean; she was as close-hauled as she could be, yet she was throwing an enormous bow-wave half down her side. The Ariel would have to spread more canvas if she were to come up with any time and space for manoeuvre; and a ship of the Ariel's size needed plenty of both if she wore to do anything at all to a seventy-four. 'Pass the word for the bosun,' he said; and when the dripping bosun came plunging aft from the forecastle, 'Mr Graves, let us get light hawsers to the mastheads as briskly as we can.'

  'Hawsers to the mastheads, sir?' cried the bosun, amazed.

  'Yes, Mr Graves,' said Jack pleasantly, ducking under the perfect deluge of sea-water that came over the weather-rail. 'I should like to see them all set up before the last dog-watch. I doubt we shall beat to divisions today.'

  The bosun smiled, as in duty bound. He said, 'Aye aye, sir. Light hawsers to the mastheads it is,' in a low, wondering tone, and padded off. 'Mr Graves,' called Jack after him, 'be sure to let them take the wet before you set them up taut: we must not wring the masts.'

  It was an operation he had used with much success: the great extra strength of the hawsers would allow him to set topgallantsails without the masts complaining or infinitely worse carrying away; and although it could not be done in a crank ship because of the increased tophamper, the Ariel was by no means crank, but admirably stiff. The greater thrust, the greater speed had kept him alive before this, particularly when he was flying before a wicked Dutchman in the high southern latitudes, and obviously it would answer the other way about: he wondered the practice was not more generally known.