‘Have you any news of Lady Edward – of Pamela?’
‘Only that she is in Hamburg and that the family looks after her.’
‘She was the most beautiful woman that ever I saw, and the kindest. None so brave.’
‘Aye,’ thought Stephen, and stared into his brandy. ‘That afternoon,’ he said, ‘I spent more spirit than ever I spent in my life. Even then I no longer cared for any cause or any theory of government on earth; I would not have lifted a finger for any nation’s independence, fancied or real; and yet I had to reason with as much ardour as though I were filled with the same enthusiasm as in the first days of the Revolution, when we were all overflowing with virtue and love.’
‘Why? Why did you have to speak so?’
‘Because I had to convince him that his plans were disastrously foolish, that they were known to the Castle and that he was surrounded by traitors and informers. I reasoned as closely and cogently as ever I could – better than ever I thought I could – and he did not follow me at all. His attention wandered. “Look,” says he, “there’s a redbreast in that yew by the path.” All he knew was that I was opposed to him, so he closed his mind; if, indeed, he was capable of following me, which perhaps he was not. Poor Edward! Straight as a rush; and so many of them around him were as crooked as men can well be – Reynolds, Corrigan, Davis
Oh, it was pitiful.’
‘And would you indeed not lift a finger, even for the moderate aims?’
‘I would not. With the revolution in France gone to pure loss I was already chilled beyond expression. And now, with what I saw in ’98, on both sides, the wicked folly and the wicked brute cruelty, I have had such a sickening of men in masses, and of causes, that I would not cross this room to ref órm parliament or prevent the union or to bring about the millennium. I speak only for myself, mind – it is my own
truth alone – but man as part of a movement or a crowd is indifferent to me. He is inhuman. And I have nothing to do with nations, or nationalism. The only feelings I have –
for what they are – are for men as individuals; my loyalties, such as they may be, are to private persons alone.’
‘Patriotism will not do?’
‘My dear creature, I have done with all debate. But you know as well as I, patriotism is a word; and one that generally comes to mean either my country, right or wrong, which is infamous, or my country is always right, which is imbecile.’
‘Yet you stopped Captain Aubrey playing Croppies lie down the other day.’
‘Oh, I am not consistent, of course; particularly in little things. Who is? He did not know the meaning of the tune, you know. He has never been in Ireland at all, and he was in the West Indies at the time of the rising.’
‘And I was at the Cape, thank God. Was it terrible?’
‘Terrible? I cannot, by any possible energy of words, express to you the blundering, the delay, the murderous confusion and the stupidity of it all. It accomplished nothing; it delayed independence for a hundred years; it sowed hatred and violence; it spawned out a vile race of informers and things like Major Sirr. And, incidentally, it made us the prey of any chance blackmailing informer.’ He paused. ‘But as for that song, I acted as I did partly because it is disagreeable to me to listen to it and partly because there were several Irish sailors within hearing, and not one of them an Orangeman; and it would be a pity to have them
hate him when nothing in the manner of insult was within his mind’s reach.’
‘You are very fond of him, I believe?’
‘Am I? Yes; perhaps I am. I would not call him a gremial friend – I have not known him long enough – but I am very much attached to him. I am sorry that you are not.’
‘I am sorry for it too. I came willing to be pleased. I had heard of him as wild and freakish, but a good seaman, and I was very willing to be pleased. But feelings are not to command.’
‘No. But it is curious: at least it is curious to me, the mid-point, with esteem – indeed, more than esteem – for both of you. Are there particular lapses you reproach him with? If we were still eighteen I should say “What’s wrong with Jack Aubrey?”
‘And perhaps I should reply “Everything, since he has a command and I have not,”‘ said James, smiling. ‘But come, now, I can hardly criticize your friend to your face.’
‘Oh, he has faults, sure. I know he is intensely ambitious where his profession is at issue and impatient of any restraint. My concern was to know just what it was that offended you in him. Or is it merely non amo te, Sabidi?’
‘Perhaps so: it is hard to say. He can be a very agreeable companion, of course, but there are times when he shows that particular beefy arrogant English insensibility . . . and there is certainly one thing that jars on me – his great eagerness for prizes. The sloop’s discipline and training is more like that of a starving privateer than a King’s ship. When we were chasing that miserable polacre he could not bring himself to leave the deck all night long
– anyone would have thought we were after a man-of-war, with some honour at the end of the chase. And this prize here was scarcely clear of the Sophie before he was exercising the great guns again, roaring away with both broadsides.’
‘Is a privateer a discreditable thing? I ask in pure ignorance.’
‘Well, a privateer is there for a different motive altogether. A privateer does not fight for honour, but for gain. It is a mercenary. Profit is its raison d’être.’
‘May not the exercising of the great guns have a more honourable end in view?’
‘Oh, certainly. I may very well be unjust – jealous -wanting in generosity. I beg your pardon if I have offended you. And I willingly confess he is an excellent seaman.’
‘Lord, James, we have known one another long enough to tell our minds freely, without any offence. Will you reach me the bottle?’
‘Well, then,’ said James, ‘if I may speak as freely as though I were in an empty room, I will tell you this: I think his encouragement of that fellow Marshall is indecent, not to use a grosser word.’
‘Do I follow you, now?’
‘You know about the man?’
‘What about the man?’
‘That he is a paederast?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I have proof positive. I had it in Cagliari, if it had been necessary. And he is enamoured of Captain Aubrey -toils like a galley-slave – would holystone the quarter-deck if allowed –
hounds the men with far more zeal than the bosun
– anything for a smile from him.’
Stephen nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But surely you do not think Jack Aubrey shares his tastes?’
‘No. But I do think he is aware of them and that he encourages the man. Oh, this is a very foul, dirty way of speaking . . . I go too far. Perhaps I am drunk. We have nearly emptied the bottle.’
Stephen shrugged. ‘No. But you are quite mistaken, you know. I can assure you, speaking in all sober earnest, that he has no notion of it. He is not very sharp in some ways; and in his simple view of the world, paederasts are dangerous
only to powder-monkeys and choir-boys, or to those epicene creatures that are to be found in Mediterranean brothels. I made a circuitous attempt at enlightening him a little, but he looked very knowing and said, “Don’t tell me about rears and vices; I have been in the Navy all my life.”‘
‘Then surely he must be wanting a little in penetration?’
‘James, I trust there was no mens rea in that remark?’
‘I must go on deck,’ said James, looking at his watch. He came back some time later, having seen the wheel relieved and having checked their course; he brought a gust of cool night air with him and sat in silence until it had dispersed in the gentle lamp-lit warmth.
Stephen had opened another bottle.
‘There are times when I am not altogether just,’ said James, reaching for his glass. ‘I am too touchy, I know; but sometimes, when you are surrounded with Proddies and you hear their silly, underbred cant, you fly out. And since you cannot fly out in one direction, you fly out in another. It is a continual tension, as you ought to know, if anyone.’