Broadside after broadside – she seemed in quite a passion – and at last the raft’s lights went out, all of them at once.
‘Does he think we have sunk?’ wondered Jack, gazing back at the frigate’s distant side.
‘Or has he discovered the cheat? Is he at a stand? At all events, I swear he will not expect me to carry straight on.’
It was one thing to swear it, however, and quite another to believe it with the whole of his heart and head, and the rising of the Pleiades found Jack at the masthead with his night-glass swinging steadily from north-north-west to east-north-east; first light still found him there, and even sunrise, although by then it was clear that they had either completely outsailed the frigate or that she had set a new course, easterly or westerly, in pursuit.
‘West-north-west is the most likely,’ observed Jack, stabbing his bosom with the telescope to close it and narrowing his eyes against the intolerable brilliance of the rising sun. ‘That is what I should have done.’ He lowered himself heavily, stiffly down through the rigging, stumped into his cabin, sent for the master to work out their present position and closed his eyes for a moment until he should come.
They were within five leagues of Cape Bougaroun in North Africa, it appeared, for they had run over a hundred miles during the chase, many of them in the wrong direction. ‘We shall have to haul our wind – what wind there is
– ‘(for it had been backing and dying all through the middle watch) ‘and lie as close as ever we can. But even so, kiss my hand to a quick passage.’ He leant back and closed his eyes again, thought of saying what a good thing it was that Africa had not moved northwards half a degree during the night, and smiling at the notion went fast asleep.
Mr Marshall offered a few observations that brought no response, then contemplated him for a while and then, with infinite tenderness, eased his feet up on to the locker, cradled him back with a cushion behind his head, rolled up the charts and tiptoed away.
Farewell to a quick passage, indeed. The Sophie wished to sail to the north-west. The wind, when it blew, blew from the north-west. But for days on end it did nothing whatever, and at last they had to sweep for twelve hours on end to reach Minorca, where they crept up the long harbour with their tongues hanging out, water having been down to quarter-allowance for the past four days.
What is more, they crept down it too, with the launch and cutter towing ahead and the men heaving crossly on the heavy sweeps, while the reek of the tanneries pursued them, spreading by mere penetration in the still and fetid air.
‘What a disappointing place that is,’ said Jack, looking back from Quarantine Island.
‘Do you think so?’ said Stephen, who had come aboard with a leg wrapped in sailcloth, quite a fresh leg, a present from Mr Florey. ‘It seems to me to have its charms.’
‘But then you are much attached to toads,’ said Jack. ‘Mr Watt, those men are supposed to be heaving at the sweeps, I believe.’
The most recent disappointment or rather vexation -a trifle, but vexing – had been singularly gratuitous. He had given Evans, of the Aetna bomb, a lift in his boat, although it was out of his way to thread through all the victuallers and transports of the Malta convoy; and Evans, peering at his epaulette in that underbred way of his, had said, ‘Where did you get your swab?’
‘At Paunch’s.’
‘I thought as much. They are nine parts brass at Paunch’s, you know: hardly any real bullion at all. It soon shows through.’
Envy and ill-nature. He had heard several remarks of that kind, all prompted by the same pitiful damned motives:
for his part he had never felt unkindly towards any man for being given a cruise, nor for being lucky in the way of prizes. Not that he had been so very lucky in the way of prizes either – had made nothing like so much as people thought. Mr Williams had met him with a long face: part of the San Carlo’s cargo had not been condemned, having been consigned by a Ragusan Greek under British protection; the admiralty court’s expenses had been very high; and really it was scarcely worthwhile sending in some of the smaller vessels, as things were at present. Then the dockyard had made a childish scene about the topgallant yard – a mere stick, most legitimately expended. And the backstays. But above all, Molly Harte had not been there for more than a single afternoon. She had gone to stay with Lady Warren at Ciudadela: a long-standing engagement, she said. He had had no idea of how much it would matter to him, how deeply
it would affect his happiness.
A series of disappointments. Mercy and what she had to tell him had been pleasant enough: but that was all. Lord Keith had sailed two days before, saying he wondered Captain Aubrey did not make his number, as Captain Harte was quick to let him know. But Ellis’ horrible parents had not yet left the island, and he and Stephen had been obliged to undergo their hospitality – the only occasion in his life he had ever seen a half bottle of small white wine divided between four. Disappointments. The Sophies themselves, indulged with a further advance of prize-money, had behaved badly; quite badly, even by the standards of port behaviour. Four were in prison for rape; four had not been recovered
from the stews when the Sophie sailed; one had broken his collarbone and a wrist.
‘Drunken brutes,’ he said, looking at them coldly; and, indeed, many of the waisters at the sweeps were deeply unappetizing at this moment – dirty, mazed still, unshaven; some still in their best shore-going rigs all foul and beslobbered. A smell of stale smoke, chewed tobacco, sweat and whore-house scent. ‘They take no notice of punishment. I shall rate that dumb Negro bosun’s mate. King is his name. And rig a proper grating: that will make them mind what they are about.’ Disappointments. The bolts of honest number three and four sailcloth he had ordered and paid for himself had not been delivered. The shops had run out of fiddle strings. His father’s letter had spoken in eager, almost enthusiastic, tones of the advantages of remarriage, the great conveniency of a woman to supervise the housekeeping, the desirability of the marriage state, from all points of view, particularly from that of society – society had a call upon a man. Rank was a matter of no importance whatever, said General Aubrey:
a woman took rank from her husband; goodness of heart was what signified; and good hearts, Jack, and damned fine women, were to be found even in cottage kitchens; the difference between not quite sixty-four and twenty-odd was of very little importance. The words ‘an old stallion to
a young -, had been crossed out, and an arrow pointing to ‘supervising the housekeeping’
said ‘Very like your first lieutenant, I dare say.’
He glanced across the quarter-deck at his lieutenant, who was showing young Lucock how to hold a sextant and bring the sun down to the horizon. Lucock’s entire being showed a restrained but intense delight in understanding this mystery, carefully explained, and (more generally) in his elevation; the sight of him gave the first thrust to shift Jack’s black humour, and at the same moment he made up his mind to go south about the island and to call in at Ciudadela – he would see Molly – there was perhaps some little foolish misunderstanding that he would clear away directly they would pass an exquisite hour together in the high walled garden overlooking the bay.
Out beyond St Philip’s a dark line ruled straight across the sea showed a wafting air, the hope of a westerly breeze:
after two sweaty hours in the increasing heat they reached it, hoisted in the launch and cutter and prepared to make sail.
‘You can run inside Ayre Island,’ said Jack.
‘South about, sir?’ asked the master with surprise, for north round Minorca was the directest course for Barcelona, and the wind would serve.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jack sharply.
‘South by west,’ said the master to the helmsman.
‘South by west it is, sir,’ he replied, and the headsails filled with a gentle urgency.
The moving air came off the open sea, clean, salt and sharp, pushing all the squalor before it. The Sophie heeled just a trifle, with life flowing back into her, and Jack, seeing Stephen coming aft from his elm-tree pump, said, ‘My God, it is prime to be at sea again.
Don’t you feel like a badger in a barrel, on shore?’
‘A badger in a barrel?’ said Stephen, thinking of badgers he had known. ‘I do not.’