They talked, in a quiet, desultory fashion, of badgers, otters, foxes – the pursuit of foxes –
instances of amazing
cunning, perfidy, endurance, lasting memory in foxes. The pursuit of stags. Of boars. And as they talked so the sloop ranged close along the Minorcan shore.
‘I remember eating boar,’ said Jack, his good humour quite restored, ‘I remember eating a dish of stewed boar, the first time I had the pleasure of dining with you; and you told me what it was. Ha, ha: do you remember that boar?’
‘Yes: and I remember we spoke of the Catalan language at the same time, which brings to mind something I had meant to tell you yesterday evening. James Dillon and I walked out beyond Ulla to view the ancient stone monuments – druidical, no doubt – and two peasants called out to one another from a distance, alluding to us. I will relate the conversation. First peasant: Do you see those heretics walking along so pleased with themselves? The red-haired one is descended from Judas Iscariot, no doubt. Second peasant: Wherever the English walk the ewes miscarry and abort; they are all the same; I wish their bowels may gush out. Where are they going? Where do they come from? First peasant: They are going to see the navetta and the taula d’en Xatart: they come from the disguised two-masted vessel opposite Bep Ventura’s warehouse. They are sailing at dawn on Tuesday to cruise on the coast from Castellon up to Cape Creus, for six weeks. They have been paying four dollars a score for hogs. I, too, wish their bowels may gush out.’
‘He had no great fund of originality, your second peasant,’ said jack, adding in a pensive, wonderingtone, ‘They do not seem to love the English. And yet, you know, we have protected them most of this past hundred years.’
‘It is astonishing, is it not?’ said Stephen Maturin. ‘But my point was rather to hint that our appearance on the main may not be quite so unexpected as you suppose, perhaps. There is a continual commerce of fishermen and smugglers between this and Majorca. The Spanish governor’s table is furnished with our Fornells crayfish, our Xambo butter and Mahon cheese.’
‘Yes, I had taken your point, and am much obliged to you for your attention in -‘
A dark form drifted from the sombre cliff-face on the starboard beam – an enormous pointed wingspan: as ominous as fate. Stephen gave a swinish grunt, snatched the telescope from under Jack’s arm, elbowed him out of the
way and squatted at the rail, resting the glass on it and focusing with great intensity.
‘A bearded vulture! It is a bearded vulture!’ he cried.
‘A young bearded vulture.’
‘Well,’ said Jack instantly – not a second’s hesitation ‘I dare say he forgot to shave this morning.’ His red face crinkled up, his eyes diminished to a bright blue slit and he slapped his thigh, bending in such a paroxysm of silent mirth, enjoyment and relish that for all the Sophie’s strict discipline the man at the wheel could not withstand the infection and burst out in a strangled ‘Hoo, hoo, hoo,’ instantly suppressed by the quartermaster at the con.
‘There are times,’ said James quietly, ‘when I understand your partiality for your friend. He derives a greater pleasure from a smaller stream of wit than any man I have ever known.’
It was the master’s watch; the purser was away forward discussing accounts with the bosun; Jack was in his cabin, his spirits still high, one part of his mind designing a new disguise for the Sophie and the other revelling (by anticipation) in the happy outcome of his evening’s interview with Molly Harte. She would be so surprised to see him at Ciudadela, so pleased: how happy they would be! Stephen and James were playing chess in the gun-room: James’ furious attack, based upon the sacrifice of a knight, a bishop and two pawns, had very nearly reached its culminating point of error, and for a long placid stretch of time Stephen had been wondering how he could avoid mating him in three or four moves by any means less obvious than throwing down
the board. He decided (James minded these things terribly) to sit it out until the drum beat to quarters, and meanwhile he waved his queen thoughtfully in the air, humming the Black Joke.
‘It seems,’ said James, dropping the words into the silence, ‘that there may be some danger of peace.’ Stephen pursed his lips and closed one eye. He, too, had heard these rumours in Port Mahon. ‘So I hope to God we may see a touch of real action before it is too late. I am very curious to know what you will think of it: most men find it entirely unlike what they had expected – like love in that. Very disappointing, and yet you cannot wait to be starting again. It is your move, you know.’
‘I am perfectly aware of it,’ said Stephen sharply. He glanced at James, and he was surprised at the look of naked, unguarded distress on his face. Time was not doing what Stephen had expected of it: not by any means. The American ship was still there on the horizon. ‘And would you not say we had seen any action, then?’ he went on.
‘These scuffles? I was thinking of something on a rather larger scale.’
‘No, Mr Watt,’ said the purser, ticking the last item in the private arrangement by which he and the bosun made thirteen and a half per cent on a whole range of stores on the borderland of their respective kingdoms, ‘you may say what you please, but this young chap will end up by losing the Sophie; and what is more, he will either get us all knocked on the head or taken prisoner. And I’ve no wish to drag out my days in a French or Spanish prison, let alone be chained to an oar in an Algerine galley, rained upon, sunned upon and sitting there over my own stink. And I don’t want my Charlie knocked on the head, either. That’s why I’m transferring. It’s a profession that has its risks, I grant you, and I’m willing for him to run them. But understand me, Mr Watt: willing for him to run the ordinary risks of the profession, not these. Not capers like that huge bloody great
battery; nor lying right inshore by night as though we owned the place; nor watering here there and everywhere, just to stay out a little longer; nor setting about anything you see, regardless of size or number. The main chance is all very well; but we must not only be thinking of the main chance, Mr Watt.’
‘Very true, Mr Ricketts,’ said the bosun. ‘And I can’t say I have ever really liked those cross-catharpings. But you’re wide of the mark when you say it’s all the main chance.
Look at this hawser-laid stuff, now: better rope you’ll never see. And there’s no rogue’s yarn in it,’ he said, teasing out an end with his marlin-spike. ‘Look for yourself. And why is there no rogue’s yarn in it, Mr Ricketts? Because it never come off of the King’s yard, that’s why: Mr Screw-penny Bleeding Commissioner Brown never set eyes on it. Which Goldilocks bought it out of his own pocket, as likewise the paint you’re a-sitting on. So there, you mean-souled dough-faced son of a cow-poxed bitch,’ he would have added, if he had not been a peaceable, quiet sort of a man, and if the drum had not begun to beat to quarters.
‘Pass the word for my cox’n,’ said Jack after the drum had beat the retreat. The word passed – cap’n’s cox’n, cap’n’s cox’n, come on George, show a leg George, at the double George, you’re in trouble George, George is going to be crucified, ha, ha, ha – and Barret Bonden appeared. ‘Bonden, I want the boat’s crew to look their best: washed, shaved, trimmed, straw hats, Guernsey frocks, ribbons.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bonden with an impassive face and his heart brimming with inquiry.
Shaved? Trimmed? Of a Tuesday? They mustered clean to divisions on Thursdays and Sundays: but to be shaved on Tuesday – on a Tuesday at sea! He hurried off to the ship’s barber, and by the time half the cutter’s crew were as rosy and smooth as art could make them the answer to his questions appeared. They rounded Cape Dartuch, and Ciudadela came into view on the starboard bow; but instead of sailing steadily north-west the Sophie bore up for the town, heaving to in fifteen fathom water with her foretopsail aback a quarter of a mile from the mole.
‘Where’s Simmons?’ asked James, quickly passing the cutter’s crew in review.
‘Reported sick, sir,’ said Bonden, and in a lower voice, ‘His birthday, sir.’
James nodded. Yet the substitution of Davies was not very clever, for although he was much of a size, and filled the straw hat with Sophie embroidered on its ribbon, he was an intense blue-black and could not but be noticed. However, there was no time to do anything about it now, for here was the captain, very fine in his best uniform, best sword and gold-laced hat.