‘I know very well what you mean.’
‘You do, do you?’ asked Jack, looking at him intently but asking no questions. ‘Yes: and the other officers have seen signs of it. If we were well-found and at sea, I should not worry, but we are likely to be ashore, off and on, for a fair while; and Jack ashore is often an ass. Apart from anything else he can desert: furthermore, as well as many well-tried old shipmates we have some right hard men aboard. We are all right for stores for the next few weeks, and I have told Adams to hand out two dollars a head: but when stores and dollars are gone…’
‘I could wish you did not have this dinner,’ said Stephen. ‘But you will go easy with the wine, will you not?’
‘If you see me offer to take even half a glass too much, pray give me a kick.’
This would not have been difficult, since the invariable practice at these often-repeated ceremonies, was to seat Dr. Maturin between Captain Aubrey and the most important guest, so that Jack’s unwavering ignorance of any foreign language (other than a very, very little French) might be less of a hindrance.
‘I hear the trumpets,’ said Jack; and indeed at all these splendid entertainments, although he was conveyed by coach, he was attended by drums and trumpets, which even now still evoked a fair amount of cheering.
The guests were very politely received in the great hall, and Jack was seated at the right hand of the junta’s president, Miguel Carrera, with Stephen, smaller than either and on a somewhat lower chair, interposed for translation. Jack had never grown used to the Spanish hours of eating and his appetite had vanished even before it smelt the soup: but Stephen (who had been brought up to these times for meals) admired his steady calm as the many, many courses dragged their slow length along. He did speak from time to time, by means of Stephen, usually answering questions about the men-of-war, the quality of the young men training to be naval officers – excellent, said Jack, with strong emphasis: excellentissimo. Stephen did sincerely admire his steadiness, his frequent smile; but it was with dismay that he heard Jack’s discreet murmur, after a capital dish of strawberries, desiring him to tell the president that Captain Aubrey begged the favour of a word once the feast was ended.
‘Of course,’ replied Carrera. ‘I should be honoured: and please tell the Captain that I have had very good news from Santiago: the Supreme Director tells me that the grant of the estate has been confirmed by a unanimous vote. And please convey my very best congratulations.’
Stephen did so, and he saw Jack smile, bow, and say that he earnestly hoped all due thanks for the present might be transmitted to the Director. Scarcely were these words uttered but the bishop’s chaplain, followed by all others present, rose to say grace.
The whole company waited for the bishop and his attendants to leave, bowing as the old gentleman passed, and then Carrera showed Jack and Stephen into a domed octagonal room with Moorish sofas and coffee, and a Christian decanter of brandy.
‘I was so glad to be able to bring you the news of your great estate,’ said Carrera as they sat down. ‘It is a little far away and it has been neglected by the former owner, a royalist of course: but with the river just at hand there are great possibilities of irrigation. And after all six thousand acres is scarcely negligible.’
As he listened to Stephen’s expressionless translation, Jack looked at the ground. It was pretty gross: surprisingly gross in a Spaniard. Clearly the man was uneasy, as he might well be, the land in question lying in an arid stretch of country south of the Bio-Bio river,
inhabited, as far as it was inhabited at all, by Araucanian Indians, the most formidable and warlike of their kind, while much of the land was thickly covered with the Chilean pine, the puzzle-monkey tree.
‘No, indeed,’ said Jack, ‘and as I have said, I am sure you will convey all suitable expressions of my gratitude to the Supreme Director. But for the moment I am primarily concerned with my men. As you are aware, they have not been paid. The very considerable mass of treasure seized at Val-divia has not been shared out. And the people of the prize-court here say that no decision on the Esmeralda’s value can possibly be reached this year. No: let me finish speaking if you please,’ he said, holding up his hand; and Carrera obviously thought his cold fury as impressive as did Stephen. ‘Since I reached this country,’ Jack went on, ‘I have been referred from ministry to secretariat, from high-placed men to influential friends and back again: and my people, in the height of victory, have not sixpence in their pockets for a pot of beer. And I tell you, sir, this will not do. You, a man of great standing in the republic, are going to Santiago: I desire you to tell Mr. O’Higgins and your other colleagues, that this will not do. I must have money: and only a great deal of money will satisfy my officers and men. They must have what they have earned and what they have won; and they must have it by the end of the month. Do you understand me, sir?’
‘I understand you, sir,’ said Carrera, ‘and you will allow me to say that I very much regret the present state of affairs. I must set out for Santiago early tomorrow morning, and there I shall lay the matter before those who make decisions. But before I go I shall do myself the honour of sending a letter to your ship, to your most distinguished ship.’
‘You are very good, sir,’ said Jack, standing up with the help of his stick, ‘and it only remains for me to thank you most heartily for this truly splendid feast – I particularly valued the Christmas pudding-‘ he added with a look of fury, ‘and for your comprehension. Finally, may I beg you to tell your colleagues that the end of the month is my fortunate or unfortunate day, as they shall decide.’ With this he held out his hand and said farewell.
‘By God, you did that in style, brother,’ said Stephen, when they were in the coach.
‘I could not dislike the man, although he is a politician,’ said Jack. ‘And I believe he loves the service. He has a nephew aboard Gladiator, who speaks perfect English, and thinks of himself as at least half a sailor already; and he is not far wrong.’
It was the early-rising half that was entrusted with the letter, and it was delivered aboard Surprise before Jack’s vile morning draught, which Killick brought with eager punctuality at four bells and which had to be swallowed before he might open the envelope.
‘Go and see whether the Doctor is about,’ said Jack, ‘and if he is, ask him to look in, when he has a moment.’
‘Which he is in the fish-market, turning over some old-fashioned lobsters. No. I tell a lie.
That is him, falling down the companion-way and cursing in foreign.’
Stephen, dusted down and tweaked into good order, his wig restored, was led into the cabin.
‘Good morning, Stephen. Would you cast an eye at this?’
‘Bless you,’ said Stephen. ‘I might: Don Miguel kisses your hands, thanks you for honouring his frugal repast, and has the happiness of enclosing two papers, the one being addressed to the chief cashier and requiring him to deliver five thousand pieces of eight to any inferior officer whom you may choose to send, the other to the official in charge of naval stores charging him to send over everything of that kind you may require. He begs
your pardon a thousand times for so brief a scribble, but his horse, a desperately impatient animal, is at the door, only just held by two straining grooms.’
‘By God, that is very handsome of him,’ cried Jack. ‘As soon as we have had breakfast, let us call upon the dear cashier with a couple of powerful holders, and then confer with the master, purser, bosun, gunner and anyone who is concerned with stores to find just what we need: I know the cupboard is most uncommon bare.’ He went on about its barrenness at considerable length, a length matched by his own exhilaration; but when for a moment he paused, Stephen said, ‘Will I tell you something?’
‘By all means. It will probably be even more interesting than the number of swabs we need.’
‘Listen. I was walking along the dock-side where they are repairing the big Chilean frigate.’
‘O’Higgins.’
‘No, sir, if you will forgive me: they are changing it to San Martin.’
‘Are they, by God? That is a damned unlucky thing to do to a ship. And it may be unlucky for us, too. Clearly the tide is changing. O’Higgins was our friend. What little I saw of San Martin I did not care for, and I doubt he really loved me. But there is little we can do about it, apart from knocking the place down about their ears with their own powder and shot; and that I hesitate to do, having several friends in the town. No. I think we must carry on with our survey: and if they turn awkward, if they shuffle or back-water, why, damn them all, I shall ask you to write me a handsome letter of resignation, pray for a steady west wind, and sail home. But first, until the month is out, I must fulfil my promise and take the young men, the pick of the young men, surveying the Chonos Archipelago: and before that we must fill the ship with stores.’