The tears had fallen thicker here by far: spelling and syntax had gone astray: two lines were blotted out. ‘But I shall wait for ever, if need be,’ was legible, and so was ‘and I am
sure, quite sure, that he will too.’ Stephen sniffed, glanced at the lines that said ‘she must hurry now, to catch the post,’ smiled at the ‘yours, very affectionately, Sophie,’ and picked up Jack’s letter. With an overwhelming yawn he opened it, lay down on the bed with the candle near the pillow, and focused his drooping eyes on the paper, ‘Lively, at sea.
September 12, ’04. My dear Stephen. .
September 12: the day Mendoza was in El Ferrol. He forced his eyes wide open. The lines seemed to crackle with life and happiness, but still they swam. ‘Wish me joy!’ Well, so I do, too. ‘You will never guess the news I have to tell you!’ Oh yes I shall, brother: pray do not use so many points of admiration. ‘I have the best part of a wife!! viz, her heart!! Stephen sniffed again. An intolerably tedious description of Miss Williams, whom Stephen knew a good deal better than Captain Aubrey
– her appearance, virtues. ‘So direct – straightforward
– nothing hole in the corner, if you understand me -no damned purser’s tricks – must not swear, however,
– like a 32 Iber.’ Could he really have likened Sophie to a thirty-two pounder? It was quite possible. How the lines did swim. ‘He must not speak disrespectfully of his putative mother-in-law, but . . . ‘What did Jack imagine putative to mean? ‘Would be perfectly happy if only.
ship:. . join me at Falmouth. . . Portsmouth. . . convoy Madeira, the Cape Verdes!
Coconut-trees! . . . must
hurry not to miss the post.’ Coconut-trees, immeasurably tall palms waving, waving. . .
Deus ex machina.
He awoke in daylight from a deep uninterrupted sleep, feeling happy, called for coffee, buns and a dram of whisky, read their letters again, smiling and nodding his head, as he breakfasted, drank to their happiness,
and took his papers from their oiled-silk roll. He sat at the table, decoding, drawing up his summary. In his diary he wrote, ‘All happiness is a good: but if theirs is to be bought by years of waiting and perhaps disgrace, then even this may come too dear. JA is older than he was by far, perhaps as mature as it is in his nature to be; but he is only a man, and celibacy will never do for him. Ld Nelson said, Once past Gibraltar, every man is a bachelor. What will tropical warmth, unscrupulous young women, a fixed habit of eating too much, and high animal spirits accomplish? What a renewed fire, a renewed challenge from Diana? No, no. If no deus ex machina appears at this interesting juncture, the whole turns into a sad, sad, long-drawn-out, ultimately squalid tragedy. I have seen a long engagement, the dear knows. Yet as I understand it, Ld Melville is nearly down: in this trade there are facts he cannot reveal – he cannot defend himself, nor, consequently, his friends. NB I slept upwards of nine hours this night, without a single drop. This morning I saw my bottle on the chimneypiece, untouched: this is unparalleled.’
He closed his book, rang the bell, and said, ‘Young gentlewoman, be so good as to call me a hackney-coach.’ And to the coachman. ‘The Horseguards’ Parade.’
Here he paid the man, watched him drive off, and after a turn or two he walked quickly to a small green door that led to the back of the Admiralty.
There was lather still on Sir Joseph’s pink jowls as he hurried in and begged Stephen to sit by the fire, to look at the paper, to make himself comfortable – victuals would be up directly
– he would not be a moment. ‘We have been most anxious for you, Dr Maturin,’ he said, coming back, neat and trim. ‘Mendoza was taken at Hendaye.’
‘He had nothing on him,’ said Stephen, ‘and the only knowledge he could betray is already useless. Spain is coming into the war.’
‘Ah,’ said Sir Joseph, putting down his cup and looking at him very hard. ‘It is a firm commitment?’
‘It is. They are wholly engaged. That is why I ventured to call so late last night.’
‘How I wish I had been here! How I cursed Windsor when the messenger met us just this side of Staines. I knew it must be something of the very first importance: the First Lord said the same.’
Stephen took his short statement from his pocket and said, ‘An armament is fitting out in Ferrol, the ships of the San Ildefonso treaty: here is a list of the vessels. Those marked with a cross are ready for sea with six months’ stores aboard These are the Spanish regiments stationed in and about the port, with an appreciation of their commanding officers: I do not place great reliance upon the remarks in the case of those names that are followed by a mark of interrogation. These are the French regiments actually upon the march ‘He passed the sheet
‘Perfectly, perfectly,’ said Sir Joseph, looking at it greedily – he loved a tabulated list, numbers, factual intelligence, rather than the usual vague impressions and hearsay.
‘Perfect. This corresponds very closely to what we have from Admiral Cochrane.’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘A little too perfect, maybe. Mendoza was an intelligent agent, but he was a paid agent, a professional. I do not vouch for it personally, although I think it highly probable. But what I do vouch for, and what induced me to reach you at the earliest possible moment, is the programme that has been settled between Paris and Madrid.
Madrid has been under increasing pressure since July, as you know: now Godoy has yielded, but he refuses to declare until the treasure-ships reach Cadiz from Monte Video.
Without this vast amount of specie Spain is very nearly bankrupt. The ships in question are frigates of the Spanish navy: the Medea, of forty guns, and the Fama, Clara, and Mercedes, all of 34. The Fama is said to be an uncommon swift sailer; the others are well spoken of. The squadron is commanded by Rear-Admiral don José Bustamente, a capable and determined
officer. The total value of the specie embarked at Monte Video was five million, eight hundred and ten thousand pieces of eight. These ships are expected in Cadiz early in October, and once the news that the treasure is landed has reached Madrid, we are to expect a declaration of war, the Sarastro incident being the casus belli. Without this treasure Madrid will be so embarrassed that a rising in Catalonia, supported by the vessels now off Toulon, would have every likelihood of success.’
‘Dr Maturin,’ cried Sir Joseph, shaking his hand, ‘we are infinitely obliged to you. It had to come, sooner or later, as we all knew – but to have the very moment, or something close to it . . . ! There is still time to act. I must tell Lord Melville at once: he will certainly wish to
see you. Mr Pitt must know immediately – oh, how I curse that Windsor visit – forgive me a moment.’ He ran out of the room. Stephen at once took Sir Joseph’s untasted coffee and poured it into his own cup.
He was drinking it still when Sir Joseph came back, discouraged. ‘He is at that wretched inquiry: he will not be free for some hours, and every minute counts. However, I have sent a note . . . we must act at once. It is a cabinet decision, of course; but I have no doubt that we must act at once. God send the wind stays fair: the time is very short.’
‘You intend a decisive action, I take it?’
‘Certainly. I cannot answer for the cabinet, but if my advice is attended to, the bold stroke is the only one. Is it the morality of the thing that you refer to?’ he asked with a smile.
‘The morality of the thing is not my concern,’ said Stephen. ‘I present the state of fact, with the observation that action would greatly increase the chance of Catalan success. Tell me, how does the inquiry go?’
‘Badly, very badly. You and I know that Lord M’s hands are tied: he cannot in honour account for the secret funds, and his enemies, some of whom know this as well as we do, are taking full advantage of the situation. I must not say more, because I am an official.’ He was indeed an official, a permanent official, one of the most powerful in the Admiralty; and every First Lord except St Vincent had followed his advice. He was also something of an entomologist, and when, after a pause, he said, ‘What news from the other world, Dr Maturin?’ Stephen recollected himself, felt in his bosom, and replied,