‘And then he put up his helm in a flash, set his studding-sails like a conjuring trick and ran
through our line, close to the Admiral. The fox, he knew I dared not risk hitting the flagship!
And he knew the Desaix ‘S broadside would come rather slow! He ran through, and with a little luck -,
‘What is luck?’
‘Chance. He might have escaped. But the Admiral made my signal to chase, and the Desaix was only a week out of dock quite clean, and she loves a light breeze on the quarter: and in short. . . I should have blown you out of the sea with my last broadside, dear friend, if you had not jugged like an hare.’
‘How well I remember it,’ said Jack. ‘My heart was in my boots as I saw you beginning to luff up. But it had gone down there much earlier, when I saw that you sailed two miles to my one, without troubling to set your stuns’ls.’
‘It was an exploit of thunder, to run through the line,’ said Captain Penhoet. ‘1 could almost to wish you had
succeeded the blow. I should have struck as soon as the admiral had forereached my ship. But in principle you English carry too much guns, is it not? Too many for sail fast in a such breeze – too many to escape oneself.’
‘I tossed mine all overboard,’ said Jack. ‘Though in principle you are right. Yet might we not say that in principle you carry far too many men, particularly soldiers? Remember the Phoebe and Africaine . .
The simple meal wound to its even simpler end – a bottle of brandy and two glasses.
Captain Penhoet, exhausted by his efforts, had returned to his office; Stephen had been carried off to Dr Ramis’s healthier table, to drink gaseous water from a sulphurous spring; and Cape Sicié had turned purple against the now violet sea. Crickets filled the air with a warm continuous omnipresent churr.
Both Jack and Christy-Pallière had drunk a great deal; they were now telling one another about their professional difficulties, and each was astonished that the other had reason to complain. Christy-Pallière too was caught on the promotion-ladder, for although he was a capitaine de vaisseau, very like a post-captain, there was ‘no proper sense of seniority in the French navy – dirty, underhand intrigue everywhere – political adventurers succeeding
-real seamen thrust to the wall.’ He did not express himself directly, but Jack knew from their conversations a year ago and from the indiscretions of his English Christy cousins, that his friend was but a lukewarm republican, detested the upstart Bonaparte’s vulgarity and total ignorance of the sea-service, would have liked a constitutional, liberal monarchy, and was uneasy in his skin – a man devoted to his navy and of course to France, but unhappy in his rulers. Long ago he had spoken in a remarkably informed and perceptive way, about the case of Irish officers in the Royal Navy and the moral dilemma of conflicting loyalties; but at this moment, although four sorts of wine and two of brandy had brought him handsomely into the area of indiscretion, he was solely concerned with his own
immediate problems. ‘For you it is perfectly simple,’ he said. ‘You will assemble your interest, your friends and the lords and sirs of your acquaintance; and eventually, with your parliamentary elections, there will be a change of ministry and your evident merits will be recognized. But what is the case with us? Republican interest, royalist influence, Catholic interest, Freemason interest, consular or what they tell me will soon be imperial interest, all cutting across one another – a foul hawse. We might as well finish this bottle.
You know,’ he said, after a pause, ‘I am so tired of sitting on my arse in an office. The only hope, the only solution, is a – ‘His voice died away.
‘I suppose it would be wicked to pray for war,’ said Jack, whose mind had followed exactly the same course. ‘But oh to be afloat.’
‘Oh, very wicked, no doubt.’
‘Particularly as the only worth-while war would have to be against the nation we like best.
For the Dutch and Spaniards are no match for us now. It makes me stare, every time I think of it, how well the Spaniards build -beautiful, beautiful great ships – and how strangely they handle them. At the Battle of St Vincent -,
‘It is all the fault of their admiralty,’ cried Christy-Pallière. ‘All admiralties are the same. I swear, on the head of my mother, that our admiralty – ‘A messenger brought him up short on the brink of high treason; he excused himself, stepped aside and read the note. He read it twice, clearing the fumes of brandy from his head, sobering fast. He was a massive, bear-like man, not as tall as Jack, but stouter, and he could stand his drink: broad, somewhat round-shouldered, with very kind brown eyes – kind, but not foolish; and when he came back to the table, carrying a pot of coffee, they were hard and piercing. He hesitated for some time, sipping the coffee, before he spoke. ‘All navies have these problems,’ he said slowly. ‘My colleague who looks after them here is on leave: I take his place. Here I have a description of a man in a black coat with a telescope on Mount Faron this morning, looking at our installations; medium height, slim, pale eyes, bob wig, grey breeches, speaks French with a southern accent. He has also been talking to a Barcelona merchant, a curious fellow with two feluccas in the darse.’
‘Why,’ cried Jack, ‘that must certainly be Stephen Maturin. I have no doubt of it – he has a telescope. One of Dolland’s very best glasses. I am sure he was up there on Faron this morning before I was out of bed, gazing about for his precious birds. He mentioned some monstrous rare pippit or titmouse that lives here. I wonder,’ – laughing heartily – ‘he did not go up to the fort and beg for the use of their big artillery instruments. Oh no, he is the simplest fellow in the world. I give you my word of honour
– unspeakably learned, knows every bug and beetle in the universe, and will have your leg off in an instant – but he should not be allowed out alone. And as for naval installations, he really cannot tell port from starboard, a bonnet from a drabbler, though I have explained a thousand times, and he does try to apply himself, poor fellow. I am sure it must be he, from what you tell me about his speaking to the Barcelona merchant. And in that language, I dare say? He lived in those parts for years, and speaks their lingo like a – like a – why, like a native. We are on our way down there now, to a property he has; and as
soon as he has been across to Porquerolles to see some curious shrub that grows on the island and nowhere else, we shall move on. Ha, ha, ha,’ he laughed, his big voice full of intense amusement, ‘to think of poor good old Stephen being laid by the heels for a spy!
Oh, ha, ha, ha!’
There was no possibility of resisting his transparent good faith. Christy-Pallière’s eyes softened; he smiled with relief and said, ‘So you will vouch for him, then, upon your honour?’
‘My hand upon my heart,’ said Jack, placing it there. ‘My dear sir, surely your men must be a very simple crew, to go round suspecting Stephen Maturin?’
‘That is the trouble,’ said Christy-Pallière. ‘Many of them are stupid. But that is not the worst of it: there are other services, the gendarmerie, Fouché’s men and all those land people, as you know, and some of them are no wiser. So pray tell your friend to be more discreet. And listen, my dear Aubrey,’ he said in a low, significant voice, ‘it might be as well if you did not cross to Porquerolles, but pressed on to Spain.’
‘Because of the heat?’ asked Jack.
Christy-Pallière shrugged. ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘I say no more.’ He took a turn up and down the terrace, ordered a fresh bottle, and returned to Jack.
‘And so you saw my cousins in Bath?’ he said, in quite another, conversational tone.
‘Yes, yes! I did myself the honour of calling at Laura Place the first time I was there, and they very kindly asked me to drink tea with them. They were all at home
– Mrs Christy, Miss Christy, Miss Susan, Madame des Aguillières and Tom. Charming people, so friendly and welcoming. We talked about you a great deal, and they hoped you might come over soon – sent everything proper, of course, kindest regards – kisses, I believe, from the girls. The second time they invited me to a ramble and a picnic, but unhappily I was bespoke. I was in Bath twice.’