Jack made the noises of acknowledgment. ‘Too kind
–
an excellent crew – the Spaniard was unlucky in his dispositions.’
‘And yet not so wholly uninformed, neither,’ went on Canning. ‘I fitted out some privateers in the last war, and I took a cruise in one as far as Goree and in another to Bermuda, so I have at least some notion of the sea. No conceivable comparison, of course; but some slight notion of what such an action means.’
‘Was you ever in the Service, sir?’ asked Jack.
‘I? Why, no. I am a Jew,’ said Canning, with a look of deep amusement.
‘Oh,’ said Jack. ‘Ah?’ He turned, going through the motions of blowing his nose, saw Lord Melville looking at him from the doorway, bowed and called out ‘Good evening.’
‘And this war I have fitted out seven, with the eighth on the stocks. Now, sir, this brings me to the Bellone, of Bordeaux. She snapped up two of my merchantmen the moment war broke out again, and she took the Nereid, my heaviest privateer – eighteen twelve-pounders – the cruise before she took you and your Indiama. She is a splendid sailer, sir, is she not?’
‘Prodigious, sir, prodigious. Close-hauled, with light airs, she ran away from the Blanche as easy as kiss my
hand: and spilling her wind by way of a ruse, she still made six knots for Blanche’s four, though close-hauled is Blanche’s best point of sailing. Very well handled, too: her captain was a former King’s officer.’
‘Yes. Dumanoir – Dumanoir de Plessy. I have her draught,’ said Canning, leaning over the buffet, fairly ablaze with overflowing life and enthusiasm, ‘and I am building my eighth on her lines exactly.’
‘Are you, by God!’ cried Jack. Frigate-sized privateers were not uncommon in France, but they were unknown this side of the Channel.
‘But with twenty-four-pounder carronades in place of her long guns, and eighteen-pounder chasers. Do you think she will bear ’em?’
‘I should have to look at her draught,’ said Jack, considering deeply. ‘I believe she would, and to spare: but I should have to look at her draught.’
‘But that is a detail,’ said Canning, waving his hand. ‘The real crux is the command.
Everything depends on her commander, of course; and here I should value your advice and guidance beyond anything. I should do a great deal to come by the services of a bold, enterprising captain
–
a thorough-going seaman, of course. A letter-of-marque is not a King’s ship, I admit; but I try to run mine in a way no King’s officer would dislike – taut discipline, regularity, cleanliness. But no black lists, no hazing, and very little cat. You are no great believer in the cat, sir, I believe?’
‘Not I,’ said Jack. ‘I find it don’t answer the purpose, with fighting-men.’
‘Fighting-men: just so. That is another thing I can offer
–
prime fighting-men, prime seamen. They are mostly smugglers’ crews, west-countrymen, born to the sea and up to anything: I have more volunteers than I can find room for; I can pick and choose; and those I choose will follow the right man anywhere, put up with all reasonable discipline and behave like lambs. A right privateer’s man is no blackguard when he is led by the right captain. I believe I am right there, sir?’
‘I dare say you are, sir,’ said Jack slowly.
‘And to get the right commander I offer a post-captain’s pay and allowances for a seventy-four and I guarantee a thousand a year in prize-money. Not one of my captains has made less, and this new ship will certainly do very much better; she will be more than twice the burden of the others and she will have between two and three hundred men aboard. For when you consider, sir, that a private ship of war spends no time blockading, running messages or carrying troops,. but only destroying the enemy’s commerce, and when you consider that this frigate can cruise for six months at a time, why, the potentialities are enormous . . . enormous.’ Jack nodded: they were, indeed. ‘But where can I find my commander?’ asked Canning.
‘Where did you find your others?’
‘They were local men. Excellent, in their way, but they govern smallish crews, relatives, acquaintances, men they have sailed with. This is another problem entirely; it calls for a bigger man, a man on another scale. Might I beg for your advice, Captain Aubrey? Can
you think of any man, any former shipmate of yours, perhaps, or. . . ? I should give him a free hand, and I should back him to the hilt.’
‘I should have to consider of it,’ said Jack.
‘Pray do, pray do,’ said Canning. No less than a dozen people came up to the buffet at once, and private conversation was at an end. Canning gave Jack his card, pencilling an address upon it, and said in a low tone, ‘I shall be here all the week. A word from you, at any time, and I shall be most grateful for a meeting.’
They parted – indeed they were driven apart – and Jack backed until he was brought up by the window. The offer had been as direct as it could be in decency, to a serving officer: he liked Canning, had rarely taken to any man with such immediate sympathy at first sight.
He must be most uncommon rich to fit out a six or seven hundred
ton letter-of-marque: a huge investment for a private man. Yet Jack’s reflection was one of wonder alone, not of doubt
– there was not the least question of Canning’s honesty in his mind.
‘Come, Jack, come, come,’ said Lady Keith, tugging his arm. ‘Where are your manners?
You are behaving like a bear.’
‘Dear Queenie,’ said he, with a great slow smile, ‘forgive me. I am bemused. Your friend Canning wants to make my fortune. He is your friend?’
‘Yes. His father taught me Hebrew – good evening, Miss Sibyl – such a very wealthy young man, so enterprising. He has a vast admiration for you.’
‘That shows a proper candour. Does he speak Hebrew, Queenie?’
‘Oh, just enough for his bar mitzvah, you know. He is about as much of a scholar as you are, Jack. He has many friends in the Prince of Wales’s set, but don’t let that put you off –
he is not a flash cove. Come into the gallery.’
‘Bar mitzvah,’ said Jack, in a grave voice, following her into the crowded gallery; and there, momentarily framed by four men in black coats, he saw the familiar red face of Mrs Williams. She was sitting by the fireplace, looking hot and overdressed, and Cecilia sat next to her: for a moment he could not place them in this context; they belonged to another world and time, another reality. There was no empty place beside them, no vacant chair. As Lady Keith led him up to them she murmured something about Sophia; but her discretion swallowed up her meaning.
‘Have you come back to England, Captain Aubrey?’ said Mrs Williams, as he made his leg. ‘Well, well, upon my word.’
‘Where are your other girls?’ asked Lady Keith, glancing about.
‘I was obliged to leave them at home, your ladyship. Frankie has such a feverish cold, and Sophie has stayed to take care of her.’
‘She did not know you would be here,’ whispered Cecilia.
‘Jack,’ said Lady Keith, ‘I believe Lord Melville is throwing out a signal. He wants to speak with you.’
‘The First Lord?’ cried Mrs Williams, half rising in her seat and craning. ‘Where? Where?
Which is he?’
‘The gentleman with the star,’ said Lady Keith.
‘Just a word, Aubrey,’ said Lord Melville, ‘and then I must be off. Can you come to see me tomorrow instead of next week? It does not throw you out? Good night to you, then – I am obliged to you, Lady Keith,’ he called, kissing his hand and waving it, ‘your must humble, devoted. .
Jack’s face and eyes, as he turned back to the ladies, had a fine glow, a hint of the rising sun. By the law of social metaphysics some of the great man’s star had rubbed off on him, as well as a little of young Canning’s easy opulence. He felt that he was in command of the situation, of any situation, in spite of the wolves outside the door: his calmness surprised him. What were his feelings beneath this strong bubbling cheerfulness? He could not make it out. So much had happened these last few days – his old cloak still smelt of powder – and indeed was still happening, that he could not make them out. Sometimes you receive a knock in action: it may be your death-wound or just a scratch, a graze – you cannot tell at once. He gave up the attempt and turned his full attention to Mrs Williams, inwardly remarking that the Mrs Williams of Sussex and even of Bath was a different animal from the Mrs Williams in a great London drawing-room; she looked provincial and dowdy; and so, it must be admitted, did Cecilia, with her fussy ornaments and frizzled hair