– but this anxiety remained, to come into full flower in the last quarter of an hour before the arrival of his guests. He stood fussing in his day-cabin, twitching the cloth, teasing the stove until its colour was cherry-pink, worrying Killick and his attendant boys, wondering whether after all the table should not have been athwart-ships, and contemplating a last-minute alteration. Could it really seat six in even moderate comfort? The Polychrest was a larger vessel than the Sophie, his last command, but because of the singularity of her construction the cabin had no stern-gallery, no fine curving sweep of windows to give an impression of light, air and indeed a certain magnificence to even a little room, the actual space was greater and the head-room was such that he could stand with no more than a slight stoop, but this space had no generosity of breadth -it drew out in length, narrowing almost to a point aft, and all that it had in the way of day was a skylight and a couple of small scuttles Leading forward from this shield-shaped apartment was a short passage, with his sleeping-cabin on one side and his quarter-gallery on the other: it was not a true gallery, a projection, in the Polychrest at all, of course, nor was it strictly on her quarter, but it served the purpose of a privy as well as if it had been both. In addition to the necessary pot it contained a thirty-two pounder carronade and a small hanging lantern, in case the bull’s eye in the port-lid should not be enough to show the unwary guest the consequences of a false step. Jack looked in to see whether it was burning bright and stepped out into the passage just as the sentry opened the door to admit the midshipman of the watch with the message that ‘the gentleman was alongside, if you please, sir.’
As soon as Jack saw Canning come aboard he knew
his party would be a success. He was dressed in a plain buff coat, with no attempt at a seafaring appearance, but he came up the side like a good ‘un, moving his bulk with a strong, easy agility, judging the roll just so. His cheerful face appeared in the gangway, looking sharply from left to right; then the rest of him, and he stood there, quite filling the space, with his hat off and his bald crown gleaming in the rain.
The first lieutenant received him, led him the three paces to Jack, who shook him very warmly by the hand, performed the necessary introductions, and guided the assembled body into the cabin, for he had little temptation to linger in the icy drizzle and none at all to show the Polychrest in her present state, to an eye so keen and knowing as his guest’s.
Dinner began quietly enough with a dish of codlings caught over the side that morning and with little in the way of conversation apart from banalities – the weather, of course, inquiries after common acquaintance – ‘How was Lady Keith? When last seen? What news of Mrs Villiers? Did Dover suit her? Captain Dundas, was he well, and happy in his new command? Had Mr Canning heard any good music lately? Oh yes! Such a Figaro at the Opera, he had gone three times.’ Parker, Macdonald and Pullings were mere dead
weights, bound by the convention that equated their captain, at his own table, with royalty, and forbade anything but answers to proposals set up by him. However, Stephen had no notion of this convention
– he gave them an account of nitrous oxide, the laughing gas, exhilaration in a bottle, philosophic merriment; and it did not apply to Canning at all. Jack worked hard with an easy flow of tiny talk; and presently the dead weight began to move. Canning did not refer to the Polychrest (Jack noticed this with a pang, but with gratitude as well) apart from saying that she must be a very interesting ship, with prodigious capabilities, and that he had never seen such paintwork – such elegance and taste – the completest thing
– one would have supposed a royal yacht – but he spoke of the service in general with obvious knowledge and deep appreciation. Few sailors can hear sincere, informed praise of the Navy without pleasure, and the reserved atmosphere in the cabin relaxed, warmed, grew positively gay.
The codlings were succeeded by partridges, which Jack carved by the simple process of putting one on each man’s plate; the corrupt claret began to go about, the gaiety increased, the conversation became general, and the watch on deck heard the sound of laughter coming from the cabin in a steady flow
After the partridges came no less than four removes of game, culminating in a saddle of venison borne in by Killick and the gun-room steward on a scrubbed scuttle-hatch with a runnel gouged out for the gravy. ‘The burgundy, Killick,’ murmured Jack, standing up to carve. They watched him earnestly as he laboured, their talk dying away, and they bent with equal attention to their plates
‘Upon my word, gentlemen,’ said Canning, laying down his knife and fork, ‘you do yourselves pretty well in the Navy – such a feast! The Mansion House is nothing to it.
Captain Aubrey, sir, this is the best venison I have ever tasted in my life: it is a solemn dish. And such burgundy! A Musigny, I believe?’
‘Chambolles-Musigny, sir, of ’85 I am afraid it is a little past its prime: I have just these few bottles left
– happily my steward does not care for burgundy. Mr Pullings, a trifle of the brown end?’
It was indeed a most capital buck, tender, juicy, full of savour; Jack set to his own mound with an easy mind at last: more or less everybody was talking – Pullings and Parker explaining Bonaparte’s intentions to Canning – the new French gunboats, the ship-rigged prams of the invasion flotilla – and Stephen and Macdonald leaning far over their plates to hear one another, or rather to be heard, in an argument that was still mild enough, but that threatened to grow a little warm.
‘Ossian,’ said Jack, at a moment when both their mouths were full, ‘was he not the gentleman that was quite exploded by Dr Johnson?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ cried Macdonald, swallowing faster than Stephen. ‘Dr Johnson was a respectable man in some ways, no doubt, though in no degree related to the Johnstones of Ballintubber; but for some reason he had conceived a narrow prejudice against Scotland. He had no notion of the sublime, and therefore no appreciation of Ossian.’
‘I have never read Ossian myself,’ said Jack, ‘being no great hand with poetry. But I remember Lady Keith to have said that Dr Johnson raised some mighty cogent objections.’
‘Produce your manuscripts,’ said Stephen.
‘Do you expect a Highland gentleman to produce his manuscripts upon compulsion?’ said Macdonald to Stephen, and to Jack, ‘Dr Johnson, sir, was capable of very inaccurate statements. He affected to see no trees in his tour of the kingdom: now I have travelled the very same road many times, and I know several trees within a hundred yards of it –
ten, or even more. I do not regard him as any authority upon any subject. I appeal to your candour, sir – what do you say to a man who defines the mainsheet as the largest sail in a ship, or to belay as to splice, or a bight as the circumference of a rope? And that in a buke that professes to be a dictionary of the English language? Hoot, toot.’
‘Did he indeed say that?’ cried Jack. ‘I shall never think the same of him again. I have no doubt your Ossian was a very honest fellow.’
‘He did, sir, upon my honour,’ cried Macdonald, laying his right hand flat upon the table.
‘And falsum in uno, falsum in omnibus, I say.’
‘Why, yes,’ said Jack, who was as well acquainted with old omnibus as any man there present. ‘Falsum in omnibus. What do you say to omnibus, Stephen?’
‘I concede the victory,’ said Stephen smiling. ‘Omnibus routs me.’
‘A glass of wine with you, Doctor,’ said Macdonald.
‘Allow me to help you to a little of the underside,’ said Jack. ‘Killick, the Doctor’s plate.’
‘More dead men, Joe?’ asked the sentry at the door, peering into the basket.
‘God love us, how they do stow it away, to be sure,’ said Joe, with a chuckle. ‘The big cove, the civilian – it’s a pleasure to see him eat. And there’s figgy-dowdy to come, and woodcocks on toast, and then the punch.’
‘You ain’t forgotten me, Joe?’ said the sentry.
‘The bottle with the yellow wax. They’ll be singing any minute now.’
The sentry put the bottle to his lips, raised it up and up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and observed, ‘Rum stuff they drink in the cabin: like blackstrap, only thinner.