– and he asked how it came about that the Polychrest, with all her notorious defects, was sent on a mission for which she was so entirely unsuited, when there were other vessels –
naming them – lying idle in the Downs. A casualty-list of a third of the ship’s company called for explanation: the Sophie, under the same commander, had taken the Cacafuego with a loss of no more than three men killed.
‘Parse that, you old – ,’ said Jack inwardly, to Admiral Harte.
Wandering out, he came to the back of the chapel:
an organ was playing inside, a sweet, light-footed organ hunting a fugue through its charming complexities. He circled the railings to come to the door, but he had scarcely found it, opened it and settled himself in a pew before the whole elaborate structure collapsed in a dying wheeze and a thick boy crept from a hole under the loft and clashed down the aisle, whistling. It was a strong disappointment,
the sudden breaking of a delightful tension, like being dismasted under full sail.
‘What a disappointment, sir,’ he said to the organist, who had emerged into the dim light. ‘I had so hoped you would bring it to a close.’
‘Alas, I have no wind,’ said the organist, an elderly parson. ‘That chuff lad has blown his hour, and no power on earth will keep him in. But I am glad you liked the organ
– it is a Father Smith. A musician, sir?’
‘Oh, the merest dilettante, sir; but I should be happy to blow for you, if you choose to go on. It would be a sad shame to leave Handel up in the air, for want of wind.’
‘Should you, indeed? You are very good, sir. Let me show you the handle – you understand these things, I am sure. I must hurry to the loft, or these young people will be here. I have a marriage very soon.’
So Jack pumped and the music wound away and away, the separate strands following one another in baroque flights and twirls until at last they came together and ran to the final magnificence, astonishing the young couple who had come silently in, and who were sitting furtive, embarrassed, nervous and intensely clean in the shadows, with their landlady and a midwife; for they had not paid for music – only the simplest ceremony. They were absurdly young, pretty creatures, with little more than a gasp between them; and they had anticipated the rites by a hairsbreadth under full term. But the parson joined them very gravely, telling them that the purpose of their union was the getting of children, and that it was better to marry than to burn.
When it was over they came to life again, regained their colour, smiled, seemed very pleased with being married, amazed at themselves. Jack kissed the pink bride, shook the other child by the hand, wishing him all possible good fortune, and walked out into the air, smiling with pleasure. ‘How happy they will be, poor young things – mutual support – no loneliness – no God-damned solitude – tell
happiness and sorrows quite openly – sweet child, not the least trace of the shrew –
trusting, confident – marriage a very capital thing, quite different from – by God, I am on the wrong side of Cecil Street.’
He turned to cross back, and as he turned he collided with a sharp youth who had darted after him through the traffic with a paper in his hand. ‘Captain Aubrey, sir?’ asked the youth. Escape to the other side was impossible. He shot a glance behind him – surely they could not hope to make the arrest with just this younker? ‘They told me at the Grapes I should find you walking about the Duchy, your honour.’ There was no menace in his voice, only a modest satisfaction. ‘I should have hollered out, but for manners.’
‘Who are you?’ asked Jack, still poised to deal with him. ‘Tom’s nevvy, your honour, if you please, the duty-porter. Which I was to give you this,’ – handing the letter.
‘Thankee, boy,’ said Jack, unpoising himself. ‘You are a sharp lad. Tell your uncle I am obliged to him: and this is for your errand.’
A gap appeared in the traffic and he darted back into Lancaster, back to the Grapes, called for a glass of brandy, and sat down in greater flutter of spirits than he had ever known.
‘No brandy, sir,’ said Killick, cutting the pot-boy off at the head of the stairs and confiscating the little glass. ‘No spirits of wine, the Doctor said. Swab-face, you jump to the bar and draw the Captain a quart of porter: and none of your guardo-moves with the froth.’
‘Killick,’ said Jack, ‘God damn your eyes. Cut along to the kitchen and desire Mrs Broad to step up. Mrs Broad, what have you for dinner? I am amazing sharp-set.’
‘No beef or mutton, Mr Killick says,’ said Mrs Broad, ‘but I have a nice loin of weal, and a nice piece of wenison, as plump as you could wish; a tender young doe, sir.’
‘The wenison, if you please, Mrs Broad; and perhaps
The Grapes Saturday
My dear Stephen, he wrote
Oh wish me joy – I am made post! I never thought it would be, though he received me in the kindest way; but then suddenly he popped it out, signed, sealed and delivered, with seniority from May 23rd. It was like a prodigious unexpected vast great broadside from a three-decker, but of happiness: I could not get it all aboard directly, I was so taken aback, but by the time I had smuggled myself back to the Grapes I was swelling like a rose – so happy. How I wish you had been there! I celebrated with a quart of your vile porter and a bolus, and turned in at once, quite fagged out.
This morning I was very much better, however, and in the Savoy chapel I said the finest thing in my life. The parson was playing a Handel fugue, the organ-boy deserted his post, and I said ‘it would be a pity to leave Handel up in the air, for want of wind,’ and blew for him. It was the wittiest thing! I did not smoke it entirely all at once, however, only after. I
had been pumping for some time; and then I could hardly keep from laughing aloud. It may be that post captains are a very witty set of men, and that I am coming to it.
But then you very nearly lost your patient. Like a fool I strayed out of bounds: a little chap heaves in sight, sings out, ‘Captain A!’ and I say, ‘This claps a stopper over all: Jack, you are brought by the lee.’ But, however, it was orders to join the Lively.
She is only a temporary command, and of course as acting-captain I do not take my friends with me; but I do beg you, my dear Stephen, to sail with me you would send me up some pens and a pot of ink. Ah dear God,’ he said to the empty room, ‘a tender young doe.’
as my guest. The Polychrests will be paid off- Parker is to have the Fanciulla, in compliment to me, which is as cruel a kindness as the world has seen since that fellow in the play, but I have looked after the Polychrest’s people – so there will be no difficulty of any kind. Pray come. I cannot tell you what pleasure it would give me. And to be even more egotistical in what I am afraid is a sadly egotistical letter, let me say, that having had your care, I should never trust my frame to a common sawbones again – my health is far from good, Stephen.
She is a crack frigate, with a good reputation, and I believe we shall have orders for the West Indies -think of the bonitoes, the bosun birds, the turtles, the palm-trees!
I am sending Killick with this – heartily glad I am to be shot of him too, such a pragmatical brute he has grown, with his physic-spoon – and he will see our dunnage round to the Nore. I am dining with Lord Melville on Sunday; Robert will run me down in his curricle, and I shall sneak aboard that night, without touching at an inn. Then, I swear to God, I shall not set foot ashore until I can do so without this wretched fear of being taken to a sponging-house and then to a debtor’s prison.
Yours most affectionately
‘Killick!’ he shouted.
‘Sir?’
‘Are you sober?’
‘As a judge, sir.’
‘Then pack my shore-going trunk all but my uniform and number one scraper, take it down to the Nore, aboard the Lively, and give the first lieutenant this chit: we join her on Sunday night, temporary command. Then proceed to the Downs: give this letter to the Doctor and this to Mr Parker – it has good news for him, so give it into his hands yourself. If the Doctor chooses to join the Lively, take his sea-chest and anything else he wants, no matter what – a stuffed whale or a double-headed ape got with child by the bosun. My sea-chest, of course, and what we saved from the Polychrest. Repeat your instructions. Good. Here is what you will need for the journey, and here is five shillings for a decent glazed hat: you may skim the other into the Thames. I will not have you go