What a ship to fight, he reflected: if he met one of the big French frigates, he could make rings round her, beautifully built though they were. Yes. But what of the Livelies themselves? They were seamen, to be sure, quite remarkable seamen; but were they not a little elderly, on the whole, oddly quiet? Even the ship’s boys were stout hairy fellows, rather heavy for lying out on the royal yards; and most of them talked gruff. Then there were a good many brown and yellow men aboard. Low Bum, who was now at the wheel, steering wonderfully small, had had no need to grow a pigtail when he entered at Macao; nor had John Satisfaction, Horatio Jelly-Belly or half a dozen of his shipmates. Were they fighting men? The Livelies had had none of the incessant cutting-out expeditions that made danger an everyday affair and so disarmed it: circumstances had been entirely different – he should have read her log to see exactly what she had done. His eye fell on one of the quarterdeck carronades. It was painted brown, and some of the dull, scrubbed paint overlapped the touch-hole. It had not been fired for a long while. Certainly he should look at the log to see how the Livelies spent their day.
On the leeward side Mr Randall told Stephen that his mother was dead, and that they had a tortoise at home; he hoped the tortoise did not miss him. Was it really true that the Chinese never ate bread and butter? Never, at any time whatsoever? He and old Smith messed with the gunner, and Mrs Armstrong was very kind to them. Plucking at Stephen’s hand to draw his attention, he said in his clear pipe, ‘Do you think the new captain will flog George Rogers, sir?’
‘I cannot tell, my dear. I hope not, I am sure.’
‘Oh, I hope he does,’ cried the child, with a skip. ‘I have never seen a man flogged. Have you ever seen a man flogged, sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen.
‘Was there a great deal of blood, sir?’
‘Indeed there was,’ said Stephen. ‘Several buckets full.’ Mr Randall skipped again, and asked whether it would be long to six bells. ‘George Rogers was in a horrid passion, sir,’
he added. ‘He called Joe Brown a Dutch galliot-built bugger, and damned his eyes twice: I heard him. Should you like to hear me recite the points of the compass without a pause, sir? There is my Papa beckoning. Goodbye, sir.’
‘Sir,’ said the first lieutenant, stepping across to Jack, ‘I must beg your pardon, but there are two things I forgot to mention. Captain Hamond indulged the young gentlemen with
the use of his fore-cabin in the mornings, for their lessons with the schoolmaster. Should you wish to continue the custom?’
‘Certainly, Mr Simmons. A capital notion.’
‘Thank you, sir. And the other thing was that we usually punish on Mondays in the Lively.’
‘On Mondays? How curious.’
‘Yes, sir. Captain Hamond thought it was well to let defaulters have Sunday for quiet reflection.’
‘Well, well. Let it be so, then. I had meant to ask you what the ship’s general policy is, with regard to
punishment. I do not like to make any sudden changes, but I must warn you, I am no great friend to the cat.’
Simmons smiled. ‘Nor is Captain Hamond, sir. Our usual punishment is pumping: we open a sea-cock, let clean water in to mix with what is in the bilges, and pump it out again – it keeps the ship sweet. We rarely flog. In the Indian Ocean we were nearly two years without bringing the cat out of its bag; and since then, not above once in two or three months. But I am afraid that today you may think it necessary: an unpleasant case.’
‘Not article thirty-nine?’
‘No, sir. Theft.’
Theft it was said to be. Authority, speaking hoarse and official through the mouth of the master-at-arms, said it was theft, riotous conduct, and resisting arrest. With the ship’s company assembled aft, the Marines drawn up, and all the officers present, he led his victim before the captain and said, ‘Did steal one ape’s head. .
‘It’s all lies,’ cried George Rogers, still clearly in a horrid passion.
the property of Evan Evans, quarter-gunner. . ‘It’s all lies.’
‘And being desired to step aft. .
‘It’s all lies, lies!’ cried Rogers.
‘Silence, there,’ said Jack. ‘You shall have your turn, Rogers. Carry on, Brown.’
‘And on being told I had information that led me to believe he was in possession of this head, and on being desired, civil, to step aft and verify the statements of Evan Evans, quarter-gunner, larboard watch,’ said the master-at-arms, swivelling his eyes alone in the direction of Rogers, ‘did call out expressions of contempt:
was in liquor; and endeavoured to conceal hisself in the sail-room.’
‘All lies.’
‘And when roused out, did offer violence to Button, Menhasset and Mutton, able seamen.’
‘It’s all lies,’ cried Rogers, beside himself with indignation. ‘All lies.’
‘Well, what did happen?’ said Jack. ‘Tell me in your own words.’
‘I will, your honour,’ said Rogers, glaring round, pale and trembling with fury. ‘In my own Gospel words. Master-at-arms comes for’ard – which I was taking a caulk, my watch below
– tips me a shove on the arse, begging your pardon, and says, “Get your skates on, George; you’re fucked.” And I up and says, “I don’t care for you, Joe Brown, nor for that fucking little cunt Evans.” No offence, your honour; but that’s the Gospel truth, to show your honour the lies he tells, with his “verify the statements”. It’s all lies.’
There seemed to be a more familiar ring about this version; but it was followed by a rambling account of who pushed whom, in what part of the ship, with contradictory evidence from Button, Menhasset and Mutton, and remarks on character; and it seemed that the main issue might be lost in a discussion of who lent someone two dollars off of Banda, and was never repaid, in grog, tobacco, or any other form.
‘What about this ape’s head?’ said Jack.
‘Here, sir,’ said the master-at-arms, producing a hairy thing from his bosom.
‘You say it is yours, Evans; and you say it is yours, Rogers? Your own property?’
‘She’s my Andrew Masher, your honour,’ said Evans.
‘He’s my poor old Ajax, sir, been in my ditty-bag ever since he took sick off the Cape.’
‘How can you identify it, Evans?’
‘Anan, sir?’
‘How do you know it is your Andrew Masher?’
‘By her loving expressions, sir, your honour. By her expressions. Griffi Jones, stuffed animals, Dover, is giving me a guinea for her tomorning, yis, yis.
‘What have you to say, Rogers?’
‘It’s all lies, sir!’ cried Rogers. ‘He’s my Ajax. Which I fed him from Kampong – shared my grog, ate biscuit like a Christian.’
‘Any distinguishing marks?’
‘Why, the cut of his jib, sir: I know him anywheres, though shrivelled.’
Jack studied the ape’s face, which was set in an expression of deep, melancholy contempt. Who was telling the truth? Both thought they were, no doubt. There had been two ape’s heads in the ship, and now there was only one. Though how anyone could pretend to recognize the features of this wizened red coconut heavy in his hand he could not tell. ‘Andrew Masher was a female, I take it, and Ajax a male?’ he said.
‘That’s right, your honour.’
‘Beg Dr Maturin to come on deck, if he is not engaged,’ said Jack. ‘Dr Maturin, is it possible to tell the sex of an ape by its teeth, or that kind of thing?’
‘It depends on the ape,’ said Stephen, looking eagerly at the object in Jack’s hands. ‘This, for example,’ he said, taking it and turning it about, ‘is an excellent specimen of the male simia satyrus, Buffon’s wild man of the woods:
see the lateral expansion of the cheeks, mentioned by Hunter, and the remains of that particular throat-sac, so characteristic of the male.’
‘Well, there you are,’ said Jack. ‘Ajax it is. Thank you very much, Doctor. The charge of theft is dismissed. But you must not knock people about, Rogers. Has anyone something to say in his favour?’
The second lieutenant stepped forward, said that Rogers was in his division – attentive to his duty, generally sober, a good character, but apt to fly into a passion. Jack told Rogers
that he must not fly into a passion; that flying into a passion was a very bad thing – it would certainly lead him to the gallows, if indulged in. He was to command his temper, and do without grog for the next week. The head was confiscated temporarily, for further examination
–
indeed, it had already vanished into the cabin, leaving Rogers looking somewhat blank. ‘I dare say you will get it back in time,’ said Jack, with more conviction than he felt.