adept at poisoning the springs of intelligence: he remembered Abel, a devoted and wholly disinterested ally in Paris whose chiefs had by accident allowed him to see Admiral Duclerc’s plan of an attack on a Baltic convoy, and shortly before his death he had sent it over in all good faith. Knowing the agent so well, Blaine’s deputy – Blaine was in Portugal at the time
– had acted at once: but to their astonishment the additional ships sent to guard the merchantmen found themselves heavily outnumbered. The convoy was terribly mauled, a gun-brig was taken, a sloop destroyed, and HMS Melampus was only saved by the descent of a providential fog, though with very heavy casualties, including Jack’s friend her captain, the loss of two topmasts and grievous damage to her hull.
Difficult situations: difficult situations. And if Jack was still aboard there would be another within the hour. Commodore Aubrey was of course much overworked, as any man ordered to sea in so short a time, with such indifferent preparation and so many sudden changes must necessarily be: yet he was better equipped than most for a situation of this kind. Like many big men he was not easily put out of temper; he did not use up much of his energy in expostulation; upon the whole he despised those who complained; and the entire course of his professional career had fitted him for his present role. On the other hand he was quite remarkably defenceless when it came to dealing with jealousy. It was an emotion he had apparently never known, at least not in its present consuming state, and it was one whose nature and development he scarcely seemed to recognize at all, so that he was unable to call upon intelligence for what help it can bring in these cases.
Stephen was well acquainted with this blindness where health was concerned – ‘It is only a lump: it will soon go away’
– and affections – ‘She has certainly not received my letter. The posts are so slow these days, and very far from sure’ – yet even so it surprised him in Jack Aubrey, a much more intelligent man than he seemed to those who did not know him well. With great concern he
had watched the progress of the disease, the changes in the atmosphere at Ashgrove Cottage, where Mr Hinksey continued to call with the most unlucky regularity, often appearing a few moments before Jack left, and the beginning of a change in the Bellona.
Jack was still very kind to him, and in matters to do with the squadron he was perfectly agreeable to those around him; but every now and then a sudden rigour, a peremptory tone startled those who had served with him before and made his new subordinates look at him rather uneasily. Were they to sail with another St Vincent, otherwise known as Old Jarvey or even as Old Nick for his ferociously taut discipline?
Clearly, this particular and in Stephen’s opinion totally unnecessary trial was telling on Jack Aubrey’s temper most severely. Stephen regretted the whole foolish matter extremely, the suffering of the two chiefly concerned and of those around them, the utter impossibility of playing the kind intervening friend who puts everything right with a few quiet, understanding words, perhaps conveyed parabolically; and at this juncture his regret was singularly immediate – a personal, directly interested regret – since he was going to ask a favour that even an uncommonly well-disposed, unhurried, and benevolent naval commander would hesitate to grant, let alone a man in the throes of readying a squadron for the sea with a half-acknowledged monster at the same time devouring him within.
Lalla stopped and looked round at him: was she to go into Portsmouth or carry on by the back lane home? ‘To the left, hussy,’ he said, pushing his knee into her side. He had not yet quite forgiven her for making such a fool of him by the gallows; but by the time they reached the Keppel’s Head he relented, and he ordered her bran-mash with treacle in it, her favourite indulgence, before going out on the Hard in search of a boat, since the ostler had told him that Jack’s horse was still in the stable.
‘Bellona’s a great way over, sir,’ said the boatman, ‘and you will have a long, wet pull. Would you like this here piece of sailcloth, since you have forgot your cloak?’
In spite of the sailcloth Stephen was wet to the skin well before they reached the ship. As they approached her busy, well-lit side the boatman observed that Thames’s barge was at her starboard chains. ‘Look at ’em, like a parcel of popinjays,’ he said, nodding at Captain Thomas’s bargemen, all dressed in the same showy garments like a band of damp Merry Andrews. ‘I dare say it’s larboard for you, sir?’
‘Certainly,’ said Stephen. ‘And were you to call out that I should like a small convenient ladder, if it is available, I should be obliged.’
‘The boat ahoy,’ called the Bellona.
‘Ho,’ replied the boat.
‘Coming here?’ asked the Bellona.
‘No, no,’ said the boatman, meaning thereby that he was coming there, but that he had grasped, without much difficulty, that his passenger was not a commissioned officer; and then, raising his voice, ‘The gentleman would be obliged for a small convenient ladder, if available.’
This was received with a startled silence for an even longer moment than the boatman had hoped, and he was filling his lungs, suppressing his mirth, for a repetition, when a number of familiar voices called out that the Doctor was not to move
– he would slip in the rain – be was to stay there – they would bring him aboard.
This they did, Surprises to a man: on deck they plucked at his clothing and told him he was wet, wet through – why had he not put on his cloak? With the wind in the south-west, he ought always to put on his cloak.
He was making his way aft when Captain Pullings intercepted him. ‘Oh Doctor,’
said he, ‘the Commodore is engaged at the moment – will not you shift your coat, at least?
You will catch your death, else. Mr Somers’ – this to the officer of the watch – ‘stand by: any minute now.’
‘Mr Dove,’ said Somers to the bosun, ‘stand by. Any minute now., A bosun’s mate leant over the rail, looking down into the barge; be caught the coxswain’s eye and gave an unofficial nod, full of significance.
A door right aft opened: a deep voice, now no longer muffled, said in a tone of strong displeasure, ‘That is all I have to say: this will not occur again. Good day to you, sir.’
Captain Thomas came out, pale with emotion, carrying the Thames’s punishment register under his arm: he gave the
officers on the quarterdeck little more than a nod he was piped over the side with full ceremony.
With a knowing look, Tom Pullings said to Stephen, ‘The cabin is clear now, Doctor, if you choose to go along.’
‘There you are, Stephen,’ cried Jack, looking up from his desk, a more natural smile doing away with the severity of his expression. ‘Have you come back? God’s my life, you are soaked quite through. Should you not change your shoes and stockings? It is always said that the feet are the weakest part. Take Achilles’ heel – but you know all about Achilles’ heel.’
‘Presently. But for the moment, Jack . .
‘Well, in any case take a dram to keep the wet out. Sea-water does no harm, but rain is deadly stuff once it gets right in.’ He swung round, took a case-bottle from the locker and poured them each a tot of rum, a glorious rum he had drawn from the wood in Trafalgar year. ‘Lord, I needed that,’ he said, putting down his glass. ‘How I do loathe a steady indiscriminate flogger.’ He glanced down at his papers, and the stony look returned.
‘Jack’, said Stephen, ‘I have not chosen my moment well. I have a request. I have a favour to ask, and I could have wished to find you with a mind reposed. But you have clearly had a trying day.’
‘Ask away, Stephen. I shall be no better-tempered tomorrow: ill-humour seems to have settled in my bosom’ – striking it – ‘much as the wind used to settle in the south-east and stay there when we were trying to claw out of Port Mahon, week after week.’
A silence: and in a harsh voice Stephen said ‘I should Like to borrow the Ringle, if you please, with a proper crew, for a private voyage to London, as early as can be.’
Jack fixed him with a piercing stare that Stephen had never seen before. ‘You know we sail on Wednesday’s ebb?’ he asked, having looked at Stephen’s face in an objective manner.