‘I do. But may I say that if the wind does not serve, I should certainly join you at the Groyne or off Finisterre.’ Jack nodded. Stephen went on, ‘I must add that this is an entirely personal need – a private emergency.’
‘So I had gathered,’ said Jack. ‘Very well: you shall have her. But with the weather that promises, I doubt you can come down in time. Do you mean to spend long in town?’
‘Only long enough to load some chests near the Tower.’
‘How many tides do you reckon?’
‘Tides? To tell you the truth, Jack, I had not thought of tides . . . and then,’ he said in a low, diffident voice, ‘I had
hoped to put in to Shelmerston for perhaps a night.’
‘I see.’ Jack rang a bell. ‘Could Captain Pullings spare him
a minute?’
‘Tom,’ he said, ‘the Doctor has occasion for the tender, to run up the London river directly. Let him have Bonden and Reade and as discreet a set of old shipmates as you can think of, enough for watch and watch with two to spare. He may not be able to rejoin before the Groyne or Finisterre. Let her be victualled for the Berlings with the utmost dispatch.’
‘The utmost dispatch,it is, sir,’ said Tom, smiling.
‘I am very deeply obliged to you, Jack, my dear,’ said Stephen.
‘There is no such thing as obligation between you and me, brother,’ said Jack. And in another tone, ‘It will take some little time – she is over by Gilkicker – but you should clear at the height of flood. I am sorry I was a trifle chuff to begin with. I have had an uncommon wearing day. So have you, by your look, if I may be so God-damned personal. What do you say to a pot of coffee?’ Without waiting for an answer he rang the bell and said ‘Killick, large pot: and the Doctor will need half a dozen shirts put up, as well as a dry coat and stockings this minute.’
They drank their coffee and Jack said ‘Let me tell you about my rough day, apart from my battle with the Victualling Yard and that ass Thomas – he will end up like Pigot or Corbett if he goes on like this: food for the less particular fishes. I had gone ashore to see how my second chronometer was coming along, the Arnold, that needed cleaning, when I ran into Robert Morley of the Blanche. She lies at St Helens, fresh from Jamaica. I literally ran into him – he did not see where he was going – and knocked him into the kennel. I picked him up and dusted him, and carried him into the Keppel’s Nob, where I called for a glass of shrub, which I knew Bob
Morley had always liked. But he still looked horrid pale and I asked him was he hurt?
Should I send for a surgeon? No, he said, he was perfectly well; and he leant on the table with the tears running down his face. His ship had come in before daylight and he had pulled ashore, hurrying up to their house for breakfast. Well, he found his wife six months gone with child: he had been away for two years. She was terrified. His father-in-law was there, an elderly parson, and. he told Bob he was not to abuse her or be unkind. He was not to throw a stone unless he was sinless himself; and not even then if he was a good man. Now as you know very well, Bob Morley, though excellent company and a tolerable good seaman, has never set up for chastity any more than I have, though he carried things much farther. In the West Indies he always cruised with a miss aboard, and he allowed his officers and even mids so much liberty when he had the Semiramis that she was a floating bawdy-house – that the Admiral himself took notice of.’
‘Her surgeon died of the pox.’
‘Well, I tried to put this to Bob – I tried to say he could not decently blame anyone for doing what he so notoriously
did himself. Of course he came out with the parrot-cry “Oh it is different for women.”
‘What did you say to that?’
‘I did not say I thought it was a mere scrub’s reply, which I do, because he was in a very sad way, so I just suggested that it was the general cant – great nonsense – the act was the same for both – the only difference that a woman could bring a cuckoo into the nest and cheat the rightful chicks: but that could be dealt with by leaving the cuckoo out of your will.’
‘Is that your considered view, brother?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Jack, with a look of anguish, ‘my deepest considered view. I have thought it over again and again. Fair is fair, you know,’ he said with an attempt at a smile.
‘I have always felt that very strongly.’
‘I honour you for it.’
‘I am glad of that: some would say it was sad stuff. Yet I do not think you will be so pleased when I tell you I said that if he wished I should go and ask the man in question to give him satisfaction.’
‘But surely, Jack, there is a contradiction here? Decency – I will not say Christian charity – but at least decency on the one hand, and barbarous heathen revenge on the other?’
‘Stephen, you have nothing whatsoever to say about barbarous heathen revenge: we both have bloody hands. We have both been out. And if there is an apparent contradiction, I can account for it like this: I feel – I deeply know – I am right in the first case; and I am almost as certain of it in the second. Did your mathematical studies ever reach to the quadratic equation, Stephen?’
‘They did not reach to the far end of the multiplication table.’
‘The quadratic equation involves the second power of the unknown quantity, but nothing greater. The square.’
‘Oh,
indeed?’
‘And my point is this: a quadratic equation has two solutions, and each is right, demonstrably and provably right. There is an apparent but no real contradiction between the answers.’
Stephen felt that he was on dangerous ground; even if he had not been afraid of giving pain, his mind was so weary that although it teemed with objections it could barely formulate them. ‘Jack,’ he said in an entirely different voice, having reflected for a while,
‘you mentioned the Berlings. Will you tell me about them, now?’
‘Why,’ said Jack, who understood him perfectly well, ‘they are that group of rocks, or you might say islands, that rise up sheer out of the sea like mountain-tops a little south of the Farilhoes, some two leagues west-north-west of Cape Carveiro, in Portugal. They are quite dangerous in thick weather and many a ship on the Lisbon run has come to grief through not keeping a good offing and a good look-out by night. But they make a capital rendezvous if you don’t choose to go over the infernal Tagus bar, hanging about for high water; and in moderate weather you can lie easy in their lee, fishing over the side for codlings.’ He reflected, seeing the Berlings rising high from a warm calm Maytime sea.
‘When
I was a mid in Bellerophon,’ he said, ‘the Captain sent Mr Stevens the master to survey them, and he took me with him, knowing how I loved that kind of job. He was always very
kind to me, or to any young fellow that had a bent for surveying. There is a great satisfaction in triangulation and taking bearing, Stephen.’
‘I am sure of it.’
‘I remember some very pretty cross-checks we made, all agreeing exactly. And I remember the enormous clouds of
sea-birds.’
‘What
sort?’
‘Oh, every conceivable sort. You would know their names. The master said that a great many were petrels, I recall; but being startled, they did not fly as petrels usually do.
And some had much more white about them than the common kind. They were startled because we pulled into an enormous cave that went on and on, and in the half-darkness they came flying out almost like black snow. And the cave went on and on, most uncommon tall overhead, and at last we saw light gleaming round a corner at the other end, for the cave went right
through. At the far end the light came more slanting and we could make out innumerable bats…’
‘Bats, Jack? You amaze me. Bats, so far from land? You did not take notice of them, I suppose?’
‘We were busy taking soundings all the time, but I did notice that some were as big as partridges – well, quails – and some were small. I am quite certain that one had long ears. I saw it outlined against the mouth of the cave before it flew off.’