The Commodore by Patrick O’Brian

Jack had remained silent for so long that Stephen ventured to say ‘Perhaps in the long haul northwards, with constant exercise and colder seas the two sick ships will regain a certain health.’

‘I hope so, indeed,’ said Jack. ‘But it would have to be a most uncommon long haul to bring them to anything like Nelson’s standard, a complete change of heart in all hands.

And with a man like the Purple Emperor there is no heart to change: no person left: only a set of pompous attitudes. Though to be sure exercise – and we off-shore people have been thoroughly idle – and cold seas can do wonders. Stephen, was you to be propped up with cushions, do you think you could hold your ‘cello? The sea is smooth. With a couple of turns round your middle, you would not be flung about.’

When Whewell came aboard from the Cestos’s cutter he found both Commodore and Captain on the quarterdeck, looking pleased; and when, after the usual obeisances, he asked how the Doctor did, the Commodore nodded his head aft, and Whewell, listening attentively, heard the deep, melodious, though somewhat unsteady voice of the ‘cello.

‘It takes more than the yellow jack to come to an end of him,’ said the Commodore.

‘Come along with me, and when you have made your report, I will take you in. He longs to know how things have been going along, inshore.’

They walked aft, and in the passage Whewell said ‘My report is very brief, sir.

Whydah is empty. The news ran ahead of us at last, and there is not a slaver left in the road that we could touch with safety.’

‘I am heartily glad of it,’ said Jack, and he carried on into the great cabin, where Stephen sat lashed into an elbow-chair, looking like an ancient child. ‘Doctor,’ cried Jack, ‘I have brought you Mr Whewell, who tells me that Whydah is empty. I am heartily glad of it, for we cannot spare officers and men for

any more prize-crews – we are far below complement already, with so many of them bowsing up their jibe in Freetown. What is more, it allows us to leave this infernal coast at once, steering for St Thomas and something like breathable air. But since the breeze is dead contrary at present and likely to remain so until after sunset, I shall stand in, say farewell to the brigs and schooners, and then give those scoundrels in the town and the barracoons a salute that will put the fear of God into them. Mr Whewell, I shall send you the log-book rough-sheets so that you can tell the Doctor about each action in turn.’

Orders could be heard on deck, and the patter of feet overhead as the signal-hoists were prepared: already the helm was hard over, and the ship was turning, turning, her motion gradually changing from roll to pitch as she headed for the land. ‘Look at that infernal lubber,’ cried Whewell, pointing at the Thames, two cables’ length astern and in the Bellona’s wake. Stephen could discern something flapping about among the sails, and a certain deviation either side of the line traced by the pennant-ship; but his seamanship could not name the crime committed, heinous though it must have been.

The rough-sheets came, but before reading them Whewell asked after Square and Stephen’s journey up the Sinon river.

‘Square was all that could possibly have been wished,’ said Stephen. ‘I am most grateful to you for the recommendation; and although my little expedition was pitifully short, I saw many wonders and I brought back a wealth of specimens.’

‘I wonder whether you saw your potto. I remember you particularly wished to see the potto of those parts.’

‘I saw one, sure; and an eminently gratifying sight he was. But I was unable to bring him home.’

‘In that case I have one aboard the Cestos, if you would like her. But I am afraid she is only the Calabar kind, without a tail: an awantibo. A she-potto. I thought of you at once when I saw her in the market.’

‘Nothing, nothing, would give me greater pleasure,’ cried Stephen. ‘I am infinitely obliged to you, dear Mr Whewell. A Calabar potto within two or three hours’ sail, or even less with this beautiful sweet-scented breeze. What joy.’

The activities of the inshore squadron took up the hour or so before dinner, which Whewell ate with the Commodore, the Captain, the first lieutenant and a scrubbed, speechless midshipman: they took their coffee on the poop, supporting Stephen up the ladder; and by now a vast expanse of Africa was to be seen ahead, lagoons glittering along the coast, very tall palms just visible, and greenness, often very dark, stretching away inland until it merged with the indefinite horizon and the sky. The midshipman made his barely-audible blushing acknowledgments and vanished; the superior officers followed

him after no more than a glass of brandy; and Whewell said ‘There, on the far bank of the lagoon, about half way along, is Whydah. May I pass you the telescope?’

‘If you please. So that is the great slave market: yet I see no port, no harbour.’

‘No, sir. Whydah has nothing of that kind. Everything has to be landed or taken off through the frightful surf – see how it breaks! – then run up the beach and so ferried across the lagoon. The Mina, who do it all, have wonderful surf-boats; but even so things get lost.’

‘Surely that is a very curious arrangement for a large commercial town?’

‘Yes, sir: but there are precious few real ports all along the coast. And then again, Dahomey, that is to say, practically everything we are looking at, is an inland kingdom: their capital is right up-country. They know nothing about the sea and they dislike the coast; but they are a very warlike nation, perpetually raiding their neighbours to capture the slaves they exchange for European goods. So they use Whydah, which is more or less under their rule, as the nearest place, inconvenient though it is; and since they export thousands and thousands of negroes every year, it has grown to be a considerable place, with English, French and Portuguese quarters, and some Arabs and Yorubas.’

‘I see a great deal of green among the houses.’

‘Oranges and limes and lemons everywhere, sir, a delight after a long passage. I remember squeezing a score together into a bowl and quaffing it straight off, when first I was here. Things were not so cleverly arranged in those days, and there were some goods you had to carry all the way to Abomey, the king’s great town, or in the hottest weather to Kana, his smaller place.’

‘I do not think I have ever read a description of a great African town – I mean a negro town as opposed to a Moorish.’

‘A very curious sight it is, sir. Abomey has a wall six miles round, twenty feet high, with six gates. There is the king’s house, a vast great place, surprisingly high, and lined with skulls: skulls on the walls, skulls on posts, skulls everywhere; and jawbones. And then of course there are great numbers of ordinary Ewe houses – they all speak Ewe in those parts – made of mud with thatched roofs; and some what you might call palaces, a market-place of perhaps forty or fifty acres, and a huge spreading barracks.’

‘How did the people use you?’

‘The Dahomi are a fine, upstanding set of men, civil, though reserved; yet I had the impression that they looked down on me, which they did, of course, being so much taller: but I mean out of pride. Still, I do not remember that any of the men behaved in a way you could object to; and since I had brought a dozen chests of capital iron war-hats for his Amazons, the king ordered me to be given a gold fetiso weighing a good quarter of a pound.’

‘Did you say his Amazons, Mr Whewell?’

‘Why, yes, sir. The Dahomey Amazons.’ And seeing that Stephen was in no way enlightened he went on, ‘The most effective part of the king’s army is made up of young females, sir, terribly bold and fierce. I never saw more than a thousand at a time, when some particular bands were marching past; but I was assured there were many more. It was for them that I brought the iron war-hats.’

‘They are actually warriors, so? Not merely camp-followers?’

‘Indeed they are, sir, and by all accounts quite terrible – fearless and terrible. They have the post of honour in battle, and attack first.’

‘I am amazed.’

‘So was I, sir, when a pack of I suppose female sergeants made me come into their hut and fit them with their war-hats. I was younger then, and not as ill-looking as I am now, and they used me shamefully. I blush for it yet.’ He hung his head, regretting having begun the anecdote. Stephen said ‘Your infinitely welcome potto, Mr Whewell, is she as strictly nocturnal as her cousin the Common Potto?’

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