Very soon after this the secretary said, ‘I believe, sir, that I should take Dr Maturin to see Mr Colvin.’
‘Do, do, by all means; and the Commodore and I will talk about convoys.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Jack to the Admiral, and in a discreet undertone to Stephen,
‘In case your conversation takes a great while, let us meet at the Crown.’
As he walked along the corridors with the Admiral’s secretary, Stephen wondered how Colvin came to be here rather than in Malta. He was a man with whom Stephen had quite often had dealings, almost always in London or Gibraltar, and without being friends they were necessarily well acquainted. Colvin had probably meant to restrict their conversation to intelligence, to the question of the Adriatic, but he could not prevent a certain earnestness from making part of his ‘I hope I see you well?’ or from giving a slightly more than usual pressure as they shook hands.
When the Admiral’s secretary had left them they sat down and with an artificial cheerfulness Colvin began, ‘I am happy to say that although the Ministry is growing more and more worried about the Russians’ procrastination, the passing of time, and the possibility of this shocking intervention, we have at least made a beginning with the Adriatic yards. From Ancona and Ban our banking friend, a man of extraordinary energy for his age, has not only called in the loans made to the small and out-of-the-way shipwrights concerned with French vessels but he has also warned all suppliers to insist on cash: no notes of hand, no promises. He and his associates along the coast are closely allied to what few local banks there are on the Turkish side of the water: they will make no difficulties, nor, of course, will any of the beys or pashas. Mr Dee knows perfectly well that these small yards have almost no capital of their own – they work on borrowed money – and that when pay-day comes round and there is no pay, the workmen are likely to turn ugly, very ugly. These places rely for a large part on itinerant skilled labour, most of it Italian. Now I do not know, sir, whether you have any moral scruples about having dealings with the Carbonari… or even Freemasons: as it were allying yourself with such people. Or perhaps I should say making use of them.’
Both Colvin and Stephen were Catholics and like most of their kind they had been brought up with some curious notions: in childhood they had been assured by those they loved and respected that whenever Freemasons held a formal gathering one of their number was invariably the Devil himself, sometimes more or less disguised; and after a short pause Stephen replied, ‘As for the Carbonari, Lord William had no hesitation about treating with them in Sicily . .
‘In these parts they are said to be strangely allied to the Freemasons: some of their rites are similar.’
Stephen shook his head. ‘I have known only one avowed Mason,’ he said, ‘a member of my club: and when he voted for the execution of the King, his brother, he was asked to resign. Such things sustain a largely irrational prejudice. However, a scruple would have to be very moral indeed for me to reject any means of bringing this vile war to an end. I take it that you feel these people might be useful to us?’
‘Indeed they may. Many of the Italian craftsmen in the yards and even some of the natives are Carbonari. At the same time our friends in Ancona and Ban have great influence with their fellow-Masons in the Adriatic ports – the bankers and money-men, I mean – and will prevent them from relieving the shipwrights. Now wood is by its nature inflammable, and when two pay-days have gone by with no wages, it would not be surprising if the yards were to go up in flames. The Carbonari are much given to an incendiary revenge – I believe it has to do with their mystic beliefs – and a very little prompting or tangible encouragement of the more enthusiastic would certainly earn brilliant results. I might almost promise a blazing success.’
Stephen’s dislike of Colvin increased, but with no change of tone or expression he went on, ‘In some yards, as I understand it, the French officers who oversee the construction are strongly Bonapartist, in others hesitant or downright for the King. Only the first are potentially dangerous, either as privateers on their own or as renegadoes with the Barbary pirates, preying on our trade. Quite apart from any other point of view, a general conflagration would be wholly against our interests: you are to consider that some vessels may come over to us voluntarily, joining the King of France; and at this juncture even a few allied French men-of-war would be of the utmost value here in the Mediterranean.
Then again, a wholesale burning would do away with the possibility of cutting out any nearly completed or repaired vessels commanded by resolute Bonapartists, and making prizes of them. It is difficult for a landsman to have any conception of the sailor’s delight in a prize or of the prodigies of valour and enterprise he will display to gain it. But as to these differing loyalties, have you any information?’
‘I am very sorry to say I have not. Because of a gross indiscretion committed by an agent belonging to the other firm just before I arrived, it was not thought desirable that I should cross to the Turkish side. On the other hand, we have all the details you could wish about the geographical and financial position of the yards, and the presents expected by the beys, pashas and local officials for various accommodations and forms of blindness.’
The other firm was an intelligence service of sorts, or rather a collection of services, run by the army; and its agents often poached on naval preserves, sometimes doing serious
damage and always causing a very high degree of resentment.
‘If you would let me have this information, I should be very much obliged,’ said Stephen.
‘Of course. You shall have it this very evening. . .’ Colvin hesitated and then went on, ‘Though now I come to reflect, I am by no means sure that I have the papers with me.’
Another pause, and he said, ‘I dare say you were surprised at finding me here rather than in Malta or Brindisi?’
‘Not at all,’ said Stephen.
‘There was a certain amount of unpleasantness over that indiscretion I mentioned and I am on my way either to Gibraltar or even perhaps London to clear it up; and knowing that Commodore Aubrey’s squadron must touch here I thought I should wait, in order to tell you about the general aspect of affairs in the Adriatic. Those particulars will of course be at your disposal as soon as you reach Malta.’
Stephen made the necessary acknowledgements and they talked for a while about colleagues in Whitehall before he took his leave, saying that he must rejoin the Commodore without delay – it was death to keep the Commodore waiting.
‘Well, sir,’ said Jack Aubrey, looking up from his notes and counting the slips that would enable the officers in charge of the base to revictual and refit the squadron with all the astonishing variety of objects it might need, from musket-flints to dead-eyes, hearts and euphroes. ‘I think that sets us up very handsomely: many, many thanks. And now, sir, if I may I will beg leave to retire. I have an appointment with my surgeon at the Crown, and it would never do to vex a man you next meet in the cockpit, with you flat on your back and he standing over you with a knife. He is not ordinarily an irascible creature, but I know that today he is with child to call upon your engineer.’
‘James Wright, that prodigy of learning? I would give a five-pound note to see them together.’
In fact the sight was not worth nearly so much, particularly at first. Dr Maturin, holding his visiting-card in his hand, was about to knock at the door of Mr Wright’s house when it flew open from within and an angry voice cried, ‘What do you want with me? Eh?
What do you want with me?’
‘Mr Wright?’ asked Stephen, with a hint of smiling recognition. ‘My name is Maturin.’
‘It might just as well be Beelzebub,’ said Mr Wright. ‘Not a brass farthing will you fork out of me before the end of the month, as I told that pragmatical bastard, your chief.’
‘My dear sir,’ cried Stephen, ‘I have ventured to call upon you as a fellow member of a learned society, not, upon my soul and honour, as a dun: bad luck to them all.’
‘You belong to the Royal?’ asked Wright, bending from the uppermost step and peering into Stephen’s face with narrowed, suspicious eyes.