Comfortable words: but scarcely had hammocks been piped up (at six bells, this being a Sunday morning) and scarcely had the sound of stowing them in the nettings been superimposed upon that of the decks being thoroughly cleaned, than something very like a battle broke out, starting with fairly distant gunfire, then deep-voiced cannon no great way off.
Yet there was no interruption in the steady swabbing overhead, the flogging of the spotless quarterdeck to spotless dryness, no excited cries, no orders, and above all no beating to quarters; and as the Surprise began to fire Stephen’s mind arose, not without difficulty, still somewhat bemused from an extraordinarily vivid, and coloured dream of wiring a small primate’s skeleton together, Christine Wood directing or performing the more delicate movements, and he realized that this was not an engagement at all but the leisurely, regular, and perfectly dispassionate return to a salute.
A young gentleman darted in, stood by Stephen’s cot and in a very shrill voice he cried, ‘Sir, if you please: if you are awake the Captain desires you will come on deck, in uniform.’ He had obviously been told to emphasize the last words, and this he did with such force that his voice broke an octave above its usual pitch.
Messages about uniform and respectability had also reached Killick, who now, opening the door, called out, ‘By your leave, Mr Spooner, I have to attend to the Doctor.
Captain’s orders. Not a moment to spare – the Devil to pay and no pitch hot.’ Quite what he meant by this was far from clear, but he hustled the boy out, and with a zeal to be equalled only by his desire for forgiveness he plucked Stephen’s nightshirt from him, sponged and soaped his face, shaved it as close as a bridegroom’s, clothed him in clean drawers, a cambric shirt and his regulation garments, hissing the while as though to soothe a restive horse, arranged his cravat, clapped on and smoothed his best wig – all without a word in answer to Stephen’s now peevish enquiries but with an intensity that compelled respect – and so led him up to the quarterdeck, delivering him to Harding by the capstan with a final tweak.
‘There you are, Doctor,’ cried Jack, turning from the starboard rail, ‘a very good morning to you. Here’s a glorious sight.’
Blinking in the glare of the early sun, Stephen followed his pointing hand, and there rode a fine proud frigate together with a smaller, shabbier companion, probably a twenty-two-gun corvette: they were both wearing the Bourbon ensign, a white flag with a white cross; and rather more than half-way between the two French ships and Surprise a captain’s barge was rowing with an even stroke.
Stephen had been quite extraordinarily far down in his dreaming sleep, and even after his brisk handling and the brilliant dawn all round he found it hard to fix his mind on Jack’s explanation: ‘. . . so there he is in his barge, coming across to breakfast. Do not you recognize him, Stephen? Surely you recognize him? Take my glass.’
Stephen took the glass. He focused it, and there, sharp and clear in the early sun, was the happy, familiar face of Captain Christy-Palliere, their captor a little before the Algeciras action in i 8o i and then their host in Toulon during the brief peace that followed.
‘How happy I am to see him,’ he cried.
‘Yes. He declared for the king at once, and so did all his officers – they had almost finished refitting in a little yard south of Castelnuovo, bar some spars and a certain amount of cordage – but many of the other sea-officers up and down the coast were all for Bonaparte or for setting up on their own account, and some are preparing for sea. He had meant to head straight for Malta, where he had friends, but the wind would not serve (as it does not serve for us) so he came by Messina, and in the straits he picked up that corvette, commanded by a cousin of his.’
Already the Marines were beginning to form on the quarterdeck; the bosun had his ceremonial whistle, the sideboys were fiddling with their gloves. Stephen was gathering
his wits, but not as quickly as he could have wished – the dream still hung heavily about him. He glanced aft, where the Pomone lay with a backed foresail, heaving on the swell; and the sight of her, though she was not vessel he could like, brought him more nearly into the present world. The Ringle, with a tender’s modesty, rode under the Commodore’s lee.
The French barge hooked on: the side-boys ran down with their padded man-ropes, and the moment Captain Christy-Palliere set foot upon the steps the bosun raised his call and piped him aboard in style.
‘Captain Christy-Palliere,’ cried Jack, taking him most affectionately by the hand,
‘how very happy I am to see you here, and looking so uncommon well – I do not have to introduce Dr Maturin, I am sure?’
‘Never in life,’ said Christy-Pallière in his perfect English. ‘Dear Doctor, how do you do?’ They too shook hands, and Jack went on, ‘But you will allow me to present my first lieutenant, Mr Harding. Mr Harding, this is Captain Christy-Palliere, of His Most Christian Majesty’s frigate Caroline.’
‘Very happy, sir,’ said each, bowing; and Jack led his guest below.
‘First, Commodore,’ said Christy-Palliere, taking his seat at the breakfast table, ‘let me congratulate you on your broad pennant. I have never saluted one with half so much pleasure in all my life.’
‘How kind you are to say so: and may I say how very agreeable it is to have you sitting here as a friend and an ally. Apart from anything else, I know how short-handed or rather short-shipped poor Admiral Fanshawe is in Mahon. He will greet you with open arms, if only to convoy a few merchantmen to the chops of the Channel.’
‘Might I beg you to give me an introduction?’
‘Of course I will. May I help you to another sausage?’
‘Oh, if you please. I have not smelt this divine combination of toast, bacon, sausage and coffee since last I was with my cousins in Laura Place.’
They talked about the cousins and about Bath for a few moments and then settled to really serious eating. Grimble, Killick’s mate, had been a pork-butcher by land, and given a bold, thriving hog he could turn out a Leadenhall sausage of the very first order.
Eventually they reached toast, marmalade and the third pot of coffee, and Jack Aubrey said, ‘My orders take me to the Adriatic. With a favourable wind I shall look into Malta for possible but improbable reinforcements and the latest intelligence from those parts, and then proceed to Durazzo and beyond for the purpose of strengthening royalists and of capturing or destroying Bonapartist or- privateering ships. Would it be indiscreet to ask you how the land lies along
i 108the coast? I mean the places where there are shipyards that would concern me one way or the other?’
‘It would not be in the least indiscreet, my dear Aubrey,’ said Christy-Palliere, ‘and I will freely tell you all I know. But the situation there is so extremely complicated, with doubtful loyalties, concealed motives, blunders in Paris, that I should have to collect my wits – recollect myself . . . and I think I could best give you a fairly clear notion of things as they were when I left Castelnuovo if I were to be looking at your charts.’
It was clear to Stephen that Christy-Palliere felt that matters to do with intelligence were no proper subject for general conversation. He agreed most heartily, and presently –
two cups of coffee later – he excused himself: not only were there his morning rounds but he also had a minor operation to perform.
‘We shall see you again in the sick-bay towards the end of divisions,’ said Jack to him, and to his guest, ‘I am so glad that you are here on a Sunday. I shall be able to show you one of our Navy’s particular ceremonies: we call it divisions.’
‘Oh indeed?’ cried Christy-Palliere. ‘Then in that case may I beg that Caroline’s secretary may be present? He takes the utmost interest in these matters, and he is writing a comparative study of the different nations’ naval economies, disciplines, ceremonies and the like.’
‘Does the gentleman speak English?’
‘Not a word,’ cried Christy-Palliere, laughing at so wild a notion. ‘Richard speak English? Oh dear me no. Wonderfully fluent in Latin, but English . . . oh, ha, ha, ha!’
‘Then perhaps Dr Maturin could join us at the beginning of divisions,’ said Jack, with a questioning look at Stephen.
‘Very happy,’ said Dr Maturin, perfectly at ease, since Jacob would be present, with everything perfectly in order when the Commodore and his guest came to inspect the sick-bay. So when five bells in the forenoon watch resounded