‘So much the better. Now reverting to this question of impotence: was it physical?’
‘Not evidently so.’
‘Was the patient an opium-eater?’
‘Certainly not. I once had occasion to administer a very moderate dose, and he was astonished by the effects. No, no: it was all in the head – and what innumerable strange
surprising fancies the head of a physically normal, active, intelligent man can hold, quite apart from anxiety, that most
•
what is it?’
‘Commodore’s compliments, sir,’ said a midshipman, ‘and when Dr Maturin is at liberty, should be happy to see him. But I am to add that there is no hurry at all.’
‘Another glass before you go . . . or rather let me call for another bottle, since there is no hurry.’
‘You are too kind,’ said Stephen, shaking his head; and to the boy, ‘Pray tell the Commodore that I shall wait upon him directly.’
‘Why, Stephen, there you are,’ cried Jack. ‘I do beg pardon for interrupting you. But since I am sure you have heard of poor Governor Wood’s death, I thought you would like to know that there is a Guineaman sailing this evening, in case you chose to send . . .
Then again, the Admiral has a courier setting off for England within the hour: I have asked for William Reade to bring Ringle, and since she will need a day or two’s readying, he could ride over to Woolhampton, taking messages and bringing things back.’
‘I had indeed heard of Captain Wood’s death, God rest his soul, and I have been composing a letter to his widow in my mind – perhaps I may be able to dash something off by this evening, though I am a slow, dry and barren creature with a pen. As for William Reade, if he will buy a fine bold hoop in Portsmouth and give it to Brigid with my love, together with this crown piece, I should be infinitely obliged to him. And if he would bring back my narwhal horn, or rather tusk – the tusk you so very kindly gave me a great while since – I should be most uncommon grateful. I was contemplating on it in the night, for I am told that in Mahon we are likely to meet that eminent engineer, metallurgist and natural philosopher James Wright, and I hope that he will be able to tell me – do you see the horn in your eye, at all clearly?’
‘Fairly
well.’
‘To tell me whether those whorls, or perhaps I should say those torsades or undulations, and those spirals running
from the base almost to the very tip add strength or possibly elasticity to the whole improbable structure.’
‘Beg pardon, sir,’ said Killick, ‘but your number one scraper ain’t fit to be seen aboard the flag.’ He held up a gold-laced hat, very fine, but strangely dented. ‘Which you trod on it last Thursday and put it back in its case without a word: but there is still just time to have it reblocked at Broad’s.’
‘Make it so, Killick,’ said Jack. ‘Ask Mr Willis for a boat.’ And to Stephen, ‘I shall add your requests in my letter to Reade: hoop and a crown for Brigid, with your love, and the narwhal horn.’
‘Love to dear Sophie too, of course, and the kindest of wishes to Clarissa Oakes.
The horn is in a bow-case, hanging in one of the cupboards in the gunroom. Brother, I am afraid you are low in your spirits.’
‘I do so hate a court-martial, above all one of this kind. Will you attend?’
‘I will not. In any case I have an appointment ashore.’ They gazed out of the great broad sweep of stern-lights at the tawny Rock itself, soaring away as unlikely and as impressive as ever. ‘Jack,’ he went on, with a significant expression familiar to them both,
‘it is not impossible that I may bring an assistant surgeon back with me. If I am not
mistaken entirely, it would not be fit that the gentleman should mess with the midshipmen and mates, so if he cannot be admitted to the gunroom, perhaps I might be indulged in his company as a guest?’
‘Of course you may,’ said Jack. ‘But if he is a gentleman of a certain age and standing, as I suppose, I am sure the gunroom would stretch a point, particularly as you are almost never there: he could take your place.’
‘As far as standing goes, he is as much of a physician as myself – a doctor of medicine. \Ve studied in Paris together for a while: he was some years junior to me, but already highly considered as an anatomist. That would certainly be the best arrangement; for although he is a tolerable musician, and you might very well consider inviting him on occasion
that would certainly be the best arrangement.’
Feeling Stephen’s embarrassment, Jack cried, ‘Oh, I have not told you: tomorrow is going to be a day of hellish turmoil. I am shifting my pennant into Surprise and there are going to be some important changes: apart from anything else the squadron is promised two new drafts to bring us up to something like establishment.’
The hellish din began before eight bells in the middle watch, when, in the complete darkness, the people who were to remove into other ships began packing their chests and manhandling them along the narrow, crowded passages and up the steep, steep ladders to strategic corners from which they could be hurried on deck as soon as the boats came alongside. These corners were often occupied, which led to disagreement, very noisy disagreement sometimes, and then to renewed thumping as the defeated chest was humped away. At eight bells, or four in the morning, that part of the’ starboard watch which had managed to stay asleep was roused with the usual shattering din and mustered on deck:
then a little later the idlers were called and for the next two hours they and the starboard watch cleaned the decks with water, sand, holystones great and small, and swabs. Barely were the spotless decks quite dry before hammocks were piped up, and in the midst of the frantic hurry boats from Dover, Rainbow, Ganyniede and Briseis approached: unhappily, the officer of the watch, Mr Clegg, was some way below the deck, stilling a quarrel about chests dangerously near the sacred cabin, and the master’s mate, misunderstanding his cry, allowed the boats to come alongside. The seamen swarmed aboard with their belongings, and it called for all the authority of a tall, furious, night shirted Captain Aubrey to restore anything like order.
‘I am very sorry for the pandemonium, Stephen,’ he said
as at last they sat down to their breakfast, brought by a now silent, timid Killick. ‘All this mad rushing up and down, bellowing like Gadarene swine . .
The breakfast itself was adequate, with quantities of fresh eggs, sausages, bacon, a noble pork pie, rolls and toast, cream for their coffee; but there was little to be said for it as a fleshly indulgence, since every other bite was interrupted by a message from one ship or another, often delivered by midshipmen, washed, brushed and extremely nervous, presenting their captain’s compliments and might he be favoured with a few, just a few, really able seamen, with heavy carronades instead of nine-pounder guns, or any of the countless variety of stores that the Commodore’s good word with the dockyard officials might provide. Even more irritating was Killick’s unceasing concern with the splendid
uniform in which Jack was to appear at the court-martial – his intolerable twitching of the napkin that guarded breeches and lower waistcoat, his muttered warnings about egg-yolk, butter, anchovy paste, marmalade.
At last the mate of the watch came, with the first lieutenant’s duty and compliments, to announce that Royal Sovereign had thrown out her signal for the court-martial. A last cup of coffee and they both went on deck: over the smooth water of the bay captains’
barges could already be seen converging on the flagship. Jack’s was waiting for him and after a momentary hesitation he nodded to Stephen, stepping forward to the gangway stanchions as the bosun and his mates piped their captain over the side and all his officers saluted.
‘Sir. If you please, sir,’ said a boy’s voice for the second time, now with a certain impatience, and turning from the rail Stephen saw a familiar face, young Witherby, formerly of the Bellona. The shifting of officers and ratings since Jack’s appointment to the Pomone had never been clear to Stephen. He knew that Surprise’s coxswain and the bargemen had followed their captain, but what this boy was doing here he could not tell. Indeed, there were many, many things that remained obscure unless he made a determined effort of collecting his mind and concentrating upon the present. ‘Mr Witherby,’ he said, ‘what may I do for you?’