“Not a sign of them, Killick. Not a sign, before I sailed.”
“Well, I’m right glad on it’- producing a handkerchief with two massive pieces of coral in its folds–“because this will help to cut “em, as they say.”
“Thank you, Killick. Thank you kindly. Splendid pieces, upon my word: they shall go home in the first ship.”
“Ah, sir,” said Killick, sighing through the sternwindow, “do you remember that wicked little old copper in the back-kitchen, and how we roused out its flue, turning as black as chimney-sweeps?”
“That wicked little old copper will be a thing of the past, when next we see the cottage,”
said Jack. “The Hibi looked after that. And there will be a decent draught in the parlour, too, if Goadby knows his business.”
“And them cabbages, sir,” went on Killick, in an ecstasy of nostalgia. “When I last see “em, they had but four leaves apiece.”
“Jack, Jack,” cried Stephen, running in. “I have been sadly remiss. You are promoted, I find. You are a great man–you are virtually an admiral! Give you joy, my dear, with all my heart. The young man in black clothes tells me you are the greatest man on the station, after the Commander-in chief.”
“Why, I am commodore, as most people have the candour to admit,” said Jack. “But I did mention it before, if you recollect. I spoke of my pendant.”
“So you did, joy; but perhaps I did not fully apprehend its true significance. I had a cloudy notion that the word commodore and indeed that curious little flag were connected with a ship rather than with a man -am almost sure that we called the most important ship in the East India fleet, the ship commanded by the excellent Mr Muffit, the commodore. Pray explain this new and splendid rank of yours.”
“Stephen, if I tell you, will you attend?”
“Yes, s1r.”
“I have told you a great deal about the Navy before this, and you have not attended. Only yesterday I heard you give Farquhar a very whimsical account of the difference between the halfdeck and the quarterdeck, and to this day I do not believe you know the odds between . . . ” At this point he was interrupted by the black-coated Mr Peter with a sheaf of papers, by a messenger from the general at Cape Town, and by Seymour, with whom he worked out a careful list of those men who could be discharged into the Nereide either in the light of their own crimes or in that of the frigate’s more urgent needs, and lastly by the Commander-in-chief’s secretary, who wished to know whether his cousin Peter suited, to say that Admiral Bertie, now much recovered, sent his compliments: without wishing to hurry the Commodore in any way, the Admiral would be overjoyed to hear that he had put to sea.
“Well, now, Stephen,” said Jack at last, “this commodore lark: in the first place I am not promoted- at all–it is not a rank but a post, and J. Aubrey does not shift from his place on the captains” list by so much as the hundredth part of an inch. I hold this post just for the time being, and when the time being is over, if you follow me, I go back to being a captain again. But while it lasts I am as who should say an acting temporary unpaid rear admiral; and I command the squadron.”
“That must warm your heart,” said Stephen. “I have often known you chafe, in a
subordinate position.,
“It does: the word is like a trumpet. Yet at the same time
I should not say this to anyone but you, Stephen, but it is only when you have an enterprise of this kind on your hands, an enterprise where you have to depend on others, that you understand what command amounts to.”
“By others you mean the other commanders, I take it? Sure, they are an essential factor that must be thoroughly understood. Pray open your mind upon them, without reserve.”
Jack and Stephen had sailed together in many ships, but they had never discussed the officers: Stephen Maturin, as surgeon, had messed with them, and although he was the captain’s friend he belonged to the gunroom: the subject was never, never raised. Now the case altered: now Stephen was Jack’s political colleague and adviser; nor was he bound in any way to the other commanding officers. “Let us begin with the Admiral; and Jack, since we are to work openly together, we must speak openly: I know your scruples and I honour them, yet believe me, brother, this is no time for scruples. Tell, do you look for full, unreserved support from Mr Bertie?”
“He is a jolly old boy,” said Jack, “and he has been as kind and obliging to me as I could wish: he confirmed my acting-order for Johnson at once–a most handsome compliment.
As long as all goes well, I make no doubt he will back us to the hilt; apart from anything else, it is entirely in his interest. But his reputation in the service–well, in Jamaica they called him Sir Giles Overreach, from the fellow in the play, you know; and he certainly overreached poor James. A good officer, mark you, though he don’t see much farther through a brick wall than another man.” He considered for a while before saying, “But if I made a mistake, I should not be surprised to be superseded: nor if I stood between him and a plum. Though as things stand, I cannot see how that could come about.”
“You have no very high opinion of his head, nor of his heart.”
“I should not go as far as that. We have different ideas of what is good order in a ship, of course . . . no, I shall tell you one thing that makes me uneasy about his sense of what is right. This Russian brig. She is an embarrassment to everybody. The Admiral wishes her away, but he will not take the responsibility of letting her go. He will not accept the responsibility of making her people prisoners, either–among other things they would have to be fed, with everything charged against him if Government disapproved. So what he has done is to make the captain give his word not to escape and has left him lying there, ready for sea: he is trying to starve Golovnin out by allowing no rations for his men.
Golovnin has no money and the merchants will not accept bills drawn on Petersburg. The idea is that he will break his word and disappear some dirty night when the wind is in the north-west. His word means nothing to a foreigner, said the Admiral, laughing; he wondered Golovnin had not gone off six months ago–he longed to be rid of him. He took it so much as a matter of course–did not hesitate to tell it–thought it such a clever way of covering himself–that it made my heart sink.”
Stephen said, “I have noticed that some old men lose their sense of honour, and will cheerfully avow the strangest acts. What else affects your spirits, now? Corbett, I dare say? In that case the beadle within has quite eaten up the man.”
“Yes: he is a slave-driver. I do not say a word against his courage, mark you; he has proved that again and again. But by my book his ship is in very bad order indeed. She is old too, and only a twelve- pounder. Yet with the odds as they are, I cannot possibly do without her.”
“What do you say to the captain of the Sin’us?”
“Pym?” Jack’s face brightened. “Oh, how I wish I had three more Pyms in three more 5iriuses! He may be no phoenix, but he is the kind of man I like- three Pyms, and there would be your band of brothers for you. I should have to do myself no violence, keeping on terms with three Pyms. Or three Eliots for that matter: though he will not be with us long, more’s the pity. He means to invalid as soon as ever he can. As it is, I shall have to humour Corbett to some degree, and Clonfert; for without there is a good understanding in a squadron, it might as well stay in port. How I shall manage it with Clonfert I can hardly tell: I must not get athwart his hawse if I can avoid it, but with that damned business of his wife I am half way there already. He resented it extremely–refused my invitation, which is almost unheard- of in the service, previous engagement or not: and there was no previous engagement. This is an odd case, Stephen. When we talked about him some time ago, I did not like to say I had my doubts about his conduct–an ugly thing to say about any man.