The little captain was Babbington, and he certainly knew a great deal about the game; but rarely, rarely would his shipmates, his former shipmates, his superior officer or his subordinates allow him to finish a sentence of his explanation. The seven pasties, the ten apple pies, the unlimited bread and cheese, and the four kegs of beer might have been expected to have a deadening effect, but no: every man there present and even some of the beardless miscellaneous such as youngsters and Marine Society boys had particular views on the origins of cricket, on what constituted fair bowling, on the number of stumps in their grandfather’s time, and the best way of using a bat; and one of Babbington’s own midshipmen quarrelled with his definition of a wide. Nobody contradicted Captain Aubrey, who in any case had gone to sleep leaning against the wheel of the cart with his hat over his face, but they wrangled so pertinaciously among themselves that Babbington invited Stephen to walk round the field to be shown the positions of square leg, long-stop, and mid on.
He soon dismissed the remaining points of fielding and observed that tomorrow he hoped to show Stephen the difference between a slow, dead wicket and one upon which the ball would really turn.
‘You will never play all this afternoon and all tomorrow too, for God’s love?’ cried Stephen, shocked out of civility by the thought of such insufferable tedium drawn out to such unconscionable length.
‘Oh yes. It would have been a three-day match, only with Mrs Aubrey coming home, the house must be turned out, swabbed and flogged dry, and the paintwork touched up: still, with the long evenings I dare say we shall each have our two innings. But sir,’ said Babbington after a silence, and in quite a different tone, ‘one of the many reasons I was so glad to hear from the Captain that you was coming down was that I wanted to ask your advice.’
‘Ah?’ said Stephen. In former times this had usually meant a question of a medical nature (his companions had once persuaded the very young and costive Babbington that he was going to have a baby) or a request for the loan of sums varying from sixpence to as much as half a guinea; but that was long ago, and now Babbington had a considerable estate, which included a parliamentary borough as rotten as a borough could well be; and it was no longer probable that he should think himself pregnant.
‘Well, the fact of the matter is, sir,’ said Babbington, ‘and not to put too fine a point on it – I mean, it is better to be plain. I dare say you remember that Admiral Harte cut up uncommon rough when he found me – well, kissing his daughter?’
‘I remember he made use of some illiberal expressions.’
‘He did worse than that. He shut Fanny up, and he beat her when he found we corresponded. And then he married her to Andrew Wray, swearing she should never go to a play or a ball unless she consented and that anyhow I was pursuing the Governor’s daughter in ! Antigua – it was notorious – it was common knowledge. But, however, not to put too fine a point upon it, the fact of the matter is, when I brought Dryad home – you remember Dryad, sir? Such a weatherly ship – we happened to meet at a ball, and we found that we were as fond of one another as ever: more so, if possible.’
‘Listen, William my dear,’ said Stephen, ‘if you wish me to advise you to commit adultery . .
.’
‘No, no, sir,’ cried Babbington, smiling. ‘No, I don’t need any advice about adultery. My point is this – but perhaps I should explain the position. I dare say you knew the Admiral was uncommon rich? And everyone said what a prodigious heiress Fanny would be and what a fine match for Wray. But what they did not know was that he can scarcely get at a penny without her consent. And they don’t agree – never have – how could they agree? As different as chalk and cheese. He is a wretched scrub of a fellow that drinks too much and cannot hold his wine, and he beats her: he told her openly he had only married her for her money. It seems he is in debt up to the ears: the bailiffs are often in the house, and they have to be staved off by one shift or another.’
‘My visit must have been mighty importunate,’ reflected Stephen.
‘But I am not to be blackguarding the man,’ said Babbington. ‘My point is this: you saw a good deal of him in Malta, and you see farther through a brick wall than most people, so which do you think the wisest thing to do? There is the idea of making over some share of Fanny’s fortune, on the understanding that they keep up the appearance of being married but in fact each go their own way; but I am told that no contract to that effect would be binding and he would have to be trusted. And then there is the idea of bolting and letting him sue me for crim con – for damages for criminal conversation.’
‘Sir, sir,’ cried a youngster, running up behind them, ‘the Captain is awake, and asks do you choose to start your innings now, since there will be so much to do Saturday?’
‘I shall come at once,’ said Babbington, and in a low voice to Stephen, ‘Will you turn it over in your mind, sir, and tell me what you think?’
Although he knew that in cases of this kind any advice that did not exactly agree with the wishes of those concerned was always useless and often offensive Stephen did turn it over in his mind all through that interminable afternoon while the Tartaruses built up their score, mostly in singles and byes. Their captain of the forecastle faced the bowling first, a square, middle-aged seaman who had been at the siege of Gibraltar in his youth and who had never forgotten the value of dogged resistance; neither he nor the carpenter was there for frivolous amusement and they fairly broke the hearts of the bowlers, who sent down fast straight balls, fast balls well outside the wicket, tempting lobs and cunning twisters, all in vain until the declining sun, shining in Gibraltar’s eye, caused him to miss a despairing full toss directed at his middle stump.
The next day’s play was somewhat less rigid, with the Tartaruses leaving Jack’s team two hundred and fifty-five to get before owl-hoot and the Surprises beating the ball about the
field in a brisk, seamanlike fashion, but by now it was too late: as far as Stephen was concerned cricket was marked down for ever as an intolerably insipid pastime, decorative enough for half an hour, perhaps, but not to be compared with hurling for speed, skill, grace of movement, and dramatic fire.
This second day, however, was enlivened by the coming of Martin, thin and dusty with having walked from Fareham to Portsmouth and then from Portsmouth to Ashgrove. On leaving the Surprise for the village where lived the young lady he wished to marry he had forgotten that he needed Captain Aubrey’s certificate of good conduct and moral behaviour before he could draw his pay, and Captain Aubrey, so rarely carrying a chaplain, had forgotten it too. Yet the money was most urgently required. ‘You cannot conceive, my dear Maturin,’ said Martin, reclining in a hammock-chair at the edge of the field with a glass of brandy and ginger ale on the grass beside him and his certificate glowing in his lap, ‘or perhaps you can, but I could not, having always lived in lodgings –
you cannot conceive what it costs to set up house. We are only to have a cottage, quite close to her father’s rectory so that she shall not be lonely when I am at sea, yet also conveniently near one of the best places for thick-kneed plover you can imagine; but furnishing it with the simplest necessities – Heavens above! The outlay in patty-pans, andirons, market-place delf and common green-handled knives alone is enough to make a man turn pale; to say nothing of brooms, pails, and washing tubs. It is a very grave responsibility: I feel it much.’
Stephen had already welcomed Martin, had led him up to the house for food and wine, and had given him joy of his approaching marriage; now, having listened to the exorbitant price of coppers, cheese-graters and a number of other domestic objects for a long while he said ‘Should you like to see a lesser pettichaps on her nest, not half a mile from here?’
‘To tell you the truth, Maturin, on a perfect vernal day like this, I find nothing so pleasant as sitting on a comfortable chair in the sun, with green, green grass stretching away, the sound of bat and ball, and the sight of cricketers. Particularly such cricketers as these: did you see how Maitland glanced that ball away to leg? A very