‘Well, sir,’ said Mr Fox at his elbow, ‘we have done almost everything that should be done in a sea-voyage: we have caught our shark – indeed a multiplicity of sharks – we have eaten our flying fishes, we have seen the dolphin die in glory, we have sweltered in the doldrums, we have crossed the Line, and now as I understand it we behold a desert island. And wet, grey and forbidding though it looks, I am glad to see solid land again; I had begun to doubt its existence.’ He spoke in this easy way, standing by the Captain’s side on a particularly sacred part of the quarterdeck, because church was now being unrigged: the bosun’s mates were folding the perfectly unnecessary awning, and for the moment the quarterdeck, poised between two functions, no longer called for formality, secular or divine.
‘Desert it is, sir,’ said Jack, ‘and likely to remain so. Its name is Inaccessible, and as far as I am aware nobody has ever succeeded in landing upon it.’
‘Is it like that all round?’ asked Fox, looking out over the grey sea. ‘Those cliffs must be a thousand foot sheer.’
‘It is worse on the other three sides,’ said Jack. ‘Never a landing-place: only a few rock-shelves and islets where the seals haul out and the penguins nest.’
‘There are plenty of them, in all conscience,’ said Fox, and as he spoke three penguins leapt clear of the water just by the mainchains and instantly dived again. ‘So clearly we are not actually to set foot on our desert island. By definition, Inaccessible could not be our goal,’ he went on.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘You may recall that yesterday evening I spoke of Tristan itself. If you look forward, just to the west – to the left – of the cliff, you can make out its snowy peak among the clouds, rather more than twenty miles away. It is quite clear on the top of the rise. And there is Nightingale away to the south.’
‘I see them both,’ said Fox, having peered awhile. ‘But do you know, I believe I shall go and put on a greatcoat. I find the air a little raw. If there were any wind it would be mortal.’
‘This is mid-winter, after all,’ said Jack with a civil smile. He watched Fox walk off to the companion-ladder with scarcely a lurch in spite of the most uncommon roll – clear proof not only that he had an athletic frame and an excellent sense of balance but that he had been at sea without a break for some ninety degrees of latitude: never a sight of land since they cleared the Channel, Finisterre, Teneriffe and Cape San Roque all having passed in dirty weather or in darkness. Fox disappeared and Jack returned to his anxiety.
This had been an anxious voyage even before it began, with great difficulty in manning the ship in spite of Admiral Martin’s good will, and the Diane had had to sail twenty-six hands short of her complement. Then there had come the heart-breaking weeks of lying windbound in Plymouth, eventually putting to sea in search of a wind the moment the weather allowed him to scrape past Wembury Point, but leaving so fast that he had had to abandon his surgeon and four valuable hands, they not having responded to the blue peter within the prescribed twenty minutes.
It was when they sank the Lizard at last, with a charming steady topgallant gale on the starboard quarter but with the plan of their voyage hopelessly disrupted, that Jack decided to go far south, keeping well over on the Brazil side for the current and the south-east trades to carry them down as quickly as possible to the forties, with their strong and constant westerly winds, leaving out the Cape of Good Hope altogether. He had long had the possibility in mind, and he had conned over Muffitt’s logs, observations and charts.
Now the shortage of hands seemed less disastrous, for given a moderately favourable run the Diane’s provisions should certainly last; and to deal with the problem of water he, the sailmaker, the bosun and the carpenter had contrived a system of really clean sailcloth, hoses and channels, easily shipped and designed to collect the rain that often fell in such prodigious quantities in the
doldrums. The doldrums had behaved perfectly; the Diane had passed through the calms in little more than a week, picking up the trades well north of the line and running down for the forties touching neither brace nor sheet, hundreds and hundreds of miles of sweet sailing.
She had not reached them yet, though in thirty-seven degrees south she was on their edge. But, thought Jack, looking at the cliff that now stretched wide on either hand, unless he took measures fairly soon she would never reach them at all. There was no anchoring here: the bottom plunged to a thousand fathoms just off shore. And the swell was heaving the ship in, broadside on, at a knot and a half or even more.
He was extremely unwilling to wreck the people’s Sunday, and they in their best clothes, particularly as no one had slept for a full watch these many nights past, all hands having been called again and again; but unless his prayers were answered by seven bells he would have to order out the boats to tow her clear – very severe work indeed, with this enormous swell.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Elliott, crossing the deck and taking off his hat, ‘but Thomas Adam, sheet-anchor man, starboard watch, was here during the peace with another whaler: in a dead calm and in just such a swell their consort was heaved ashore and destroyed. He says the current sets east much stronger close inshore.’
‘Pass the word for Adam,’ said Jack, and Adam came aft at the double, a reliable middle-aged seaman, now exceedingly grave. He repeated his account, adding that the other whaler rolled her mainmast by the board as they were getting out a boat, and the ship was already in the kelp before they began trying to tow: he and his friends had watched from off the southern point, unable to help in any way. No one had been saved.
‘Well, Adam,’ said Jack Aubrey, shaking his head, ‘if we do not have a breeze before seven bells we too shall lower down the boats; and I trust we may have better luck.’
He looked at the sky, still full of promise, and scratched a backstay.
‘Sir,’ said Elliott in a low, strangely altered voice, ‘I am very sorry – I should have reported it before – the carpenter found the garstrake and two bottom planks of the launch rotten under the copper, and he has taken them out.’
Jack instantly glanced at the boats on the booms. The jolly-boat was stowed inside the launch and the work was not at all apparent, but an informed eye saw it at once. ‘In that case, Mr Elliott,’ he said, ‘let us get what boats we have over the side at once. And I should like a word with the carpenter.’
During all this time, that is to say from the end of divisions which as acting-surgeon he attended, Stephen had been sitting on a paunch-mat, wedged between the foremast and the foretopsail-sheet bitts, gazing at the extraordinary wealth of life in, upon and over these waters: Port Egmont hens, Cape pigeons and four other kinds of petrel so far, the inevitable boobies, some prions, many terns and far, far greater numbers of penguins, some of which he could not identify at all. No great calm albatross hitherto, alas, but on the other hand the most wonderfully gratifying view of seals and fishes. The water was exceptionally clear, and as each unbreaking, untroubled wave of this prodigious swell rose and rose, towering above the ship as she lay in the trough, the inhabitants of the deep could be seen within it, seen with the utmost clarity, and seen sideways, going about their business, seen as though the observer shared their element. He sat there entranced, facing away from the island because the sun was now over the Tropic of Cancer and the light came from the north. Once Ahmed crept forward with a biscuit and said he would bring a covered mug of coffee if the tuan would like it; but otherwise there was no interruption at all.
He faintly heard the psalm; he was aware of the Sunday smells, pork and plum-duff, coming from the galley; and he had some notion that there were bosun’s calls, vehement orders, the running of many feet. But piping, vehemence and running were commonplace in naval life and in any case his entire conscious attention was now wholly taken up with the most striking, moving and unexpected sight he had ever seen: as his eyes followed a penguin swimming rapidly westwards in