‘Bear a hand with the lead,’ said Jack; and sounding as they went they coasted along to a little bay, dropped a grapnel and pulled in to the low-tide shore, one part white where the currents laid down coral sand, the other the unredeemed dull black of the mother-rock. Two hands leapt out with a gang-plank. Jack and Stephen went ashore, followed by Seymour and Reade, Bonden and a young foretopman called Fazackerley: they carried a compass, tools, a bottle, and a pot of paint, and as they walked up the damp sand to the tide-mark the sun rose behind them. They turned to look: pure sea, pure sky, and the sun, at first an orange arc in the faint haze, then a half-disk, still to be borne with narrowed eyes, and at last a blinding sphere, heaving clear from the horizon entirely and providing them with long dark shadows.
Jack took the bearings, stared inland for some while, and then, nodding towards a crag he said, ‘I am afraid there is no paint upon it, but that is probably the most conspicuous rock, do you not agree, Doctor?’
‘Certainly it stands well above its fellows; but why should there be any paint upon it, at all?’
‘It was agreed that the first to come should leave his message twenty-two yards north of a conspicuous rock marked with white.’
‘Twenty-two yards, for all love?’
‘It is the length of a cricket-pitch.’
They left their message in its bottle, they left their mark, and they sailed back to the ship, carrying a collection of plants and insects that would have been very much larger if at last the
Captain had not cried ‘Come: we shall miss our tide. There is not a moment to lose.’
All these things were handed up the side, and some of them, in pill-boxes, accompanied Stephen to breakfast. ‘It would have been worth getting up before dawn merely for the splendid appetite it engenders,’ he said, ‘but when to the appetite you add anomalous annelids and some of these plants. . . When I have finished my kedgeree I will show you the isopod crustaceans I found under a fallen branch. They are almost certainly close kin to our own woodlice, but with some most unusual adaptations to this climate.
How Martin would love to see them!’
‘I hope he will, before long. We are on our true parallel, and as we sail to and fro upon it we may meet with them at any time. Today we shall stand to the east, perhaps lying-to at night; and tomorrow to the westward, and so on for a whole week.’
‘You have been out in the new pinnace, I hear,’ said Loder, who had kept his appointment in the dispensary to the minute but who now seemed unwilling to state his symptoms.
‘How does she handle?’
‘Very well, I believe. You are a sailor, sir?’
‘I have always loved it. We had a yacht in England, and I have a little yawl here, a country-boat like yours, but clinker-built. I sailed her right round Java last year, with a couple of hands. She is half-decked.’
‘Pray take off your clothes and lie on this couch, or padded locker,’ said Stephen: and some time later he said, as he washed his hands, ‘I am afraid you were right in your surmise, Mr Loder; but we have caught it early, and this ointment, these pills, will probably check it in no great length of time. You must apply the one and swallow the others with exact regularity, however: the Prabang infection is particularly virulent. Come tomorrow at the same time and I will see how you are getting on. You will strictly observe your diet, of course: no wine or spirits, very little meat.’
‘Of course. Thank you very much indeed, Doctor: I am extremely obliged to you.’
Loder dressed, put the remedies in his pocket, and went on, ‘Extremely obliged, both for these and your great care, and for not being lectured. There is no fool like an old fool, as I know very well; but the old fool don’t like being told of it.’ He paused and then said rather awkwardly, ‘By the way, I suppose you cannot tell me when we shall be back in Batavia? I should love to see how my English lettuces are coming along; and of course Fox is in a tearing hurry.’
‘As I understand it we are to sail up and down for a while in the hope of meeting another ship and then sheer off for Java or possibly New South Wales; but I may well be mistaken. If Mr Fox were to ask Captain Aubrey, the fount of orders, directions and all proper information, I dare say he would be told with greater certainty.’
But Fox did not ask Aubrey. They moved their hats to one another and sometimes exchanged a ‘Good morning, sir,’ when they took their exercise on the quarterdeck, the Captain on his holy weather side, the envoy and his suite on the other, but it went no
further and what communication existed was carried on in an oblique, rather furtive way by means of Loder’s conversations with Maturin and Edwards’s with the gunroom, his friendship with the officers being unaffected.
The ship sailed east with a steady breeze on her larboard beam, still in this fine clear weather and in a springing cheerful atmosphere of hope. The hope was not fulfilled that day, but it was with no real disappointment that she wore round on the starboard tack a little after sunset and proceeded slowly westwards under close-reefed topsails and a blaze of lanterns.
Westward to the night of Thursday, and turn again, the lookouts eagerly making the whole deliberate sweep of the horizon from their mastheads: they could see fifteen miles of ocean in every direction before the curve of the earth carried it below their range, but even then a ship sailing on the hidden surface as far as fifteen miles beyond would still show the far white fleck of her topgallantsails to the watchful eye.
At noon the officers on deck took the altitude of the sun
once more: their course was exactly true. Far below, Stephen, having finished with his patient and having prepared the physic while the patient babbled on – nervousness made Loder talkative – said, ‘In answer to your first question, yes, your informant was perfectly in the right of it. Captain Aubrey is member for Milport, a family borough; he is a wealthy man, with estates in Hampshire and Somerset, and he is very well with the Ministry. And in answer to your second, or the implication of your second, no, I will not act as a go-between.’ He said this rather loud, to be heard through the din of the hands being fed. It was wonderful how a mere two hundred men could fill the entire ship with noise; but once each mess had been provided with Thursday’s salt pork the sound died away, and by the time Stephen came on deck to ask for another wind-sail in the sick-bay there was quietness enough for him to hear the run of the water along the ship’s side, the familiar creak of rigging, the sound of blocks and the general continuo of the wind blowing across a thousand cords, lines and ropes of varying tautness.
Jack and Fielding were looking down into the new pinnace, whose foremast was having its step moved four inches forward, but after a few minutes’ earnest conversation Jack turned, and seeing him called out, ‘There you are, Doctor. Should you like to go into the top and view the False Natunas again?’
‘Few things would give me greater pleasure,’ said Stephen, lying in his heart: he had never overcome his dread of height, his distrust of these insecure swaying rope ladders, ill-adapted for their purpose, more suitable for apes than rational beings. Yet as he climbed he reflected that the distinction was unsound; Muong was an ape; Muong, though slow-witted at times and occasionally stubborn, was a rational being.
‘There,’ said Jack, passing his telescope. ‘I can make out our white streak, where young Booby spilt the paint-pot. But I am
afraid the answering flag ain’t there. They have not passed by yet,
He said the same on Friday: just such a day, just such a course, still with lively expectations aboard, hope not disappointed but only deferred. And again Stephen, before beginning his horrifyingly inept descent, remarked upon the total absence of ships,
vessels, smallcraft – an ocean strangely deserted, even by the sea-birds themselves. ‘It was perhaps unreasonable to hope for the Philippine pelican; yet this is supposed to be an archipelago.’
It was during these days that Stephen, who usually took up his after-dinner station by the taffrail, sometimes gazing at the wake, sometimes gazing forward, noticed signs not exactly of disaffection among the envoy’s suite but rather of an increasing lack of the first eager enthusiasm and deference, even toadyism; Fox seemed unaware of it however and his own excitement was undiminished, his voice loud and confident, loud and high-pitched, his eyes unusually bright, his step elastic. On Saturday he met Stephen walking along the half-deck and cried, ‘Why, Maturin, how do you do? It is a great while since we exchanged more than a good day. Will you indulge me in a game of backgammon?’