As he had expected there were two other ships from the offshore squadron already there and one – with only a single lower mast still standing – from the inner: and they had taken up all the available places. ‘I am sorry, Aubrey,’ said the Commissioner, an old friend, ‘but there it is. However, Alexandria won’t take long – only a few ribs gone and an ugly hole plugged with a great piece of rock – wonderful how often that happens, ain’t it? Almost makes you believe in guardian angels, ha, ha, ha! And as soon as she is done you shall have her place. But dear me Bellona does call for a lot of patching up. So do you yourself, Aubrey. You look dead beat. Believe me, what you want is a hot body bath. The whole body immersed in hot, hot water and kept there for five or even ten minutes. It opens the
pores amazingly. They have one at the George, and will bring up boiling buckets in a trice.
And after that a thundering good breakfast and sleep for twelve hours.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Jack. ‘The moment I have written my necessary letter to the Admiral.
Fortunately I have my tender to take it out to Ushant.’
‘That pretty little Chesapeake schooner that came in with you? I have been admiring her: not a hair out of place. But of course, your letter to the Admiral must come first, as you say. And a note to dear Mrs Aubrey as well, I dare say. Pray remember me very kindly to her.’ The Commissioner kissed his hand and walked off, chuckling.
Jack sat at his table:
Bellona,
Cawsand Bay
November 17th
My Lord,
I beg to acquaint you that his Majesty’s ship Bellona suffered much in the severe gale of last night and this morning. The mizen mast received a violent wrench, and is sprung at the partners and elsewhere: the main-yard is also sprung. The mainsail, main topsail, the mizen and fore storm staysail were blown to pieces; one of the starboard main-chainplates drew; and the ship laboured so excessively in the trough of the sea, and shipped so much more water than the pumps could carry off, that it became absolutely necessary for her safety to bear away for this port, where I arrived in the forenoon.
I have the honour to inclose the ship’s defects, and a copy of the log since receiving your last signal.
I have the honour to be, my Lord, &c.
Log of the Bellona
16th p.m. Strong breeze with heavy swell. Tacked ship as per signal. Lost sight of squadron in heavy and almost continuous squalls. Sighted strange sail in pursuit of British brig SW by S 2 leagues: pursued and took same, when she proved to be Les Deux Frères of Lorient, privateer frigate of 28 twelve-pounders and z 39-pound carronades, 174 men: Dumanoir master. Sent her into Falmouth (a valuable prize, having taken two homeward-bound Guineamen laden with gold-dust and ivory, and an outward-bound snow carrying ship’s stores to Lisbon). At half-past ten strong gales with heavy squalls: carried away starboard main-brace and larboard main topsail sheet; sail blew to pieces; set a storm main and fore staysail.
17th a.m. At half-past six the storm mizen and fore
staysail blew from the yard: strong gales veering and backing irregularly. At eight obliged to scuttle lower deck; ship labouring very much, and gained six inches on the pumps. At quarter-past eight the carpenter reported the mizen-mast was sprung, in consequence of the vangs of the gaff giving way. At half-past eight was struck with a sea on the larboard quarter, stove in eleven of the main-deck ports, half filled the main-deck, and carried away the bulkheads of the wardroom.
At eight hard gales with violent squalls. Carried away the chain-plate of the foremost main shroud. Bore up under a reefed foresail. Saw a line-of-battle ship lying to, with her head to the southward, and her sails split and blowing from the yards.
Jno. Aubrey
Jack re-read his letter, realized that the two parts did not exactly coincide; but he was too stupid and heavy to deal with this, so he sanded, folded, addressed and sealed it. He and Harding had already seen to the transfer of the Bellona’s hands to receiving-ships and the few officers and midshipmen who did not cling to what was left of their cabins and berth where they could at least get some sleep had found themselves lodgings. All he had to do now was to carry this letter to Reade or Callow (they alternated aboard the Ringle) and ask for it to be taken out to Ushant. But no sooner was the seal well in place but he clapped his hand to his forehead and whipped the letter open again, adding My Lord,
I am sending you this letter by my tender: but at the present moment I am so stupid after the night’s blow that I forgot to beg that you would be so good as to send her back as soon as you may find convenient. I have, as your Lordship knows, a rendezvous at the dark of the moon; and if the repairs to Bellona cannot be carried out by then, I should wish to keep the engagement in Ringle: no other craft would serve the purpose.
He sealed the letter again, burnt his fingers on the wax, and a certain pettishness at last breaking through, he cried, ‘Hell, death and damnation.’
‘Is that you, sir?’ asked Harding, looking through the door. ‘I thought you was fast asleep at the George – gone ashore long ago.’
‘No, I had to write to the Admiral first, and now I must take it to the Ringle, to carry across.
But then I ‘shall sleep, by God: sleep like a crew of hedgepigs in an ivy-tuft: then in the afternoon I shall go to Woolcombe for a few days -urgent family affairs. The yard will not start any important repairs till Monday: and even if they do, you know as much about the barky’s needs as I do.’
‘Give me the letter, sir: I will see to it. The sooner you are abed the better, if you are to make a journey. Sleep -God help us – nothing like it. I shall turn in myself in twenty minutes. Good-bye, sir; sleep very well, and you will wake a new man.’
Jack slept in his bath, slept in his bed at the George until noon, slept in the post-chaise that carried him towards Woolcombe at so handsome a pace that it would have been the fastest run he had ever made from Plymouth but for a linch-pin that slipped from its place, liberating the corresponding wheel, which bowled away at a great pace down the road,
whilst the chaise plunged into a ditch, a harmless plunge into a soft, well-filled ditch. This took place just outside Alton, a village not five miles from home; but by the time wheel, horse, baggage and postillion were reassembled and the chaise hoisted upright it was dark and Jack decided to spend the night at the Cross Keys, an inn kept by a former bosun. Here he supped nobly and slept again, a deep, deep sleep, perfectly limp and relaxed until the first dawn woke him. He rose up, a new man indeed, not exactly cheerful but curiously sanguine. The chaise was not ready – the wheel needed a few more hours –
but there was a respectable horse, and having snatched an early breakfast he mounted and set out, the sun just over Alton hill.
Quite what was in his mind as he rode into the stable-yard
he hardly recalled, but a first cold, cold shock was the sight of his daughter Charlotte, a leggier child than when last he saw her. She was in the kitchen doorway, staring: her face expressed no sort of pleasure: she shouted back into the house, presumably to her sister,
‘It’s Papa,’ and vanished.
George came running out however, as Jack gave the horse over to Harding, and bade him a perfectly unaffected friendly ‘Good morning, sir, how do you do?’
‘And a very good morning to you too, George my dear. Where is your Mama?’
‘They ain’t down yet, sir. I believe they are drinking tea upstairs. But, sir, if only you had come five minutes earlier you would have seen Cousin Diana’s new coach. Oh such a beauty! She is gone to Lyme with Mrs Oakes and Brigid. I love them much.’
Up the stairs, and they creaking with his weight and haste. The room opened to the east and the cool morning light fell full on Sophie and her mother as they sat side by side copying letters. Neither had dressed: Sophie had not yet done up her hair; she was wearing the sort of gown that women clutch about their throat. She was not looking at all her best; yet it was neither a lack of bloom nor of colour that struck him but rather the presence of some quality he had never seen in her at any time. Both women started, sitting upright from their papers as he came in. Mrs Williams continued the movement and clapping a hand to her head, rose up and ran out: she could no more be seen without a cap than without any upper garment at all.