‘Yes, sir: I think so. And behind her Dover, thirty-two; but she is only a troop-ship at present. I am sure you have noticed the union flag over the little fort, sir?’
‘Yes. And over the castle above the town. It seems that we are looking after the place for the Portuguese – left over from when we and they were both at war with Spain. Then beyond the brig there are two corvettes, Rainbow and Ganymede. We had better anchor just inshore of Ganymede: there is something of a sea running and she will shelter us. The ladies would not like being wetted. They would not object to a bosun’s chair to reach the boat, either.’
* * *
They made no objection, but sat quietly in the stern-sheets of the launch with Jack and Stephen, the children wedged in where they would fit, forbidden to trail their hands in the water, talk, or play the goddam fool; and they made their way through the many boats plying to and fro between the strand and the ships, carrying water and stores in one direction and liberty-men from the naval vessels in the other, all looking pleased, all dressed in their shore-going rig.
When the launch was two or three cables’ lengths from the landing-place Stephen murmured to Jack, ‘Among the people there, I believe I see our Chilean friends.’
He was quite right. With a spurt the launch ran up the fine grinding shingle and the bow-men heaved her high. The Chileans handed the ladies out with infinite courtesy and told Stephen that the whole party were their guests: and they had provided a conveyance to take them to an English hotel. This was a curtained sledge for four, with broad wooden runners that slid, more or less, up the brisk, uneven slope, drawn by oxen. The children, though fairly well disciplined and biddable in ordinary life, absolutely refused to get in, but ran by the side or in circles round it.
The hotel might have been an English inn of the better sort in a country town, except for the wild burst of tropical plants in the courtyard; and here, while the women were unpacking, Jack, Harding and Stephen met several naval acquaintances. Stephen’s was the surgeon of Pomone, who came over and asked him how he did; they talked for a long while, Jack and the Chileans having moved off to show Sophie, Clarissa and the children the wonders of Funchal. Stephen was fond of this Mr Glover, a most respectable, conscientious medical man; and when, with a certain hesitation, Glover asked, ‘Would you think it improper if I were to speak of one of your patients?’
‘I would not, in your case,’ said Stephen.
‘Well, now, I was aboard the Queen Charlotte a little while ago and Sherman asked me to look at the Admiral. I thought him in a very declining way. Sherman agreed: said you had prescribed digitalis . . . that he and the Admiral had noticed a marked improvement after two or three days: that the patient had increased the dose, and when Sherman protested had said you were a physician and therefore knew more than a mere surgeon. Indeed, he appears either to have confiscated the bottle or to have obtained the substance from another source – here poor Sherman’s account was rather
confused, though I should say that he at no time criticized your prescription – but at all events the unhappy Admiral must by now have absorbed great quantities. When I saw him and told him that there was grave and very dangerous excess, he was barely lucid.’
‘Thank you, dear colleague,’ said Stephen. ‘I shall write to Lord Stranraer at once, this very hour itself, dissuading him in the strongest possible terms. And I shall send Sherman a note suggesting the tincture of laudanum, to allay the constant anxiety that accompanies such a condition: then shore-leave as soon as possible.’
‘Or the grave,’ said Glover in a low voice. ‘Now will you come and look at my poor captain?
He is a straightforward broken leg – tib and fib falling down a hatchway – in the dear nuns’
hospital just up the way. It would comfort him, I am sure. And then I must admit it has been going on too long – will not knit. I should value your opinion.’
The Chileans were kind, hospitable, civilized creatures:
they knew – it was obvious – that Captain Aubrey and Dr Maturin wished their families to see the island before the packet left for England in a fortnight’s time, but they did want to get Jack away to South America as soon as ever they could and they conducted the visit at a speed that reduced even the children to an exhausted silence: two vineyards and an extensive plantation of sugar-cane one morning, the cathedral and the charnel house in the afternoon. The mountains, on mule-back, the next day, with a pause to see the curious buildings in which madeira was matured in a vast barrel at a temperature that would have been considered excessive in the calidarium of a Turkish bath. A mysterious further delight was promised for the next day, and the vic260
tims were discussing various schemes of escape as they sat on the hotel terrace, eating a splendid English breakfast and gazmg out over the harbour when Jack saw a xebec with an extraordinary press of sail come tearing in, weave through the moored shipping and race up to the landing-place. A young naval lieutenant in formal uniform leapt out, ran up the strand and vanished in the narrow streets below.
‘By God, that fellow was in a hurry,’ said Jack, relaxing. ‘I was sure he must foul a cable.
My dear, pray be so good as to pour me another cup of coffee. I am quite exhausted.’
The coffee crossed the table, gratefully received, but not half of it was drunk before the young lieutenant appeared, gazed about, saw Jack, advanced, whipped off his hat, begged pardon for interrupting Captain Aubrey, but here was a letter from the Admiral.
‘Thank you, Mr Adams,’ said Jack, who had last seen him as a midshipman. ‘Sit down and drink something long and cool while I read this in my room. Forgive me, my dears,’ taking the letter and bowing all round.
The letter was from Lord Keith: it was dated Royal Sovereign, at sea 28 February 1815
and it ran
My dear Aubrey, Tom coxswain tells me that I walked straight past you on Common Hard the other day. I am heartily sorry for it, because it might have looked intentional – might have led to a misunderstanding.
However, a particular friend of yours and of Dr Maturin’s at the Admiralty told me where to reach you, so I trust I can put that inadvertence and some other things right: for this is a moment when we have need of good officers.
Napoleon escaped from Elba the day before yesterday. You are to take all His Majesty’s ships and vessels at present in Funchal under your command, hoisting your broad pennant in Pomone, and as soon as Briseis joins you will proceed without the loss of a moment to Gibraltar, there to block all exits from the Straits by any craft soever until further notice. And for so doing the enclosed order shall be your warrant.
With our very best wishes to you and Mrs Aubrey, Most sincerely yours, Keith
At the bottom a familiar hand had written Dearest Jack – I am so happy for you – love –
Queenie.