Stephen went to sleep again. When he woke Bonden was still pulling with the same steady rhythm, but the sun rising behind them had burnt off all the hazy vapours, the smooth sea was a most delicate united blue and Jack Aubrey was staring right ahead through the brilliance with extreme concentration.
'There she lays,' he observed, noticing Stephen's movement; and Stephen, following his gaze, saw an island with a wharf, and alongside the wharf the hull or body of a dull brown ship, rather small.
'Oh,' he cried, before his wits were quite returned, 'it has no masts.'
'What sweet, sweet lines,' said Jack, and in a parenthesis to Stephen, 'She will be towed to the sheer-hulk in a day or so—masts in God's plenty. Did you ever see sweeter, Bonden?'
'Never, sir: barring Surprise, in course.'
'The boat ahoy,' came the hail.
'Diane,' replied Bonden in a voice of brass.
The acting deputy-assistant-master-attendant received the Captain of the Diane with what formality his working-party of four would allow, but the ceremony was wrecked by a vehement and indeed shrewish yell from below 'John, if you don't come this directly minute your eggs will be hard and your bacon all burned.'
'Pray go along and take your breakfast, sir,' said Jack. 'I can find my way about perfectly well. His Excellency gave me her plans last night.'
She was in fact perfectly familiar from his last night's studies, yet as he led Stephen up and down the ladders, along the decks and into the holds he kept exclaiming 'Oh what a sweet little ship! What a sweet little ship!' And when they were on the forecastle again, looking back towards Batavia, he said 'Never mind the paintwork, Stephen; never mind the masts; a few weeks' work in the yard will provide all that. But only a brilliant hand with noble wood at his command—you saw those perfect hanging knees?—could produce such a little masterpiece as this.' He considered for a while, smiling, and then said, 'Tell me, what was the title poor Fox tripped over during our first audience of the Sultan?'
'Kesegaran mawar, bunga budi bahasa, hiburan buah pala.'
'I dare say. But it was your translation of it that I meant. What was the last piece?'
'Nutmeg of consolation.'
'That's it: those were the very words hanging there in the back of my mind. Oh what a glorious name for a tight, sweet, newly-coppered, broad-buttocked little ship, a solace to any man's heart. The Nutmeg for daily use: of Consolation for official papers. Dear Nutmeg! What joy.'
Chapter Four
Little that happened in Batavia remained unknown for long in Pulo Prabang, and shortly after the Nutmeg had been brought into service as a post-ship with all the formality that circumstances allowed, a message came from van Buren, congratulating Stephen on his survival, giving news about a young, highly gifted and affectionate orang-utang that had been presented to him by the Sultan, and ending 'I am particularly desired to tell you that the ship sails on the seventeenth; quite how well provided my informant could not undertake to say, but he hopes that your wishes have been at least in part fulfilled.'
The seventeenth, and the Nutmeg barely had her lower masts in: her beautifully dry, clean, sweet-smelling holds, scraped to the fresh wood by innumerable coolies and dried, all hatches off, all gun-ports open, in the last fiery parching blasts of the previous monsoon (not a cockroach, not a flea, not a louse, let alone rats, mice or ancient ballast soaked in filth) were so empty that she rode absurdly high, her bright copper showing broad from stem to stern.
The Dutch dockyard officials and above all the Dutch dockyard mateys were highly skilled and conscientious, even by Royal Naval standards; but they formed a close corporation and they could not abide interlopers. They were willing to work as fast as their limited numbers allowed, and even (for a consideration) to work for some hours beyond the allotted time; but no outside artificers were to be taken on, however able (except for the really vile task of scraping, which was confined to a particular caste of Bugis) and no helping hand was required from any Nutmeg whatsoever. In the yard the ship was the mateys' preserve. If Mr Crown the bosun, dancing with impatience, laid a finger upon a becket that strictly speaking belonged to the riggers there would be a cry of 'All out' and all the guilds in all branches would down tools and walk off, symbolically washing their hands as they crossed the brow, to be recalled only after prolonged negotiations and payment for the hours lost. They might in theory be part of a conquered nation and their yard, timber, cordage and sailcloth might belong to King George, but the impartial observer would hardly have guessed it, and the wholly partial chief victim, old, lined and grey with frustration, roared out 'Treason—mutiny—hell and death—flog every man-jack of them round the fleet,' twice or even three times a day.
'I suppose you gentlemen of the Navy are wholly opposed to corruption,' observed Raffles.
'Corruption, sir?' cried Jack. 'I love the word. Ever since my very first command I have corrupted any dockyard or ordnance or victualling board officer who had the shadowiest claim to a traditional present and who could help get my ship to sea a little quicker and in slightly better fighting-trim. I corrupted as far as ever my means allowed me to, sometimes borrowing for the purpose; I do not think I seriously damaged any man's character, and I believe it paid hands down, for the service, for my ship's company and for me. If only I knew the ropes here, or if I had my purser or clerk, both experts in the matter at a lower level, I should do the same in Batavia, saving your respect, sir, and do it on a far larger scale, being far better provided now than I was then.'
'It is a pity none of our Indiamen are due for a couple of months. Their captains understand the matter perfectly well. Yet even so, I think that if my clerk of the works had a word with the superintendent something might come of it. Of course neither you nor I can appear, and I certainly cannot use official funds; but unofficially I will do anything in my power to help you get away as soon as possible. I deplore the necessity for oiling wheels that should run of themselves, but I recognize its existence, especially in this part of the world; and in the case of the Nutmeg I am willing to give all the support I can.'
'I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir; and if by means of your worthy clerk I can learn roughly the cost of the solution, I shall do my best to raise it with what I have here. And if I cannot, there may be some commercial house that will accept a draught on London.'
'Who do you bank with, Aubrey?'
'With Hoare's, sir.'
'You did not change, like poor Maturin?'
'No. No, by God,' said Jack, striking his fist into his palm. 'That was the worst day's work I ever did in my life, and I curse the day I ever told him about Smith and Clowes. For my part I had a few thousand with them for convenience; but all the rest I left with Hoare's.'
'In that case Maturin's friend and mine, Shao Yen, will accommodate you.'
Shao Yen did so accommodate Captain Aubrey, and the various guilds concerned were so thoroughly persuaded to abandon their ancient practices for a while that within thirty-six hours the ship swarmed with eager workers, including all the Nutmegs who could find standing-space: Jack and his officers had often, very often had to drive a crew—Fielding was uncommonly good at it, and Crown was no laggard—but never before had they to urge such restraint, to beg their men not to over exert themselves in this damp, unhealthy weather, or to run such risks up there. Those Nutmegs, the afterguard and their like, who had no highly technical duties to perform, painted ship, supervised from a distance by Bennett, that most unlikely survivor from the battle, who hovered in a skiff, calling 'Half an inch more below the gun-sill' as the Nutmeg assumed the Nelson chequer, in Jack Aubrey's opinion the only pattern for a man-of-war, and one whose exact paint he found in plenty at Batavia; for although the Royal Naval presence was now reduced to a single lieutenant and a score of clerks and ratings, a very considerable squadron had been in the port and might well come back again. A wealth of supplies, most of them captured, had therefore been left; and from this wealth Jack Aubrey fitted out the Nutmeg, wandering
at large in Ali Baba's cave, or rather caves, for the vast selection of new cables was kept well away from the gunpowder in its vaulted stores: everything in its place, everything a sailor's professional heart could long for.
He had long since decided that if he met the Cornélie, his only chance (unless Stephen's unsavoury plot had succeeded) was flight or battle at close quarters. With her twenty nine-pounders, the Nutmeg could not play at long bowls with the French thirty-two-gun eighteen-pounder frigate, particularly if the French guns were as well pointed as French guns usually were; but if he could engage yardarm to yardarm, and if he were armed with thirty-two-pounder carronades, he could throw in a broadside of three hundred and twenty pounds as opposed to ninety pounds and board her in the smoke.
Carronades, then, and he and the gunner and his mates walked up and down in the dim storehouse behind the ordnance wharf, amazed at the wealth before them, amazed at their liberty of choice (for the Governor had given Captain Aubrey a free hand), and almost unable to make up their minds as they hurried from piece to piece, testing them for smooth perfection of bore. There was a sort of hurried anguished joy in the final choosing of the twenty smashers; and then there was also the frightful question of the roundshot, since carronades, as opposed to long guns, allowed very little windage and required an almost perfect sphere for anything like accuracy, even at their short range. Each ball weighed thirty-two pounds; each carronade called for a very great many (there had to be quantities for practice, all hands being so much more used to the poor Diane's great guns); and between them they must have rolled many, many tons along the dusty floors and through the testing hoops.
But with all their virtues—light weight, light charge, small crew, great murdering-power—carronades were awkward bitches. They were so short that even when they were fully run out their flash would sometimes fire the rigging, above all if they were traversed; and then again they heated easily, jumped and broke free. So since Jack designed the Nutmeg primarily as a carronade-vessel (though he retained his old brass nine-pounder and another long gun very like it as chasers), he spent hours with all those concerned making the ports exactly suitable for the short, stocky, rebellious creatures and ensuring that no rigging led close by their mouths however far they were traversed. Furthermore, at shocking cost in douceurs to the Dutch, he set a band of brilliant Chinese carpenters to work, changing the ordinary carronade-slides to those with an inclined plane to absorb much of the recoil.
And this was not his only extravagance. 'What is the use of being almost rich,' he asked Raffles—Stephen being elsewhere—'if you cannot dash away on occasion?'
On this particular occasion he dashed away to a most surprising extent in sails—sails for every weather from wanton zephyrs to what might be expected off the Horn—and in cordage: best Manila almost everywhere, above all in the standing rigging, for which he maintained that nothing could exceed that costly rope in its three-strand shroud-laid form.
All this, and his search for a carpenter, purser, clerk and two or three capable young men for his midshipmen's berth (Reade and Bennett, though full of good will, could not go aloft, nor were they up to a night watch in heavy weather), meant that he saw little of Stephen, who, with his surviving patients well on the mend, spent much of his time with Raffles, either in the citadel or at Buitenzorg, the Governor's country retreat, where his gardens and most of his collections were to be found, pored over, commented upon.
Shortly after the Chinese carpenters came aboard Stephen was on his way to Buitenzorg on a hot rain-threatening morning, and he stood pondering by his horse, a pretty little Maduran mare, while Ahmed patiently held her head. Was it worth carrying a large, heavy, imperfectly waterproof cloak rolled behind the saddle, with the possibility of being both wet and stifled if the weather broke, or was the wiser course to risk a thorough soaking—wet through and through but comparatively cool? Perhaps it might not rain at all. While he was weighing these considerations he saw Sowerby approaching with an oddly hesitant step, sometimes stopping altogether. Eventually he came within hail, took off his hat and called 'Good morning, sir.'
'Good morning to you, sir,' replied Stephen, putting his foot in the stirrup. In spite of the gesture Sowerby came on and said 'I was about to leave this letter for you, sir. But now that I have the happiness of the meeting, I hope I may be allowed to acknowledge your magnanimity by word of mouth: His Excellency tells me that I owe your recommendation to my appointment—my appointment to your recommendation.'
'Faith,' said Stephen, 'you owe me little thanks: I was shown papers put forward by the various candidates—I thought yours by far the best, and said so: no more.'
'Even so, sir, I am profoundly grateful; and as an esteem of my token I trust you will permit me to name a nondescript plant after you. But I must not detain you—you are on your way. Pray accept this letter: it contains a specimen and a full description. Good day to you, sir, and a pleasant journey.'
By this time Sowerby was almost blind with nervous tension; his colour came and went, his words tumbled over one another; but by some miracle he handed the letter without dropping it, stepped safely past Ahmed's restive horse, put on his hat, avoided a stone pillar at the roadside by half an inch, and walked rapidly off.
Steadily they rode, steadily it rained. From time to time freshwater turtles crossed the road, partly walking, partly swimming, always directing their course to the south-west. More frequently, after the first hour, and in far greater numbers, troops of massive fire-bellied toads also made the passage; they too pressed on earnestly to the south-west. But by this time the horses, which had capered at the sight of turtles, were too depressed to shy at even a very numerous body of toads; they plodded on and on, their ears drooping and the warm water streaming off their backs.
It streamed off Stephen's back too, between his coat and his skin, for he had decided against the cloak; and it would have streamed off Sowerby's specimen too but for the fact that one of Stephen's meannesses had to do with wigs. His comfort, his status as a physician, and his sense of what was right required him to have a wig; but he was very reluctant to pay for it. He was now reduced to one alone, a physical bob; and as he considered the Batavian wig-makers' prices exorbitant, this survivor was to serve for all occasions. At present it was protected by a round hat, itself kept from the downpour by a neat removable tarpaulin sheath, and tied under his chin by two lengths of white marline, while a stout pin ran through it all, making the valuable wig as fast to its wearer's head as his scalp itself, and in the crown of this round hat lay Sowerby's letter.
As he sat in the blue morning-room at Buitenzorg, wearing one of the Governor's powdering-gowns while his own clothes were being dried elsewhere, he held up the crisp dry envelope and said, 'I am about to achieve immortality. Mr Sowerby intends to name a nondescript plant after me.'
'There's glory for you!' cried Raffles. 'May we look at it?'
Stephen broke the seal, and from several layers of specimen-paper inside the letter he drew a flower and two leaves.
'I have never seen it before,' said Raffles, gazing at the dirty brown and purple disc. 'It has a superficial resemblance to a stapelia, but of course it must belong to an entirely different family.'
'Sure it smells like some of the more fetid stapelias too,' said Stephen. 'Perhaps I should move it to the window-sill. He found it growing as a parasite on the glabrous bugwort. These viscid tumescent leaves with inward-curling margins incline me to think that it is also insectivorous.' They considered the plant in silence, breathing as it were sideways, and then Stephen said 'Do you think the gentleman may have had some satirical intent?'
'No, no, never in life,' said Raffles. 'Such a thing would never occur to him: he is wholly methodical, utterly humourless; a classifier who has nothing to say to values.'
'Lord, Raffles,' cried his wife, coming in, 'what is this very ill smell? Has something died behind the wainscot?'
'My dear,' said the Governor, 'it is this new plant, which is to be
named after Dr Maturin.'
'Well,' said Mrs Raffles, 'it is much better to have a flower named after one than a disease or a fracture, I am sure. Think of poor Dr Ward and his dropsy. And certainly this is a prodigious curious plant: but perhaps I might ask Abdul to take it to the potting-shed. Dear Doctor, they tell me your clothes will be quite dry in half an hour; so we shall have an early dinner. You must be starving.'
'The naming of creatures after one's friends or colleagues is a very pretty custom,' observed the Governor, when she had gone. 'And no one ever did it more handsomely than you with Testudo aubreii, that glorious reptile. And speaking of Aubrey reminds me that I have not seen him for days. How does he do?'
'He does very well, I thank you, running about day and night to get his ship to sea with even more than the usual mad naval haste—running about with such zeal that he has scarcely time for meals and none for over-eating, I am happy to say.'
'Does he need any more hands?'
'I think not. There are about one hundred and thirty of us left, and seeing the Nutmeg will need only small gun-crews—no more than three or four to a carronade, if I do not mistake—he feels that she is quite well-manned. And he is happy with the notion of promoting his carpenter's mate to poor Mr Hadley's place. But as you know he is still short of a nurser, a clerk and two or three young gentlemen.'
Book 14 - The Nutmeg Of Consolation Page 9