Book 19 - The Hundred Days

by Patrick O'Brian

  It was as beautiful a run, or rather a living glide, as could be imagined. Ordinarily the northern side of the great harbour was somewhat harsh, even forbidding, but now in the very height of Mediterranean spring it was green, countless varieties of green, all young and delightful—even the grim scrub-oak looked happy. And if they turned to contemplate the much nearer, much more cultivated land to larboard, there were orange-groves, with the round-topped, exactly spaced little trees like the most charming embroidery imaginable; and from them wafted the scent of blossom—fruit and blossom on the tree together.

  They did not speak, except to point out a known house or inn or once, on Stephen's part, an Eleonora's falcon, until they were very near the man-of-war's end of the great wharf, when Jack, exchanging a happy smile with Stephen, said to the master, 'Let us moor ship, Mr Woodbine.'

  'Aye-aye, sir,' said Woodbine, and he roared to the bosun, just at hand, 'All hands to moor ship.'

  The bosun and his mates repeated the order louder still, emphasizing it with an extraordinarily shrill piping, as though the entire ship's company had not been poised for the exercise ever since the mooring buoys were seen—a roaring and piping repeated right down the squadron's line and even aboard the little Ringle, a biscuit-toss to leeward.

  'We will furl in a body, if you please, Mr Woodbine: and let us square by the lifts and braces.'

  Meeting Bonden's questioning look, Jack nodded, and said to Stephen, 'I hope you will accompany me? I must pay my respects to the Spanish commandant.' It was known throughout the Surprise—always had been known—that the Doctor spoke foreign to a remarkable extent, and was always called upon to do the civil thing in case of need: today he was to present the Commodore's ceremonial compliment to the senior officer who represented his country's sovereignty, a purely nominal sovereignty at present, since with the full agreement of her Spanish ally, Great Britain's Royal Navy carried on with the unrestricted use of the great naval base.

  While his barge was lowering down, Jack lingered on the quarterdeck, watching the other ships as they too furled in a body and squared their yards. It was toilsome, but it did look trim; and, he hoped, would to some extent redeem the slowness of his passage.

  'Now, sir,' said Killick at his side, 'all is laid along, together with your presentation sword. But, sir,'—lowering his voice—'the Doctor can't go ashore in that there rig. Which it would bring discredit on the barky.'

  Stephen was in fact wearing an old black frock-coat in which he had obviously been either operating or dissecting without an apron; and although late last night Killick had privately taken his shirt and neck-cloth from beside his cot, the Doctor had obviously found where they were stowed. Some years before this, the Sick and Hurt Board had ordained a special uniform for surgeons, a blue cloth coat with blue cloth lapels, cuffs and embroidered collar, three buttons on cuffs and pockets, white lining, white cloth waistcoat and breeches: the garments existed, they having been made by the naval tailor who had always looked after Jack, but Stephen had doggedly resisted hints that he should wear them, even when the gun-room gave a ceremonial dinner to welcome Mr Candish, their new purser.

  Now, however, Jack's argument that for the sake of the Adriatic cruise and all that it entailed they must both look like grave, responsible beings, after their call on the Spaniard, when they waited upon Admiral Fanshawe, his secretary and his political adviser, good relations being of the first importance—an argument that was expressed with great earnestness—overcame Stephen's reluctance, and they both went over the side soberly magnificent.

  'Lord,' said Jack, pausing for breath at'the top of the Pigtail Steps, 'I must get back to my way of running up to the masthead at least once every morning. I am growing old, unsound in wind and limb.'

  'You are growing obese: or rather you have grown obese. You eat far too much. I particularly noticed the shameless way you indulged in the soused pig's face at our feast to welcome Mr Candish.'

  'I did so deliberately, to encourage him. He is somewhat bashful, though he is a very fine fellow. I am delighted to have him: though how Mr Smith ever came to propose him, I cannot tell.'

  'When the convoy's captains came aboard there was a certain lack of candles, as you may recall.'

  'Well, what of it?'

  'And perhaps Mr Smith may have heard one of our sailors call out "if only we had a real purser, there would not be all this Bedlam running about and shouting every single time we want a bloody dip". And one of the Indiamen's officers asked "What, ain't you got a real purser?" '

  'Well, whatever you may say I am very glad to have him. And if only I had a master's mate of the same competence I should be gladder still. Poor Wantage. He was one of the most promising young men I have ever had—a born navigator—had the Requisite Tables by rote, so that he could give you your position without looking at them. And he had a very good feeling for Surprise's likes and dislikes. How I regret him. And all because of that vile wench.'

  In the peace of 1814, the Surprise, setting out on what was ostensibly an expedition to survey the coasts of Chile, had sailed with a very moderate ship's company—no ordinary midshipmen and no youngsters at all. On her first leg she had carried Sophie Aubrey and her children and Diana Maturin and her daughter as far as Madeira for a holiday, the plan being that the women and children should return to England in the packet when the Surprise carried on to South America. But during this stay, young Wantage, exploring the mountains, had met a shepherdess. Then, Napoleon having escaped from Elba, the frigate was at once ordered to Gibraltar. Parties were sent out for stragglers, guns were fired, the Blue Peter flew to the very last minute before she sailed, all her people aboard except for Wantage; and it was generally believed that the shepherd, coming back untimely to the mountain hut, had killed him.

  'He was indeed a most amiable young man,' said Stephen. 'But I believe that the great house with two sentinels before it is where Don José lives.'

  It was, and Don José was at home. He received them very kindly: Stephen and he went through the graceful Spanish ceremony of compliments presented and returned, Jack bowing from time to time, and Don José accompanied them to the outer door itself.

  They were equally well received by Admiral Fanshawe and his secretary. Jack introduced Stephen: the Admiral said, 'How do you do, sir? I remember you well after that horrible affair off Algeciras, when you were so good to my brother William.'

  Stephen asked after his former patient. 'Very well, I thank you, Doctor,' said the Admiral. 'He can get along quite well without crutches now, and he has had a saddle made that allows him to take leaps that would astonish you.'

  Very soon after this the secretary said, 'I believe, sir, that I should take Dr Maturin to see Mr Colvin.'

  'Do, do, by all means; and the Commodore and I will talk about convoys.'

  'Forgive me, sir,' said Jack to the Admiral, and in a discreet undertone to Stephen, 'In case your conversation takes a great while, let us meet at the Crown.'

  As he walked along the corridors with the Admiral's secretary, Stephen wondered how Colvin came to be here rather than in Malta. He was a man with whom Stephen had quite often had dealings, almost always in London or Gibraltar, and without being friends they were necessarily well acquainted. Colvin had probably meant to restrict their conversation to intelligence, to the question of the Adriatic, but he could not prevent a certain earnestness from making part of his 'I hope I see you well?' or from giving a slightly more than usual pressure as they shook hands.

  When the Admiral's secretary had left them they sat down and with an artificial cheerfulness Colvin began, 'I am happy to say that although the Ministry is growing more and more worried about the Russians' procrastination, the passing of time, and the possibility of this shocking intervention, we have at least made a beginning with the Adriatic yards. From Ancona and Bari our banking friend, a man of extraordinary energy for his age, has not only called in the loans made to the small and out-of-the-way shipwrights concerned with French vess
els but he has also warned all suppliers to insist on cash: no notes of hand, no promises. He and his associates along the coast are closely allied to what few local banks there are on the Turkish side of the water: they will make no difficulties, nor, of course, will any of the beys or pashas. Mr Dee knows perfectly well that these small yards have almost no capital of their own—they work on borrowed money—and that when pay-day comes round and there is no pay, the workmen are likely to turn ugly, very ugly. These places rely for a large part on itinerant skilled labour, most of it Italian. Now I do not know, sir, whether you have any moral scruples about having dealings with the Carbonari . . . or even Freemasons: as it were allying yourself with such people. Or perhaps I should say making use of them.'

  Both Colvin and Stephen were Catholics and like most of their kind they had been brought up with some curious notions: in childhood they had been assured by those they loved and respected that whenever Freemasons held a formal gathering one of their number was invariably the Devil himself, sometimes more or less disguised; and after a short pause Stephen replied, 'As for the Carbonari, Lord William had no hesitation about treating with them in Sicily . . .'

  'In these parts they are said to be strangely allied to the Freemasons: some of their rites are similar.'

  Stephen shook his head. 'I have known only one avowed Mason,' he said, 'a member of my club: and when he voted for the execution of the King, his brother, he was asked to resign. Such things sustain a largely irrational prejudice. However, a scruple would have to be very moral indeed for me to reject any means of bringing this vile war to an end. I take it that you feel these people might be useful to us?'

  'Indeed they may. Many of the Italian craftsmen in the yards and even some of the natives are Carbonari. At the same time our friends in Ancona and Bari have great influence with their fellow-Masons in the Adriatic ports—the bankers and money-men, I mean—and will prevent them from relieving the shipwrights. Now wood is by its nature inflammable, and when two pay-days have gone by with no wages, it would not be surprising if the yards were to go up in flames. The Carbonari are much given to an incendiary revenge—I believe it has to do with their mystic beliefs—and a very little prompting or tangible encouragement of the more enthusiastic would certainly earn brilliant results. I might almost promise a blazing success.'

  Stephen's dislike of Colvin increased, but with no change of tone or expression he went on, 'In some yards, as I understand it, the French officers who oversee the construction are strongly Bonapartist, in others hesitant or downright for the King. Only the first are potentially dangerous, either as privateers on their own or as renegadoes with the Barbary pirates, preying on our trade. Quite apart from any other point of view, a general conflagration would be wholly against our interests: you are to consider that some vessels may come over to us voluntarily, joining the King of France; and at this juncture even a few allied French men-of-war would be of the utmost value here in the Mediterranean. Then again, a wholesale burning would do away with the possibility of cutting out any nearly completed or repaired vessels commanded by resolute Bonapartists, and making prizes of them. It is difficult for a landsman to have any conception of the sailor's delight in a prize or of the prodigies of valour and enterprise he will display to gain it. But as to these differing loyalties, have you any information?'

  'I am very sorry to say I have not. Because of a gross indiscretion committed by an agent belonging to the other firm just before I arrived, it was not thought desirable that I should cross to the Turkish side. On the other hand, we have all the details you could wish about the geographical and financial position of the yards, and the presents expected by the beys, pashas and local officials for various accommodations and forms of blindness.'

  The other firm was an intelligence service of sorts, or rather a collection of services, run by the army; and its agents often poached on naval preserves, sometimes doing serious damage and always causing a very high degree of resentment.

  'If you would let me have this information, I should be very much obliged,' said Stephen.

  'Of course. You shall have it this very evening . . .' Colvin hesitated and then went on, 'Though now I come to reflect, I am by no means sure that I have the papers with me.' Another pause, and he said, 'I dare say you were surprised at finding me here rather than in Malta or Brindisi?'

  'Not at all,' said Stephen.

  'There was a certain amount of unpleasantness over that indiscretion I mentioned and I am on my way either to Gibraltar or even perhaps London to clear it up; and knowing that Commodore Aubrey's squadron must touch here I thought I should wait, in order to tell you about the general aspect of affairs in the Adriatic. Those particulars will of course be at your disposal as soon as you reach Malta.'

  Stephen made the necessary acknowledgements and they talked for a while about colleagues in Whitehall before he took his leave, saying that he must rejoin the Commodore without delay—it was death to keep the Commodore waiting.

  'Well, sir,' said Jack Aubrey, looking up from his notes and counting the slips that would enable the officers in charge of the base to revictual and refit the squadron with all the astonishing variety of objects it might need, from musket-flints to dead-eyes, hearts and euphroes. 'I think that sets us up very handsomely: many, many thanks. And now, sir, if I may I will beg leave to retire. I have an appointment with my surgeon at the Crown, and it would never do to vex a man you next meet in the cockpit, with you flat on your back and he standing over you with a knife. He is not ordinarily an irascible creature, but I know that today he is with child to call upon your engineer.'

  'James Wright, that prodigy of learning? I would give a five-pound note to see them together.'

  In fact the sight was not worth nearly so much, particularly at first. Dr Maturin, holding his visiting-card in his hand, was about to knock at the door of Mr Wright's house when it flew open from within and an angry voice cried, 'What do you want with me? Eh? What do you want with me?'

  'Mr Wright?' asked Stephen, with a hint of smiling recognition. 'My name is Maturin.'

  'It might just as well be Beelzebub,' said Mr Wright. 'Not a brass farthing will you fork out of me before the end of the month, as I told that pragmatical bastard, your chief.'

  'My dear sir,' cried Stephen, 'I have ventured to call upon you as a fellow member of a learned society, not, upon my soul and honour, as a dun: bad luck to them all.'

  'You belong to the Royal?' asked Wright, bending from the uppermost step and peering into Stephen's face with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

  'Certainly I belong to the Royal,' said Stephen, now somewhat warm. 'Furthermore, Mr Watt did me the honour of introducing me to you. I was sitting next to him, and old Mr Bolton was on the other side. It was the evening you read the paper on screwing.'

  'Oh,' said Wright, taken aback. 'Pray walk in—I beg pardon—I have lost my spectacles. And from what little I could make out your uniform looked like that of a bailiff's man. I beg pardon. Pray walk in.' He led Stephen into a large, well-lit room with exactly-drawn plans on the walls, on high tables and on a pair of rollers that could bring any corner of the port or dockyard before the viewer's eye. He found his spectacles, one of the pairs that lay about on chairs and desks, and putting them on he gazed at Stephen. 'Sir,' he said, rather more civilly now, 'may I ask what that uniform is? I do not believe I have seen it before.'

  'Sir,' replied Stephen, 'it is the uniform that was laid down for surgeons of the Royal Navy some time ago: it is rarely worn.'

  Having considered this, cocking his head like an intelligent dog, Mr Wright asked how he might serve his visitor, whom he now remembered from their meeting at the Royal Philosophers' Club, before the formal session.

  'I have presumed to wait upon you, sir,' said Stephen, 'because some of our more eminent colleagues, particularly those distinguished in the mechanical and mathematical sciences, have assured me that you know more than any man living about the physical properties of substances—their inh
erent strength and the means of increasing it—their resistance to the elements—and if I may I should like to ask whether in the course of your studies you have ever been brought to reflect upon the narwhal's horn?' During his last few words Stephen noticed a total absence of attention come over the aged face before him and he was not surprised to hear Mr Wright cry, 'Dr Maturin, Dr Maturin of course: I grow more forgetful day by day, but now I recall our meeting even more perfectly. And what is of much greater consequence, I recall a letter from my young cousin Christine—Christine Heatherleigh as she was, but now the widow of Governor Wood of Sierra Leone. It was her usual birthday letter, and among other things she said she had prepared the articulated bones of some creature that interested you—she was always a great anatomist, even as a child—and would it be right to send the specimen to Somerset House?'

  'How very kind. I have the fondest recollections of dear Mrs Wood. It was no doubt my tailless potto, one of the most interesting of the primates: but alas short-lived.'

  'So I said Somerset House by all means: Robertshaw and his people take the greatest care of Fellows' specimens. But I believe, sir, that you mentioned a narwhal. Pray what is a narwhal?'

  'A cetacean of the northern, the far northern seas, a moderate whale of about five yards long; and the male possesses a horn that may be half as long again. I say "horn" sir, because that is the term commonly used; but in fact the object is made of ivory.'

  'And only the males wear it?'

  'So I am told by whalers and by those few who have had the happiness of dissecting the creature.'