Book 7 - The Surgeon's Mate

by Patrick O'Brian

  'Perhaps you would be so kind as to cut up Mr Jagiello's beef for him,' said Jack to Mr Hyde, nodding at his guest's bandaged hand.

  'By all means, sir,' cried the lieutenant, and he set to his laborious task. The beef had been to the West Indies and back, and now, in its raw state, it could be carved and filed into durable ornaments; and even after some hours in the steep-tubs and the galley copper it still retained something of its heart of oak. Stephen noticed that Hyde was left-handed, which gave him an awkward air; but his left hand was obviously powerful, obviously used to salt horse; and using immense pressure he was dividing the lump into reasonable gobbets. As he did so he said to Jagiello in an undertone, 'I hope 'im no hurt too much?'

  'You are very good, sir,' replied Jagiello. 'It is nothing at all. I must confess that this morning I found a little inconvenience in shaving and in putting on my pea-jacket, but Dr Maturin'—bowing to Stephen—'and Dr Graham . . .'

  Here the beef shot into Jack's bosom with surprising force. It was in vain that they laughed, it was in vain that Jack told Hyde he should certainly be hanged for directing a lethal weapon at a superior officer: the poor man could scarcely smile, and when, the meal having begun again, he passed the pease-pudding to Jagiello, saying 'A little god's body, sir—dog's body, I mean?' he did so in a low and melancholy voice.

  This was not the first time that Stephen had noticed Hyde's tendency to displace letters, and he wondered whether it might be connected with his left-handedness—whether the confusion of right and left (and he had seen Hyde pass the port the wrong way round) might not be related to the inversion of sounds, particularly at a time when the mind itself was confused. He did not pursue the reflection however but said, 'A little while ago we were speaking of sex. But now I come to think of it, perhaps this is not a proper subject for the Captain's table, from which politics and religion are excluded—a subject laudable on the deck but forbidden below it?'

  'I believe I have known it raised at table,' said Jack.

  'It was the sense of freedom, and of simplification, that prompted my observation. In this ark, this floating community, we are all of the same sex: what would be the effect if our numbers were evenly divided between the two, as it is the case on land?' He addressed himself more particularly to Jagiello, who blushed, and said he could not tell. 'I know very little of women, sir,' he said. 'You cannot make friends with them: they are the Yews of the world.'

  'Yews, Mr Jagiello?' cried Jack. And to himself, chuckling much, he added, 'It would be a damned odd thing if they proved rams, you know.'

  'Jews, I mean,' said Jagiello. 'You cannot make friends with Jews. They have been beaten and spitted on so long they are the enemy, like the Laconical helots; and women have been domestical helots for oh so much longer. There is no friendship between enemies, even in a truce; they are always watching. And if you are not friends, where is the real knowledge?'

  'Some speak of love,' suggested Stephen.

  'Love?' cried the young man. 'But love is a creature of time, whereas friendship is not. Your own Shakespeare says . . .'

  The sailors never learnt what their own Shakespeare said, because a midshipman, sent by the officer of the watch, came to say that the weather, lifting to leeward, had disclosed twenty-eight sail of merchantmen, together with a frigate and a brig, thought to be Melampus and Dryad.

  'A Baltic convoy for sure,' said Jack. 'No one could mistake Melampus. But still I think we may as well have a look. Doctor, will you entertain Mr Jagiello with reasons until we come back? I have great hopes we may finish our dinner with something better than condemned Essex cheese.'

  'Mr Jagiello,' said Stephen, when they had gone, 'I should like to ask you about the ancient gods of Lithuania, which, I understand, still lead a ghostly life among your boors, about the worship of oak-trees, the white-tailed eagle and the plica Polonica, the beaver, the mink, and the wisent or European bison; but first, before it should slip my mind, I must tell you I am charged with a message, to be delivered in a most tactful, diplomatic way, so that it does not in the least resemble an order—so improper to a guest—but so that it shall have an equivalent force and effect. Your agility in the upper rigging excites wonder and admiration, my dear sir; but at the same time it causes a very great uneasiness of mind, an uneasiness proportionable to the esteem in which you are held; and it would please the Captain if you would confine yourself to the lower platforms, technically known as tops.'

  'Does he believe that I shall fall?'

  'He believes that the laws of gravity bear more severely on soldiers than on seamen; and since you are a hussar, he is convinced that you will fall.'

  'I shall do as he wishes, of course. But he is mistaken, you know: heroes never fall. At least, not fatally.'

  'I was not aware that you were a hero, Mr Jagiello.'

  The Ariel took on a surprising lean as she brought the stiff breeze abaft the beam, set her topgallants and weather studdingsails and dashed down on the Melampus at a good ten knots, her lee-rail buried in the foam. Jagiello had a good hold on the table, but a lee-lurch unseated him and he slid to the deck, where for a moment his spurs, caught in the matting, held him prisoner. 'Of course I am a hero,' he said, getting up and laughing very cheerfully. 'Every man is a hero of his own tale. Surely, Dr Maturin, every man must look on himself as wiser and more intelligent and more virtuous than the rest, so how could he see himself as the villain, or even as a minor character? And you must have noticed that heroes are never beaten. They may be undone for a while, but they always do themselves up again, and marry the virtuous young gentlewoman.'

  'I have noticed it, indeed. There are some eminent exceptions, sure, but upon the whole I am convinced you are right. Perhaps it is that which makes your novel or tale a little tedious.'

  'Ah, Dr Maturin,' cried Jagiello, 'if I could find an Amazon, one of a tribe of women that never have been oppressed, one that I could be friends with, equal friends, oh how I should love her!'

  'Alas, my dear, men destroyed the last Amazon two thousand years ago; and I fear your heart must go virgin to the grave.'

  'What is that noise, like bears on the roof?' asked Jagiello, breaking off.'

  'It is the launching of a boat. And from the howling of the mariners I collect that it will be some time before we see our dessert. What say you to a game of chess while we are waiting? It may be no conclusive test of our relative wisdom, virtue, or intelligence, but I can think of no better.'

  'With all my heart,' said Jagiello. 'But if I lose, you are not to suppose that it will make the least difference to my conviction.'

  The game might not prove much about the intelligence of the players, but it provided certain evidence that Jagiello's virtue or at least his kindness was greater than Stephen's: Stephen, playing to win, had launched a powerful attack on the queen's side; he had launched it one move too early—a vile pawn still masked his heavy artillery—and now Jagiello was wondering how he could play to lose, how he could make a mistake that should not be woundingly obvious to his opponent. Jagiello's chess was far beyond Stephen's; his power of dissembling his emotions was not, and Stephen was watching his expression of ill-assumed stupidity with some amusement when the boat was heard to return.

  A moment later Jack came in, followed by his steward bearing a plum-cake the size of a moderate cart-wheel and by two powerful hands with a hamper that clanked glassy as they set it down, while the pitter of hoofs overhead and a melancholy baa told of the presence of at least one devoted sheep. Jagiello, with a look of relief, instantly moved the board to make room for the cake, solving his problem by upsetting all the pieces.

  'I am sorry to have been so tedious long,' said Jack. 'But I am sure you will find it worth the wait: Melampus has always done herself as proud as the Mansion House. Cut and come again, Mr Jagiello: this only has to last us until Gothenburg.'

  Gothenburg, a melancholy town, most of it quite recently burnt, inhabited by tall spare melancholiacs dressed in grey wool, much given to dri
nking and self-murder (the river brought three suicides past the Ariel during her brief stay), but kind to strangers if not to themselves. The Commandant at once provided powder, best red-letter cylinder powder, together with a present of smoked reindeer's tongues and a barrel of salted honey-buzzards. These he gave to Stephen, saying, 'Pray accept this small keg of buzzards.'

  'Buzzards, my dear sir?' cried Stephen, startled from his usual calm.

  'Oh, not common buzzards,' said the Commandant, 'nor rough-legged buzzards; you need not be afraid. They are all honey-buzzards, I do assure you.'

  'I am fully persuaded of it, sir, and return my best thanks,' said Stephen. 'May I ask how they came there?' he added, looking attentively at the cask.

  'I put them there myself,' said the Commandant with pride, 'I put them there with my own hands, choosing each one. Fine plump birds, though I should not say it.'

  'Did you shoot them, sir?'

  'Oh no,' said the Commandant, quite shocked. 'You must never shoot a honey-buzzard: it ruins the flavour. No: we strangle them.'

  'Do they not resent this?'

  'I think not,' said the Commandant. 'It happens at night. I have a small house at Falsterbo, a peninsula at the far end of the Sound with a few trees upon it; here the birds come in the autumn, myriads of birds flying south, and great numbers roost in the wood, so many you may scarcely see the trees. We choose the best, pluck them down, and so strangle them. It has been done for ever; all the best salted buzzards come from Falsterbo; and no doubt they are used to it.'

  'Do eagles also appear, sir?' asked Stephen.

  'Oh yes, oh yes indeed!'

  'Do you salt them too?'

  'Oh no,' said the Commandant, amused. 'A salted eagle would be a very whimsical dish. They are always pickled, you know; otherwise they would eat intolerably dry.'

  While the powder was coming aboard, Stephen said, 'How I should like to see this Falsterbo.'

  'Perhaps you will,' said Jack. 'The Commandant tells me the Danes are very thick on the ground in the Belt; Melampus said the same; and I have a great mind to run through the Sound. Let us have a word with the pilot. Mr Pellworm,' said he, when the Baltic pilot came in, an ancient man, Jack's old and highly respected acquaintance, 'Mr Pellworm, I have a great mind to run through the Sound. I know the Danes have shifted their buoys, but do you think you could take her through the narrows in the night, the tail-end of the night?'

  'Man and boy,' said Mr Pellworm, 'man and boy I threaded the Sound till I know it like the back of my hand. Like the back of my hand, sir. I do not need their old sea-marks to take a ship of Ariel's draught through the narrows in the night; or right down to Falsterbo for that matter, with the Swedish lights.'

  'And what do you think of the wind, Mr Pellworm?'

  'Why sir, at this time of year we always say "in by the Sound, out by the Belt", because the westerlies always hang a little north in the one and a little south in the other. Never you fear for the wind, sir; it will stand fair for the Sound these next three or four days, or I am a Dutchman.'

  'Then let it be so, Mr Pellworm. We will weigh the moment the powder-hoy casts off, and that will get us through the narrows in the darkness.'

  The pilot was no Dutchman as far as the wind's direction was concerned; to begin with it carried the Ariel down the Cattegat at a fine brisk pace. But he was mistaken as to its force: in the middle watch Jack stirred from his sleep, listened to the song of the water along the ship's side, put a jacket over his nightshirt and went on deck. Diffused moonlight, a quiet black sea, and the Ariel slipping along under all plain sail: perhaps five knots, certainly not more. Far out on the larboard bow a light on the Swedish shore: surely it could not be the Kullen? Surely the Kullen must be well astern by now? He stepped over to the binnacle, took the log-board with its chalked record of wind, course, and speed, and quickly worked out his position: yes, it was certainly the Kullen.

  The pilot came over to him and coughed apologetically. 'May I have the watch below to make more sail, sir?' he asked.

  'No,' said Jack. 'It is not worth it. Let us wait until eight bells.'

  They were sadly behind their time, but it was not worth calling all hands now: even with royals, skyscrapers, and studdingsails aloft and alow they would still have to pass the narrows in the daylight.

  'Mr—Mr Jevons, is it not?' he said to a muffled midshipman in the dimness. 'Pray go below and fetch my boat-cloak: it is hanging by the barometer. And take great care not to wake the Doctor.'

  Wrapped in his cloak, he stood by the stern lantern, watching the sky and the ship and considering his course of action: upon the whole he thought he should carry on rather than go round by the Belt; the danger was not very great, and the saving of time outweighed it; what he really disliked about this late passage was that the Danish gunboats from Copenhagen and Saltholm would be perfectly ready for him, the news having run ahead. And that, if it were to fall flat calm, might be unpleasant: they were an enterprising lot, and they had already captured a number of sloops and brigs of war. However, he thought he should carry on. And while he turned this over in his mind he also reflected upon some aspects of life at sea and the unvarying routine he had known in every ship he had sailed in: a harsh cold, uncomfortable, demanding routine often enough, but one that did at least bring order out of chaos. An acknowledged framework; commandments from on high, sometimes arbitrary, sometimes archaic, but generally workable and always more immediate, more obviously enforced than the Decalogue. An infinity of problems within that framework of course, but the order provided answers to most of them: or cut them short with sudden death.

  Seven bells, and from all round the ship there came the cry 'All's well.'

  Eight bells, and while the frowzy larbowlines were being mustered, warm, pink and unwashed from their hammocks, the mate of the watch heaved the log.

  'Turn,' cried the mate. Twenty-eight seconds later 'Nip' cried the quartermaster.

  'What have you?' called Jack.

  'Four knots and three fathoms, sir, if you please,' replied Mr Fenton.

  It was much as he had thought; a steady decline. Still, he could always creep along under the Swedish batteries; or even put into Helsingborg. While both watches were on deck he gave orders to make more sail and returned to his meditation.

  The eastern sky was lightening, and already the ritual of washing the almost spotless deck was well in hand; the pumps were wheezing round, all was awash, and Jack went below to put on some clothes and get out of the maintopmen's way as they moved aft with buckets, sand, holystones and swabs.

  The Ariel was a very little ship, but she did her commander proud: as well as his 'great' cabin he had two little booths opening off it, his sleeping and dining cabins; and seeing that neither was encumbered with guns, Ariel being flush-decked, there was just enough room in each to sling a cot. He had put Stephen into one, moving the dining-table aft; and at this table he now sat comfortably enough until the rhythmical beating of swabs told him that the deck, unnecessarily washed, had now been unnecessarily dried.

  He returned to his place, there watching the steady progress of the ship's exactly-ordered life, the unfolding promise of the day, scanning the clouds for the probable behaviour of the wind, and watching the coast move slowly, very slowly by.

  He was still there when Stephen appeared, unusually early for him, carrying a borrowed telescope. 'Good morning, Jack,' he said; and then, staring about him, 'Mother of God, it is narrower than I had supposed.'

  Narrow it was: on the shore to larboard walked Swedes, clearly to be seen in the bright sunlight, and on that to starboard Danes: three miles of sea between them, and the Ariel in about the middle, rather nearer the Swedish side, creeping south with little more than steerage-way upon her.'

  'Have you seen them yet?' he asked.

  'Have I seen what?'

  'Why, the eider-ducks, of course. Do you not remember that Jagiello promised us eider-ducks in the Sound? I had thought that was what you were looking at s
o earnestly.'

  'So he did: but I have not really been attending. Still, I believe I can show you something that will please you even more. Do you see those green roofs and terraces? That is Elsinore.'

  'Elsinore itself? The very Elsinore? God bless my soul: and yours too, joy. A noble pile. I view it with reverence. I had supposed it to be merely ideal—hush, do not move. They come, they come!'

  A flight of duck wheeled overhead, large powerful heavy swift-flying duck in files, and pitched between the castle and the ship.

  'Eiders without a doubt,' said Stephen, his telescope fixed upon them. 'They are mostly young: but there on the right is a drake in full dress. He dives: I see his black belly. This is a day to mark with a white stone.' A great jet of white water sprang from the surface of the sea. The eiders vanished. 'Good God!' he cried, staring in amazement, 'What was that?'

  'They have opened on us with their mortars,' said Jack. 'That was what I was looking for.' A puff of smoke appeared on the nearer terrace, and half a minute later a second fountain rose, two hundred yards short of the Ariel.

  'The Goths,' cried Stephen, glaring angrily at Elsinore. 'They might have hit the birds. These Danes have always been a very froward people. Do you know, Jack, what they did at Clonmacnois? They burnt it, the thieves, and their queen sat on the high altar mother-naked, uttering oracles in a heathen frenzy. Ota was the strumpet's name. It is all of a piece: look at Hamlet's mother. I only wonder her behaviour caused any comment.'