‘Very willingly, sir. But there is something I should tell you about the prisoners. From the beginning the captain of the Norfolk behaved very strangely; in the first place he said the war was over...’
‘That’s fair enough. A legitimate ruse de guerre.’
‘Yes, but there were other things, together with a want of candour that I could not understand until I learnt that he was trying, naturally enough, to protect part of his crew; some of his men were deserters from the Navy and some had taken part in the Hermione ...’
‘The Hermione!’ cried the Admiral, his face growing pale and wicked at the mention of that unhappy frigate and the still unhappier mutiny, when her crew murdered their inhuman captain and most of his officers and handed the ship over to the enemy on the Spanish Main. ‘I lost a young cousin there, Drogo Montague’s boy. They broke his arm and then fairly hacked him to pieces, only thirteen and as promising a youngster as you could wish, the damned cowardly villains.’
‘We had a certain amount of trouble with them, sir, the ship having been blown off for a while; and some were obliged to be knocked on the head.’
‘That saves us the trouble of hanging them. But you have some left, I trust?’
‘Oh yes, sir. They are in the whaler, and if they might be taken off quite soon I should esteem it a kindness. We have never a boat to bless ourselves with, apart from my gig, and our few Marines are fairly worn to the bone with guarding them watch and watch.’
‘They shall be clapped up directly,’ cried the Admiral, pealing on his bell. ‘Oh it will do my heart good to see ’em dingle-dangle at the yardarm, the carrion dogs. Jason should be in tomorrow and with you that will give us just enough post-captains for a court-martial.’
Jack’s heart sank. He loathed a court-martial: he loathed a hanging even more. He also wanted to get away as soon as he had completed his water and taken in stores enough to carry him home, and from the obvious paucity of senior officers off Bridgetown he had thought he might be able to sail in two days’ time. But it was no good protesting. The secretary and the flag-lieutenant were both in the cabin; orders were flying; and now the Admiral’s steward brought in the bottled ale.
It was intolerably fizzy as well as luke-warm, but once his orders were given the Admiral drank it down in great gulps, with evident pleasure; presently the savage expression faded from his grim old face. After a long pause in which the clump of Marines’ boots could be heard, and the sound of boats shoving off, he said, ‘The last time I saw you, Aubrey, was when Dungannon gave us dinner in the Defiance, and afterwards we played that piece of Gluck’s in D minor. I have hardly had any music since, apart from what I play for myself. They are a sad lot in the wardroom here: German flutes by the dozen and not a true note between ’em. Jew’s harps are more their mark. And all the mids’ voices broke long ago; in any case there’s not one can tell a B from a bull’s foot. I dare say it was much the same for you, in the South Sea?’
‘No, sir, I was much luckier. My surgeon is a capital hand with a violoncello; we saw away together until all hours. And my chaplain has a very happy way of getting the hands to sing, particularly Arne and Handel. When I had Worcester in the Mediterranean some time ago he brought them to a most creditable version of the Messiah.’
‘I wish I had heard it,’ said the Admiral. He refilled Jack’s glass and said, ‘Your surgeon sounds a jewel.’
‘He is my particular friend, sir: we have sailed together these ten years and more.’
The Admiral nodded. ‘Then I should be happy if you would bring him this evening. We might take a bit of supper together and have a little music; and if he don’t dislike it, I should like to consult him. Yet perhaps that might be improper; I know these physical gentlemen have a strict etiquette among themselves.’
‘I believe your surgeon would have to give his consent, sir. They probably know one another, however, and it would be no more than a formality; Maturin is aboard at this moment, and if you wish I will speak to him before I pay my call on Captain Goole.’
‘You are going to wait on Goole, are you?’ asked Sir William.
‘Oh yes, sir: he is senior to me by a good six months.’
‘Well, do not forget to wish him joy. He was married a little while ago: you would have thought him safe enough, at his age, but he is married, and has his wife aboard.’
‘Lord!’ cried Jack. ‘I had no idea. I shall certainly give him joy – and he has her aboard?’
‘Yes, a meagre yellow little woman, come from Kingston for a few weeks to recover from a fever.’
Jack’s heart and mind were so filled with thoughts of Sophie, his own wife, and with a boundless longing for her to be aboard that he missed the sense of the Admiral’s words until he heard him say ‘You will tip it the civil to them, Aubrey, when you run each of ’em to earth. These medicos are a stiff-necked, independent crew, and you must never cross them just before they dose you.’
‘No, sir,’ said Jack, ‘I shall speak to them like a sucking dove.’
‘Pig, Aubrey: sucking pig. Doves don’t suck.’
‘No, sir. I shall probably find them together, talking about medical matters.’
So indeed they were. Mr Waters was showing Dr Maturin some of his pictures of the most typical cases of leprosy and elephantiasis that he had met with on the island – remarkably well-drawn, well-coloured pictures – when Jack came in, delivered his message, took one glance at the paintings and hurried away to have a word with the Admiral’s secretary before paying the necessary call on Captain Goole.
Mr Waters finished his description, returned his last example of Barbados leg to its folder, and said, ‘I am sure you have observed that most medical men are hypochondriacs, Dr Maturin.’ This, delivered with a painfully artificial smile, was clearly a prepared statement: Stephen made no reply, and the surgeon went on, ‘I am no exception, and I wonder whether I too may importune you. I have a swelling here’ – putting his hand to his side – ‘that gives me some concern. I have no opinion at all of any of the surgeons on this station, least of all my assistants, and I should very much value your reflections upon its nature.’
‘Captain Aubrey, sir, what may I have the pleasure of doing for you?’ asked the secretary, smiling up at him.
‘You would put me very much in your debt by producing a bag of mail for the Surprise,’ said Jack. ‘It is a great while since any of us has heard from home.’
‘Mail for Surprise?’ said Mr Stone doubtfully. ‘I scarcely think – but I will ask my clerks. No, alas,’ he said, coming back, ‘I am very sorry to say that there is nothing for Surprise.’
‘Oh well,’ said Jack, forcing a smile, ‘it don’t signify. But perhaps you have some newspapers, that will give me an idea of how things stand in the world: for obviously you are much too busy with this damned court-martial to tell me the history of the last few months.’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Mr Stone. ‘It will take me no time to tell you that things are going from bad to worse. Buonaparte is building ships in every dockyard, faster than ever; and faster than ever ours are wearing out, with perpetual blockade and perpetually keeping the sea. He has very good intelligence and he foments discord among the allies – not that they need much encouragement to hate and distrust one another, but it is wonderful how he touches on the very spot that hurts, almost as though he had someone listening behind the cabinet door, or under the council table. To be sure our armies make some progress