touchy first lieutenants, needing perpetual management. He had no great opinion of his own seamanship - nor had anyone else - and so long as he was treated kindly he never took offence. Hervey relayed the orders; the Surprise began to slip through the water as though she meant to cut the line diagonally before nightfall; and Jack said, ‘I believe we may beat to divisions.’
The first lieutenant turned to Nicolls, the officer of the watch, and said, ‘Beat to divisions.’ Nicolls said to the mate of the watch, ‘Mr Babbington, beat to divisions,’ and Babbington opened his mouth to address the drummer. But before any sound emerged, the Marine, with a set and hieratic expression, woke the thunder in his drum, tantarara-?tan, and all the officers hurried off to their places.
As a warning or advertisement the drumbeat was a failure, there being nothing unexpected about it whatsoever. The ship’s company had been lining the quarterdeck, the gangways and the forecastle for some time, standing along the appointed seams in the deck while the midshipmen fussed about them, trying to make them stand upright, keep in order and toe the line, tweaking neckerchiefs, lanyards, hat-?ribbons. But the muster was understood by all hands to be a formal ceremony, as formal as a dance, a slow, solemn dance with the captain opening the ball.
This he did as soon as all the officers had reported to Hervey and Hervey had informed him of the fact. He turned first to the Marines. From their position on the after part of the quarterdeck they had no benefit from the awning, but stood there in rigid pipeclay and scarlet perfection, their muskets and faces blazing in the sun. He returned their officer’s salute and walked slowly along the line. His opinion on the set of a leather stock, the amount of powder in their hair, the number and brilliance of their buttons, was of no value; in any case Etherege, their lieutenant, was a competent officer and it would certainly be impossible to fault him. But Jack’s role in all this was to be the eye of God, and he carried out his inspection with impersonal gravity. As a man he felt for the Marines broiling there; as a captain he left them to their motionless suffering - the tar was already dripping on the awnings as the sun gathered even greater strength - and with the words ‘Very creditable, Mr Etherege,’ he turned to the first division of the seamen, the forecastlemen, headed by Mr Nicolls, the second lieutenant. They were the best seamen in the ship, all rated able; most of them middle-?aged, some quite elderly; but none, in all those years at sea, had yet learnt to stand to attention. Their straw hats flew off at his approach and their toes remained fairly near the line, but this was the height of their formality. They smoothed down their hair, hitched up their loose white home-?made trousers, looked round, smiled, coughed, gaped about, staring: very unlike the soldiers. A comforting set of forecastlemen, he reflected, as he passed slowly along the silent deck with Mr Hervey, seamen salted to the bone: several bald pates strangely white in the suffused glare under the awning - a striking contrast with their dark brown faces - but all with their remaining hair gathered in a long tail behind, sometimes helped out with tow. Such a mass of sea-?going knowledge there: but as he returned Nicolls’s parting salute he noticed with a sudden shock that the lieutenant’s face was ill-?shaved and that the man himself, his linen and his uniform, were dirty. He had scarcely ever seen such a thing before in an officer: nor had he often seen such a look of veiled indifference and weariness.
On to the foretopmen under Pullings, who greeted him as though they had never met before with a ‘Present, properly dressed and clean, sir,’ and fell in behind the captain and the first lieutenant. Here was worldliness, here was sinful vanity: all hands were in their best clothes, of course, snowy trousers and frocks with blue open collars; but the younger foretopmen had ribbons sewn into their seams, gorgeous handkerchiefs shawlwise round their necks, curling sidelocks falling low and gold earrings gleaming among them.
‘What is the matter with Kelynach, Mr Pullings?’ he asked, stopping.
‘He fell off the topgallant yardarm on Friday, sir.’
Yes. Jack remembered the fall. A spectacular but a lucky one, a direct plunge on the roll that sent him clear of spars and ropes into the sea, from which he was fished with no trouble of any kind. It could hardly account for this glum look, dull eye, lifelessness. Questions yielded nothing: he was ‘quite well, sir: prime.’ But Jack had seen that puffed face and sunken eye before; he had seen it too often; and when he came to Babbington’s waisters and saw it again in Garland, an ‘innocent’ whose lifetime at sea had not taught him to wield more than a swab and that badly, a gigantic simpleton who always laughed and simpered whenever he was mustered, he said to Hervey, ‘What do you make of this man?’
The first lieutenant thrust his head forward to focus Garland’s face and replied, ‘That is Garland, sir: a good fellow, attentive to his duty, but not very bright.’
No blushing merriment, no sidling, followed this remark; the innocent stood like an ox.
Jack passed on to the gunners, honest slowbellies for the most part, whom he had found in the usual state of neglect, but whose lives he would make a misery until they learnt to serve their pieces as they ought to serve their God. Young Conroy was the last in the division: a blue-?eyed youth as tall as Jack but much slimmer, with an absurdly beautiful mild smooth girl’s face; his beauty left Jack totally unmoved (this could not be said for all his shipmates) but the bone ring that fastened his handkerchief did not. On the outward face of the bone, a shark’s vertebra, Conroy had worked so perfect a likeness of the Sophie, Jack’s first command, that he recognised her at once. Conroy was probably related to someone who had belonged to her: yes, there had been a quartermaster of the same name, a married man who always remitted his pay and prize-?money home. Was he sailing with an old shipmate’s son? Age, age; dear me. This was no time to speak, and in any case, Conroy, though not dumb, had such a shocking stutter as to make him nearly so. But he would look into the muster-?book when he had a moment.
Now the forecastle, where he was received by the bosun, the carpenter and the gunner, suffering and motionless in their rarely-?worn uniforms; and at once the oppressive feeling of great age fell away, for these were the frigate’s standing officers, and one of them, Rattray, had been with her from the beginning. He had been bosun of the Surprise when Jack was a master’s mate in her, and Jack felt painfully young under his keen, grey, respectful but somewhat cynical eye. He felt that this eye pierced straight through his post-?captain’s epaulette and did not think much of what it saw below, was not deceived by the pomp. Inwardly Jack agreed, but withdrawing into his role he stiffened as they exchanged the formal courtesies, and passed on with some relief to the master-? at-?arms and the ship’s boys, taking a mean revenge in reflecting once more that Rattray had never been much of a bosun from the point of view of discipline and that now he was past his prime in the article of rigging too. The boys seemed spry enough, though here again there were more spots than was usual or pleasant; and one had a monstrous black mark on the shoulder of his frock. Tar. -
‘Master-?at-?arms,’ said Jack, ‘what is the meaning of this?’
‘It dropped on him from the rigging, sir, this last minute: which I see it fall.’ The boy, a stunted little adenoidal creature with a permanently open mouth, looked perfectly terrified.
‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘I suppose we may call it an act of God. Do not let it happen again, Peters.’ Then seeing at the edge of his official gaze that three of the boys in the back row had worked one another into a hopeless pitch of strangled mirth, mutely writhing, he passed quickly on to the larboard waisters and the after-?guard. Here the quality fell off dismally: a stupid, unhandy set of lubbers on the whole, though some of the recent Landsmen might improve. Most of them looked cheerful, good-?natured fellows; only three or four right hard bargains from the gaols; but here again he saw more gloomy, lack-?lustre faces.
The ship’s company was done: not a bad company at all, and for once he was not undermanned. But poor
