'What do you say to some music, Jack?' said Stephen, coming in with a partition in his hand. 'It is long since we played, and I have just turned up the Clementi piece we used to enjoy in the Mediterranean.'
'To tell you the truth, Stephen,' said Jack, 'I have not the heart for it. I should turn it into a God-damned dirge: I should turn anything into a God-damned dirge. I have been checking my calculations with the master and our figures agree very close. I have made a wrong decision. I should have waited at the mouth of the Sibutu Passage, lying-to off the island at its eastern end, so as to engage him at musket-shot and then yardarm to yardarm.' He showed Stephen the great chart spread out over the table. 'With the south-west monsoon he had to go north about Borneo, into the Sulu Sea and then steer south for the Sibutu Passage into the Celebes Sea, for no one in his senses would venture upon the Sulu Archipelago; and having passed through he would bear away for Salibabu. And there, if my plans had gone right, I should have been waiting for him. But my plans have not gone right: they were based on the regularity of the monsoon, and the monsoon has not been regular. The days of heavy weather that made us so slow and cautious in the Macassar Strait would have hurried him through the open Celebes Sea: but if I had steered straight for Sibutu instead of slanting eastwards in this miserable breeze under the lee of the high land, I believe I should have got there first. Whereas now I am convinced that he is through and running fast for Salibabu. I might just possibly catch him before he gets there if the Corn?e is ill-found and a heavy sailor; but it would not do me much good if I did. The kind of engagement I look for is not a stern chase but a surprise attack at close quarters, boarding her in the smoke. Though it is a thousand, ten thousand to one I never see him at all. I am afraid these last few days of calm have wrecked me.'
'But if the Corn?e sails through the Salibabu Passage, will she not run into Tom Pullings and the Surprise?'
'In the first place Tom Pullings would have to be there.'
'Is that unlikely?'
'The odds against it are very long. Half a world between us and God knows what seas. And then in the second place the Corn?e would have to keep right over on the north side of the channel, quite out of her way, to be seen even hull-down from Kabruang, where I hope Tom will be lying at anchor until the twentieth. And not only to be seen but to be recognized from a distance. For who would ever expect a Frenchman in these waters? And even if these three improbabilities were overcome, would Tom leave his place of rendezvous for a chase that might lead him over two or three hundred miles of sea? Each one is unlikely, and for all four to coincide... No, as far as I can see, our only hope is to crack on like smoke and oakum, to make all sneer again, and try to make up for those infernal days of lying to. We have, after all, a beautifully clean bottom.'
'When you speak of a surprise attack and boarding in the smoke, are you not forgetting the possibility of her having no powder?
I had not forgotten it,' said Jack coldly 'No, I had certainly not forgotten it, though taking a ship in those circumstances would be about as creditable as highway robbery . To be sure, the possibility exists, but I cannot base any plan of attack upon it. The only thing that is clear is that I must try to come up with him and then act accordingly - act in a seamanlike manner,' he added, smiling affectionately, for his tone could not but have been wounding. He was very much on edge, as Stephen was perfectly aware.
The morning watch found this cracking-on in progress, and with all hands on deck after breakfast it was carried farther. Royal masts were sent up and their sails were set upon them, very fine and delicate canvas too; and since the wind, a good steady topgallant breeze, was now abaft the beam, studdingsails too made their charming appearance, four on the weather side of the foremast and two on the main, with a crowd of staysails; spritsail and spritsail topsail, of course, with all the jibe that would stand, a noble array. Presently skysails flashed out above the royals, and all hands watched the water rise high at the bows, sink to the copper abaft the forechains and then race hissing along her side, leaving a broad wake behind, stretching straight and true to the west by south.
Chapter Five
Miller, the uglier of the two resurrected midshipmen, had been commended for his piercing eyesight and his diligence as a lookout not only by Mr Richardson, his divisional officer, but by the Captain himself, and now he could scarcely be prised from the masthead. He had an immense respect for Captain Aubrey: Jack's natural authority, his reputation as a fighting captain, and his power of lifting up or casting down played their part of course, but it was his cracking on that raised Miller's respect to an enthusiastic veneration. In his five years at sea he had never seen anything like it; and his shipmates, some of whom had been afloat ten times as long, assured him he never would. And to be sure, Jack Aubrey, with a very sound, new-masted, new-rigged, clean-bottomed ship, drove the Nutmeg extremely hard now that he was in the deep waters of the Celebes Sea. He had good officers, a fairly good set of hands - they were not Surprises yet, but they were already far better than the common run - and a strong sense of frustration and guilt about his wrong decision. Day after day the Nutmeg ran eastwards under towering pyramids of canvas, Jack rooted to the quarterdeck and Miller to the masthead; he longed beyond anything to delight and astonish Captain Aubrey with the first report of the Corn?e's topgallantsails just nicking the horizon.
Day after day the degrees of longitude went by, with Jack and the master checking and double-checking them by chronometer and by lunar observation, and with Miller spending his watches below high above them; sometimes he took his meals up there in a handkerchief and always the telescope Reade had given him, saying 'It is no use to a one-armed cove, you know; but you shall treat Harper and me to a bowl of punch when we reach Botany Bay.'
Many a proa did he see, particularly west of 123 E, and the occasional junk coming down from the Philippines; those he reported in a non-committal howl, often angering the official lookouts and rarely earning much thanks from the quarterdeck. For the last few days, however, he had been mute; not only were there no vessels to be seen, but there was no horizon either. A soft warm haze filled the air, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to distinguish sea from sky - there was no edge to the world - and only a providential clearing of the mist to the north-north-west allowed him to discern a ship some two miles away, a ship steering south-east under topsails, no more. In a confident roar he hailed the quarterdeck: 'On deck, there. A ship hull-up on the larboard quarter, steering south-east.'
A moment later, transmitted by one taut set of rigging after another, he felt the vibration of a heavy powerful body racing aloft, and then he heard the Captain's voice from the maintop telling him to clear the way. They passed in the shrouds on either side of the topmast and Jack said 'Where away, Mr Miller?'
'Perhaps half a point on the quarter, sir; but she comes and goes.'
Jack settled himself on the crosstrees, staring over the soft blue sea to the north-north-west: hope, which had almost given way to resignation, flared up again, making his heart beat so that he felt its pounding in his throat. The haze cleared once more, showing the sail quite close; and hope fell to a reasonable pitch. Of course a ship steering south-east could not have been the Corn?e: nevertheless he gave the order that ran up the colours and brought the Nutmeg round in an elegant curve to close the stranger, a quite remarkably shabby Dutch merchant- man, fat and deep-waisted. She made no attempt to escape, but lay there with a backed topsail until the Nutmeg ranged up on her windward side. Her crew, mostly black or greyish brown, lined the rail, looking pleased. Not one of her little range of guns - six-pounders, in all likelihood - had been run out.
