low confidential tone (in fact they knew one another quite well enough for such a remark), 'Would there never be a drop of coffee, at all?'
'I hope so,' said Philips, and he asked the passing steward. 'Oh no, sir. Oh no. This is a cocoa-ship, sir; though tea is countenanced.'
'Coffee relaxes the fibres,' called out the Thunderer's surgeon in an authoritative voice. 'I always recommend cocoa.'
'Coffee?' cried Captain Fellowes. 'Would the gentleman like coffee? Featherstonehaugh, run along and see whether the wardroom or the gunroom has any.'
'Coffee relaxes the fibres,' said the surgeon again, rather louder. 'That is a scientific fact.'
'Perhaps the Doctor might like to have his fibres relaxed, said Captain Dundas. 'I am sure I should, having stood to all night.'
'Mr McAber,' called Captain Fellowes down the table to the first lieutenant, 'pray be so good as to encourage Featherstonehaugh in his search.'
But no amount of zeal could find what did not exist. Stephen protested that it did not signify - it was of no consequence - there was always (God willing) another day - and that if he might be indulged in a cup of small beer it would go admirably with this pickled salmon. And when at last the uncomfortable meal was over he walked off to Philips' cabin to see the new volume of the Proceedings.
'How is Sir Joseph?' he asked when they were alone, referring to his close friend and hierarchical superior the head of Naval Intelligence.
'He is physically well,' said Philips, 'and perhaps a little stouter than when you last saw him: but he is worried. I shall not venture to say what about: you know how cloisonn?hese matters are with us, if I may use the expression.'
'We say bulkheaded in the Navy,' observed Stephen.
'Bulkheaded? Thank you, sir, thank you: a far better term. But this letter' - drawing it from an inner pocket - 'will no doubt tell you.'
'I am obliged to you,' said Stephen, glancing at the black Admiralty seal with its fouled anchor. 'Now please be so good as to give me a detailed account of events since last February, when I had an intelligence report from the Spanish.'
Philips looked down, reflected for a while, and said 'I wish I could tell you a happier tale. There is progress in Spain, to be sure, but everywhere else there are diplomatic reverses; and everywhere he keeps finding resources in allies, men, money, ships and naval stores, which we cannot do, or only with great and ruinous difficulty. We are stretched to the uttermost, and may break: he seems indestructible. Things are going so badly that if he delivers one more knock-down blow we may have to ask for conditions. Let me take Europe country by country...'
He was dealing with the success of Buonaparte's agents in Wallachia when a lieutenant came in with the news that as soon as the Doctor was in the Berenice's barge the captains would be piped over the side: they were making their farewells this very minute. 'And the wind is backing, too,' he added. 'You will have a drier pull.'
Drier it might have been, but not for those who habitually stood on the lowest of the steps on the ship's side, holding on to the entering ropes and pondering until she rolled and the sea rose, soaking him, this time farther than the waist. Stephen came aboard the Surprise dripping, as usual; and as usual Killick, worn thin and old and preternaturally shrewish by the task of looking after both the Captain and the Doctor, a feckless pair with their clothes and their limbs, seized him and fairly propelled him into the sleeping cabin, crying 'Your best breeches, too - your only decent breeches - take off your drawers too sir if you please - we don't want no bleeding colds in the head - and now put on this here gown and dry your feet - sopping, fairly sopping - with this here towel and I will find you something reasonably warm. God love us, where's your wig?'
'In my bosom, Killick,' answered Stephen in a conciliating tone. 'It is protecting my watch, itself wrapped in a handkerchief.'
'Wig in his bosom - wig in his bosom,' muttered Killick as he gathered up the clothes. 'Bedlam ain't in it.'
Jack had shot up the side far quicker than his surgeon, and now he called from the great cabin 'Why, Stephen, have you...' Then, recollecting that his friend disliked being asked if he had got wet, he coughed and went on in a very cheerful, incongruously cheerful, voice '... ever had such a miserable God-damned breakfast? Small beer; and greasy mutton-chops on a cold plate. A cold plate, forsooth. I have eaten better in a Dutch herring-buss off the Texel. And not a single God-damned letter - not a note - not so much as a tailor's bill. But never mind. The wind is backing. It is already come north-north-east, and if it carries on another couple of points or so we shall be in Shelmerston by Wednesday, in spite of the Berenice.'
'Had you any reason to expect letters, brother?'
'Of course I had. When we were putting in to Fayal for water we exchanged numbers with Weasel as she cleared the point, homeward-bound. She was sure to report us, and I had hoped for something at least. But no, not a word, though Dundas had a great package. Such a package, ha, ha, ha! Oh Lord, Stephen,' he said, coming in, for the half-naked Maturin was as free from shame as his ancestor, the sinless Adam. 'But I beg pardon. I am interrupting you' - glancing at the letter in Stephen's hand.
'Never in life, my dear. Tell me what makes you so happy in spite of your disappointment.'
Jack sat close by him and, in a voice intended to be so low that it would escape Killick's attentive ear - a vain hope - he said 'Heneage's letter had such a charming piece about me. Melville said he was so happy to hear that Surprise was almost in home water - had always thought it magnanimous in me - that was his very word, Stephen: magnanimous - to accept such an irregular command in spite of having been so shabbily used, and that now he had the opportunity of expressing his sense of my merits - of my merits, Stephen: do you hear me, there? - by offering me a neat little squadron that was putting together to cruise off the West African coast with some fastsailing slops to intercept slavers- you would approve of that, Stephen - and perhaps three frigates and a couple of seventyfours in case of what he called certain eventualities. And I should be a first-class commodore, Stephen, with a broad swallow-tailed burgee, a captain under me and a pennantlieutenant, not like that hard-labour Mauritius campaign, when I almost had to win the anchor myself as a mere secondclass dogsbody. Oh ha, ha, ha, Stephen! I can't tell you how happy it makes me: I can take care of Tom - he'll never be made post else: this is his only chance. And there is no mad hurry. We shall have a month and more at home, long enough for Sophie and Diana to get sick of us. Ha, ha - Shelmerston - pull ashore, leap into a post-chaise from the Crown and astonish them all at Ashgrove! What do you say to a pot of coffee at last?'
