Jack’s, in spite of his age; and after a while he said in a voice of real authority, ‘The French may say what they please, and Apicius, with his slave-fed moray eels, was no doubt very well; but it seems to me that civilization reaches its very height in the glistening, gently mottled form of just such a pudding as this, bedewed with its unctuous sauce.’
‘How wholly I agree with you, sir,’ cried Jack. ‘Allow me to cut you a slice from the translucent starboard end.’
‘Well, if I must, I must,’ said Mr Wright, eagerly advancing his plate.
Gradually the pudding diminished; the decanters made their stately round; and Jack Aubrey brought up the subject of music. ‘Until a little while ago,’ he observed, ‘I had never heard of a Bohemian composer called Zelenka.’
‘Dismas, I believe.’
Jack bowed and went on, ‘But then I was given a copy of his Ricercare for Three Voices, which we have now played several times and which I thought we might offer you with your coffee: unless indeed you would prefer the Locatelli C major trio.’
‘To tell you the truth, dear Commodore, I should prefer the Locatelli. There is something truly dispassionate and as it were geometrical in the trio that touches me, in something of the same manner as your paper on nutation and the precession of the equinoxes, considered from the navigator’s point of view, in the Transactions. But before that, may I beg Dr Maturin to show me his horn? Then while I am listening, being at the same time in physical contact with the problems posed by this improbable tooth, perhaps intuition may lead me to the solution, as it has done on three or four very happy occasions.’
Jack Aubrey had spoken of coffee, and to be sure it was as inevitable as the setting of the sun; but at present the stronger constitutions were still engaged with the remains of the spotted dog, and all hands were still drinking madeira- most emphatically all hands, since Killick, his mate and the boy, third class, who helped him in the background, were very fond of this ancient and generous wine and had perfected a way of substituting a full for a half-emptied decanter at the end of each passing: the dwarvish third-class boy wafted the first decanter out, emptied it entirely into tumblers which the three then drained in hurried gulps as opportunity offered.
Stephen had been aware of their motions for some little while - he was, in any case, well acquainted with Killick’s tendency to finish anything that was left and indeed to encourage the leaving, though rarely to this remarkable extent: Stephen had little to say about it on moral grounds, but it appeared to him that the third-class boy, a weedy little villain of about five feet, was very near his limit - he had had more opportunity than the other two and of course much less stamina. It was therefore something of a relief to Stephen when the last decanter, which had furnished the loyal toast, was removed, and Jack, Mr Wright and Jacob looked expectantly at him. ‘Killick,’ he said, ‘pray be so good as to step into my cabin and bring the bow-case hanging behind the door.’
‘Aye-aye, sir,’ cried Killick, paler than Stephen could have wished, and apt to stare. ‘Bow-case it is.’
But bow-case it was not. Killick had seen fit to take the horn out and now he could be seen for a moment in the light of the open door, making antic gestures with its point at the third-class boy, who was draining the last of the wine. ‘Oh, oh,’ cried the boy, choking, and he plunged forward in a paroxysm of adolescent drunkenness, spewing improbable jets of madeira, grasping Killick’s knees and bringing him down. He fell flat on the deck, holding the horn close to his chest. It broke in the middle with a sharp crack, sending off a long sliver that shot into the great cabin.
These things took place in the coach, the small apartment forward and to larboard, generally used on such occasions. Jack strode through it over the two bodies, calling very loud and clear for his bosun, swabbers and the master-at-arms.
Bonden took in the situation at once and in a cold, silent fury he ran the now speechless Killick away forward, while the master-at-arms dragged the limp wretched boy to the nearest pump. The swabbers, old hands at this job, set to without a word: and with extraordinary speed - no comments whatsoever - the frigate’s people cleaned up, cleared away, and even before the deck was quite dry, restored the cabin to a wholly clean and civilized condition.
Mr Wright was sitting on the broad locker that ran across the Surprise’s great cabin, just by the sweep of stern windows, when Stephen came back, carrying his ‘cello and the scores. The old gentleman had the pieces of narwhal horn carefully arranged by his side, the broken parts set together and the eighteen-inch splinter laid so exactly in place that at first sight the horn looked whole. ‘Dear Dr Maturin,’ he said, ‘I fear you must be grievously distressed.’
‘No, sir,’ said Stephen. ‘I do not mind it.’
Wright hesitated for a moment and then went on, ‘But believe me, this is one of the few things I can do really well. The providential splinter has shown me the nature of the inner substance; the breaks are perfectly clean; and I have a cement that will knit them so firmly that the tooth will retain all its original strength: a cement that would make dentists’ fortunes, were it less noxious. Pray let me take it home with me, will you?’
