‘I should be infinitely obliged to you, sir, but ...’
‘I used to do the same for Cousin Christine’s skeletons many years ago. And while you are playing I shall muse with the other half of my mind on the lower shaft, in which those whorls and spirals are so startlingly obvious. A very extraordinary puzzle indeed.’
‘You mean to play, Stephen?’ Jack murmured in his ear.
‘Why, certainly.’
‘Bonden,’ called Jack, ‘place the music stand and light along my fiddle, d’ye hear me, there?’
‘Aye-aye, sir: music stands and light along the fiddle it is.’
Once again the thunder roared from the saluting batteries as Jack Aubrey’s squadron made its painful and dangerous way out of Mahon harbour: short boards down the narrow Cala de San Esteban against an irregular gusting southerly breeze and what tide the Mediterranean could summon up at its worst. A small squadron now, since Briseis, Rainbow and Ganymede had been sent off to protect the eastern trade and Dover was still escorting the Indiamen on their homeward run.
Ringle, leading the way, was nimbler and brisk in stays, as became a schooner of her class, and she was tolerably at home in such waters; so was Surprise, handled by a man who had sailed her for the finest part of his life at sea and who loved her dearly - a ship, furthermore, that was blessed with an uncommonly high proportion of truly able seamen, thoroughly accustomed to her ways and to her captain’s. Not that theirs was a happy lot as the channel grew even narrower, the cries of ‘Hands about ship’ more frequent, and the recently-shipped Marines (at least one in each gun-crew) more awkward still: for in common decency the batteries’ salutes to the broad pennant had to be returned, returned exactly: and this called for wonderful activity.
Yet the sufferings of the Surprises, though severe and often commented upon, were not to be compared to those of the Pomones, a huddled-together ship’s company with a
captain who had never commanded a post-ship before, a disgruntled first lieutenant and a new second lieutenant - he was now officer of the watch - who did not know a single
man aboard and whose orders were often confused, often misunderstood and sometimes shouted down by exasperated, frightened bosun’s mates, far too busy with their starters: and all this in an unhandy, heavily-pitching frigate with far too much sail set forward, pressing down her forefoot.
The Commodore and his officers watched from the quarterdeck: often and often their faces assumed the appearance of whistling and their heads shook with the same grave, foreboding motion. Had it not been for the frenzied zeal of Pomone’s aged gunner and his mates she would never have contributed a tenth part of her share of salutes, and even so she cut but a wretched figure.
‘Shall I ever be able to use her heavy broadside in the Adriatic?’ murmured Jack to himself. ‘Or anywhere else, for that matter? Three hundred blundering hopeless grass combing buggers, for all love,’ he added, as the Pomone very, very nearly missed stays, her jib-boom brushing the pitiless rock.
Unlikely though it had seemed at times, even the Cala de San Esteban had an end: first Ringle cleared the point, stood on and brought the wind abaft the beam; and she was followed by the others. Yet although against probability he had escaped shipwreck, young Captain Vaux (a deeply conscientious officer) did not, like some of his shipmates, give way to relief and self-congratulation. ‘Silence, fore and aft,’ he cried in a voice worthy the service, and in the shocked hush he went on, ‘Mr Bates, let us take advantage of the guns being warm and the screens being rigged and make the signal Permission to fire a few rounds.’
Fortunately Mr Bates, whose talents would never have recommended him anywhere, had a thoroughly efficient master’s mate and yeoman of the signals: between them they whipped the flags from the locker, composed the hoist and ran it aloft. It had barely broken out before another intelligent young master’s mate, the recently-joined John Daniel, murmured to Mr Whewell, Surprise’s third lieutenant, ‘I beg pardon, sir, but Pomone is asking permission to fire a few rounds.’
Mr Whewell confirmed this with his telescope and the yeoman; then stepping across to Jack Aubrey he took off his hat and said, ‘Sir, if you please, Pomone requests permission to fire a few rounds.’
‘Reply As many as you can afford: but with reduced charges and abaft the beam.’
Captain Vaux was of a wealthy, open-handed family and he dreaded having the appearance of one who owed his early promotion to his
