They ate a large quantity of ox-tail soup, Jack fairly shovelling it down like a boy, then half a small tunny, caught by trolling over the side, and then their almost invariable toasted cheese, a Minorcan fromatge duro, not unlike Cheddar, that toasted remarkably well.
‘What a joy it is to satisfy desire,’ observed Jack when all was done. He emptied his glass, threw down his napkin, and said, ‘Will you not turn in now, Stephen? It is very late. I shall be doing nothing but work steadily to windward: there will be no excitement until well on in the morning watch, when I hope to find these skulking villains under our lee.’
Comfortable words: but scarcely had hammocks been piped up (at six bells, this being a Sunday morning) and scarcely had the sound of stowing them in the nettings been superimposed upon that of the decks being thoroughly cleaned, than something very like a battle broke out, starting with fairly distant gunfire, then deep-voiced cannon no great way off.
Yet there was no interruption in the steady swabbing overhead, the flogging of the spotless quarterdeck to spotless dryness, no excited cries, no orders, and above all no beating to quarters; and as the Surprise began to fire Stephen’s mind arose, not without difficulty, still somewhat bemused from an extraordinarily vivid, and coloured dream of wiring a small primate’s skeleton together, Christine Wood directing or performing the more delicate movements, and he realized that this was not an engagement at all but the leisurely, regular, and perfectly dispassionate return to a salute.
A young gentleman darted in, stood by Stephen’s cot and in a very shrill voice he cried, ‘Sir, if you please: if you are awake the Captain desires you will come on deck, in uniform.’ He had obviously been told to emphasize the last words, and this he did with such force that his voice broke an octave above its usual pitch.
Messages about uniform and respectability had also reached Killick, who now, opening the door, called out, ‘By your leave, Mr Spooner, I have to attend to the Doctor. Captain’s orders. Not a moment to spare - the Devil to pay and no pitch hot.’ Quite what he meant by this was far from clear, but he hustled the boy out, and with a zeal to be equalled only by his desire for forgiveness he plucked Stephen’s nightshirt from him, sponged and soaped his face, shaved it as close as a bridegroom’s, clothed him in clean drawers, a cambric shirt and his regulation garments, hissing the while as though to soothe a restive horse, arranged his cravat, clapped on and smoothed his best wig - all without a word in answer to Stephen’s now peevish enquiries but with an intensity that compelled respect - and so led him up to the quarterdeck, delivering him to Harding by the capstan with a final tweak.
‘There you are, Doctor,’ cried Jack, turning from the starboard rail, ‘a very good morning to you. Here’s a glorious sight.’
Blinking in the glare of the early sun, Stephen followed his pointing hand, and there rode a fine proud frigate together with a smaller, shabbier companion, probably a twenty-two-gun corvette: they were both wearing the Bourbon ensign, a white flag with a white cross; and rather more than half-way between the two French ships and Surprise a captain’s barge was rowing with an even stroke.
Stephen had been quite extraordinarily far down in his dreaming sleep, and even after his brisk handling and the brilliant dawn all round he found it hard to fix his mind on Jack’s explanation: ‘...so there he is in his barge, coming across to breakfast. Do not you recognize him, Stephen? Surely you recognize him? Take my glass.’
Stephen took the glass. He focused it, and there, sharp and clear in the early sun, was the happy, familiar face of Captain Christy-Palliere, their captor a little before the Algeciras action in 18o1 and then their host in Toulon during the brief peace that followed. ‘How happy I am to see him,’ he cried.
‘Yes. He declared for the king at once, and so did all his officers - they had almost finished refitting in a little yard south of Castelnuovo, bar some spars and a certain amount of cordage - but many of the other sea-officers up and down the coast were all for Bonaparte or for setting up on their own account, and some are preparing for sea. He had meant to head straight for Malta, where he had friends, but the wind would not serve (as it does not serve for us) so he came by Messina, and in the straits he picked up that corvette, commanded by a cousin of his.’
Already the Marines were beginning to form on the quarterdeck; the bosun had his ceremonial whistle, the sideboys were fiddling with their gloves. Stephen was gathering his wits, but not as quickly as he could have wished - the dream still hung heavily about him. He glanced aft, where the Pomone lay with a backed foresail, heaving on the swell; and the sight of her, though she was not vessel he could like, brought him more nearly into the present world. The Ringle, with a tender’s modesty, rode under the Commodore’s lee.
The French barge hooked on: the side-boys ran down with their padded man-ropes, and the moment Captain Christy-Palliere set foot upon the steps the bosun raised his call and piped him aboard in style.
‘Captain Christy-Palliere,’ cried Jack, taking him most affectionately by the hand, ‘how very happy I am to see you here, and looking so uncommon well - I do not have to introduce Dr Maturin, I am sure?’
‘Never in life,’ said Christy-Palliere in his perfect English. ‘Dear Doctor, how do you do?’ They too shook hands, and Jack went on, ‘But you will allow me to present my first lieutenant, Mr
