give Killick a hand and followed him to the after hatchway, from which they cast back a wan and anxious look.
He found Jack and Harding looking most attentively at the new accommodation-ladder, shipped for their illustrious guests. ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘forgive me, but I must have a word with you. You will excuse me, Mr Harding?’
In the cabin he went on, ‘I have been bursting with my news - there’was not a single fit moment aboard the Ringle. As, you know very well, one of the prime objects of our voyage was, to prevent gold reaching the Adriatic Muslims.’ Jack nodded. ‘The then Dey agreed not to let it pass by way of Algiers: but he has been murdered and betrayed: the gold is now aboard a very rapid vessel in the port of Arzila - is now or very soon will be aboard. This vessel, a galley, as I recall, is to attempt the passage of the Strait by night with a favourable wind. Is it reasonable that we should lie here, inactive? I knew the facts in Algiers, and it almost killed me, being unable to tell you because of that cruel south wind, and the days passing, passing.’
‘How well I, understand your pain, dear Stephen,’ said Jack, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘But you must recollect that these same southerly gales have been blowing elsewhere, even far west of the Canaries. They have kept almost all shipping on the west coast of Spain and Portugal in port, and even stout, new-built ships of the line did not attempt the Strait and its wicked lee-shore until last Monday. Your Moorish galley or xebec would never, never have ventured out in such seas. Take comfort, brother. Drink up a little glass of gin to restore your appetite, and enjoy your dinner.
The Admiral is coming, and his politico, and your friend Mr Wright - he has often asked after you.’
‘You relieve my mind wonderfully, Jack.’ Stephen sat breathing deeply for a while: he looked so pale that Jack poured his gin at once, added a squeeze of lemon, and urged him to get it down in little sips before he changed.
Before the glass was empty someone knocked at the cabin door. It was Simpson, the ship’s barber, with a fresh white apron and jug of hot water. ‘Simpson, sir,’ he said. ‘Which Killick thought the Doctor might like a shave.’
Stephen ran his hand over his chin, as men will do on such occasions - even Popes have been known to make the same gesture - and he acquiesced. It was therefore a smoothed, brushed, and quite well-dressed Dr Maturin who stood there on deck, just before the appointed hour, behind the Commodore, his first lieutenant and the officer of the Royal Marines, all equally smooth and all in their splendour, blue and gold for the sailors, scarlet and gold for the soldiers. As the more conscientious clocks of Mahon prepared to strike the hour, Admiral Fanshawe stepped from a coach, followed by his secretary and political adviser; and before he set foot on deck, hats flew off, the bosun sounded his call and the Marines presented arms with a perfectly simultaneous crash.
Some time after this, an aged, shabby gentleman wearing the clothes of another age and followed by two porters carrying a copper tube wandered hesitantly towards the accommodation-ladder: mounting it with some difficulty, he said to the officer of the deck, ‘Sir, my name is Wright: Captain Aubrey was so kind as to invite me, but I fear I may be a little late.’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Whewell. ‘May I show you the way to the cabin, and unburden your men? Wilcox, Price, come and take this tube, will you?’
‘You are too kind,’ said Mr Wright, and he followed Whewell aft. But the two porters would not be unburdened: they carried right on with their tube, entering the already somewhat crowded great cabin with their tube and thrust it across the table, regardless of cloth, glasses and silver, saying loud and clear, ‘One and fourpence, sir, if you please.’
‘Eh?’ cried Mr Wright, from the midst of his conversation with the Commodore and Dr Maturin.
‘One and fourpence, or we carry it away.’
Harding whipped round the table, gave them half a crown and in a low, very,very vicious tone desired them to get out of the ship. Killick and his mate Grimble, together with the more presentable gunroom servants, smoothed the snowy cloth, rearranged the glasses and silver and watched as Mr Wright, wholly unconscious of inconvenience, untimeliness and fuss, unsealed one end of the tube, gave the other end to the Commodore to hold, and withdrew the gleaming narwhal’s horn, perfect in its curves and spirals, without a hint of repair. ‘I cannot detect the slightest join,’ cried Stephen. ‘It is a masterpiece. Thank you, sir: thank you very much indeed.’
All this, to the bitter grief of the Commodore’s cook, had delayed the beginning of dinner quite shockingly; but in time they were all seated. Jack at the head of the table, Admiral Fanshawe on his right, then Reade, the Marine officer, the Admiral’s secretary, Harding at the foot, then Stephen with Mr Wright next to him; then came the Admiral’s political adviser and lastly Dr Jacob - a pretty large party for so small a frigate, but with the table set athwartships and the guns trundled into the coach and the sleeping-cabin it could be done. And done it was, with great success: the news of the horn’s perfect restoration, of its being in an even finer state of beauty than before - Mr Wright, with his delicate burrs and buffs having given it the gleam of fine old ivory - spread rapidly through the frigate: the ship’s luck was aboard again. Killick’s unattractive, shrewish face beamed once more,
