had procured this coffee, these eggs, this butter, this soft tack, on shore and had put them on the table the morning after a hot engagement - ship still cleared for action and the galley knocked sideways by the fire from Cape Bear. Jack had known Killick ever since his first command, and as he had risen in rank so Killick’s sullen independence had increased; he was angrier than usual now because Jack had wrecked his number three uniform and lost one of his gloves: ‘Coat torn in five places - cutlass slash in the forearm which how can I ever darn that? Bullet ‘ole all singed, never get the powder-?marks out. Breeches all a-?boo, and all this nasty blood everywhere, like you’d been a-?wallowing in a lay-?stall, sir. What Miss would say, I don’t know, sir. God strike me blind. Epaulette ‘acked, fair ‘acked to pieces. (Jesus, what a life.)’
Outside he could hear pumps, the hose carrying across, and the cry of ‘Wring and pass, wring and pass,’ that meant swabs were going aboard the gunboats; and presently, after Killick had displayed his yesterday’s uniform again, with a detailed reminder of its cost, Mr Simmons sent to ask whether he had a moment.
‘Dear me,’ thought Jack, ‘was I so very unpleasant and forbidding? Ask him to step in. Come in, come in, Mr Simmons; sit down and have a cup of coffee.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Simmons, casting a reconnoitring look at him. Wonderful odour, grateful to the mind. I ventured to disturb you, sir, because Garron, going through the cabin of the gunboat, found this in a drawer. I have not your command of French, sir, but glancing through I thought you ought to see it at once.’ He passed a broad flat book, its covers made of sheet-?lead.
‘Hey, hey!’ cried Jack, with a bright and lively eye. ‘Here’s a palm in Gilead, by God - private signals -code by numbers - lights - recognition in fog - Spanish and other allied signals. What does banni?re de partance mean, do you think? Pavilion de beaupr?, that’s a jack. Misaine’s the foremast, though you might not think it. Hunes de perroquet? Well, damn the hunes de perroquet, the pictures are clear enough. Charming, ain’t they?’ He turned back to the front. ‘Valid until the twenty-?fifth. They change with the moon, I suppose. I hope we may profit by it - a little treasure while it lasts. How do you come along with the gunboat?’
‘We are pretty forward, sir. She will be ready for you as soon as her decks are dry.’ There was a superstition in the Navy that damp was mortal to superior officers and that its malignant effects increased with rank; few first lieutenants turned out before the dawn washing of the decks was almost finished, and no commander or post-? captain until they had been swabbed, squeegeed and flogged dry. The gun-?boat was being flogged at this moment.
‘I had thought of sending her down to Gibraltar with young Butler, a responsible petty-?officer or two, and the crew of the launch. He did very well - pistolled her captain
- and so did they, in their heathen fashion. The command would do him good. Have you any observations to offer, Mr Simmons?’ he asked, seeing the lieutenant’s face.
‘Well, sir, since you are so good as to ask me, might I suggest another crew? I say nothing whatsoever against these men - quiet, attentive, sober, give no trouble, never brought to the gangway - but we took the Chinamen out of an armed junk with no cargo, almost certainly a pirate, and the Malays out of a proa of the same persuasion, and I feel that if they were sent away, they might be tempted to fall to their old ways. If we had found a scrap of evidence, we should have strung ‘cm up. We had the yardarm rigged, but Captain Hamond, being a magistrate at home, had scruples about evidence. There was some rumour of their having ate it.’
‘Pirates? I see, I see. That explains a great deal. Yes, yes; of course. Are you sure?’
‘I have no doubt of it myself, both from the circumstances and from remarks that they have let fall since. Every second vessel is a pirate in those seas, or will be if occasion offers, right round from the Persian Gulf to Borneo. But they look upon things differently there, and to tell you the truth, I should be loath to see High Bum or John Satisfaction swinging in a noose now; they have improved wonderfully since they came among us; they have given up praying to images and spitting on deck, and they listen to the tracts Mr Carew reads them with proper respect.’
‘Oh, now, there’s no question,’ cried Jack. ‘If the Judge Advocate of the Fleet were to tell me to hang an able seaman, let alone the captain of the maintop, I should tell him to - I should decline. But, as you say, we must not lead them into temptation. It was only a passing thought; she might just as well stay in company. Indeed, it would be better. Mr Butler shall have her, though; pray be so good as to pick a suitable crew.’
The gunboat stayed in company, and at dusk the Livelys’ launch pulled round under her stern on its way inshore, towards the dark loom of the island. Mr Butler, packing his own quarterdeck, ordered the salute in a voice that started deep and shot up into a strangled, blushing squeak, his first experience of the anguish of command.
Jack, wrapped in a boat-?cloak, with a dark-?lantern between his knees, sat in the stern-?sheets, filled with pleasurable anticipation. He had not seen Stephen Maturin for a vast stretch of time, made even longer by the grinding monotony of the blockade: how lonely he had been for the want of that harsh, unpleasant voice! Two hundred and fifty-?nine men living in promiscuity, extreme promiscuity for the lower-?deck, and the two hundred and sixtieth a hermit: of course it was the common lot of captains, it was the naval condition, and like all other lieutenants he had strained every nerve to reach this stark isolation; but admitting the fact made precious little odds to what it felt like. No consolation in philosophy. Stephen would have seen Sophie only a few weeks ago, perhaps even less; he would certainly have messages from her, possibly a letter. He put his hand secretly to the crinkle in his bosom, and lapsed into a reverie. A moderate following sea heaved the launch in towards the land; with the rhythm of the waves and the long even pull and creak of the oars he dozed, smiling in his almost sleep.
He knew the creek well, as indeed he knew most of the island, having been stationed there when it was a British possession; it was called Cala Blau, and he and Stephen had often come over from Port Mahon to watch a pair of red-?legged falcons that had their nest on the cliff above.
He recognised it at once when Bonden, his coxswain, looked up from the glowing compass and gave a low order, changing course a trifle. There was the curious peaked rock, the ruined chapel on the skyline, the even blacker place low on the cliff-?face that was in fact a cave where monk-?seals bred. ‘Lay on your oars,’ he said softly, and flashed the dark-?lantern towards the shore, staring through the darkness. No answering light. But that did not worry him. ‘Give way,’ he said, and as the oars dipped he held his watch to the light. They had timed it well: ten minutes to go. Not that Stephen had, or by his nature ever could have, a naval sense of time; and in any event this was only the first of the four days of rendezvous.
Looking eastwards he saw the first stars of the Pleiades on the clear horizon; once before he had fetched Stephen from a lonely beach when the stars were just so. The launch lay gently pitching, kept just stern-?on by a touch of the oars. Now the Pleiades had heaved clear, the whole tight constellation, He signalled again. ‘Nothing more likely than he cannot strike a light,’ he thought, still without any apprehension. ‘In any case, I should like to walk there again; and I shall leave him a private sign. Run her in, Bonden,’ he said. ‘Handsomely, handsomely. No noise at all.’
The boat slipped over the black, starlit water, pausing twice again to listen: once they heard the snort of a seal breaking surface, then nothing until the sand grated under her bows.
