O'Brian Patrick - Aub-Mat 16 - The Wine-Dark Sea

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PATRICK O'BRIAN

The Wine-Dark Sea

Chapter One

A purple ocean, vast under the sky and devoid of all visible life apart from two minute

ships racing across its immensity. They were as close-hauled to the somewhat irregular

north-east trades as ever they could be, with every sail they could safely carry and even

more, their bowlines twanging taut: they had been running like this day after day,

sometimes so far apart that each saw only the other's topsails above the horizon,

sometimes within gunshot; and when this was the case they fired at one another with their

chasers.

The foremost ship was the Franklin, an American privateer of twenty-two guns, nine-

pounders, and her pursuer was the Surprise, a twenty-eight-gun frigate formerly belonging

to the Royal Navy but now acting as a privateer too, manned by privateersmen and

volunteers: she was nominally commanded by a half-pay officer named Thomas Pullings

but in fact by her former captain, Jack Aubrey, a man much higher on the post-captain's

list than would ordinarily have been found in so small and antiquated a ship - an

anomalous craft entirely, for although she purported to be a privateer her official though

unpublished status was that of His Majesty's Hired Vessel Surprise. She had set out on

her voyage with the purpose of carrying her surgeon, Stephen Maturin, to South America,

there to enter into contact with those leading inhabitants who wished to make Chile and

Peru independent of Spain: for Maturin, as well as being a doctor of medicine, was an

intelligence-agent exceptionally well qualified for this task, being a Catalan on his mother's

side and bitterly opposed to Spanish - that is to say Castilian - oppression of his country.

He was indeed opposed to oppression in all its forms, and in his youth he had supported

the United Irishmen (his father was a Catholic Irish officer in the Spanish service) in

everything but the violence of 1798: but above all, far above all, he abhorred that of

Buonaparte, and he was perfectly willing to offer his services to the British government to

help put an end to it, to offer them gratis pro Deo, thus doing away with any hint of the

odious name of spy, a vile wretch hired by the Ministry to inform upon his friends, a name

associated in his Irish childhood with that of Judas, Spy-Wednesday coming just before

the Passion.

His present undertaking, resumed after a long interruption caused by the traitorous

passing of information from London to Madrid, gave him the greatest satisfaction, for its

success would not only weaken the two oppressors but it would also cause extreme anger

and frustration in a particular department of French intelligence that was trying to bring

about the same result, though with the difference that the independent South American

governments should feel loving and strategically valuable gratitude towards Paris rather

than London.

He had had many causes for satisfaction since they left the Polynesian island of Moahu in

pursuit of the Franklin. One was that the American had chosen to rely on her remarkable

powers of sailing very close to the wind on a course that was leading them directly

towards his destination; another was that although her sailing-master, an old Pacific hand

from Nantucket, handled her with uncommon skill, doing everything in his power to run

clear or shake off his pursuer by night, neither his guile nor his seamanship could

outmatch Aubrey's. If the Franklin slipped a raft over the side in the darkness, lighting

lanterns upon it, dowsing her own and changing course, she found the Surprise in her

wake when the day broke clear; for Jack Aubrey had the same instinct, the same sense of

timing and a far greater experience of war.

Still another cause for satisfaction was that every successive noonday observation

showed them slanting rapidly down towards the equator and some two hundred miles or

more closer to Peru, a country that Dr Maturin associated not only with potential

independence but also with the coca plant, a shrub whose dried leaves he, like the

Peruvians, was accustomed to chew as a relief from mental or spiritual distress and

physical or intellectual weariness as well as a source of benignity and general well-being.

Rats, however, had eaten his store of leaves somewhere south of Capricorn. Coca leaves

could not be replaced in New South Wales, where the Surprise had spent some dismal

weeks, and he looked forward eagerly to a fresh supply: ever since he last heard from his

wife - letters had caught up with the ship off Norfolk Island - he had felt a deep indwelling

anxiety about her; and the coca leaves might at least dispel the irrational part of it. They

sharpened the mind wonderfully; and he welcomed the prospect of that familiar taste, the

deadening of the inside of his mouth and pharynx, and the calming of his spirit in what he

termed 'a virtuous ataraxy', a freedom that owed nothing to alcohol, that contemptible

refuge, nor even to his old love opium, which might be objected to on physical and even

perhaps on moral grounds.

This was scarcely a subject that so discreet, private and indeed secretive a person as

Stephen Maturin was likely to discuss, and although it flashed into his mind as a piece of

green seaweed rose momentarily on the bow-wave, all he said to his companion was 'It is

a great satisfaction to see the ocean a colour so near to that of new wine - of certain kinds

of new wine - as it comes gushing from the press.'

He and Nathaniel Martin, his assistant-surgeon, were standing in the frigate's beakhead, a

roughly triangular place in front of and below the forecastle, the very foremost part of the

ship where the bowsprit reached out, where the seamen's privy was to be found, and

where the medicoes were least in the way, not only of the hands trimming the sails to

capture the greatest possible thrust from the wind but, and above all, of the gunners

serving the two bow-chasers on the forecastle, guns that pointed almost directly forward.

The gun-crews in question were commanded by Captain Aubrey himself, who pointed and

fired the windward chaser, a long brass nine-pounder called Beelzebub, and by Captain

Pullings, who did the same for the leeward gun: they both had much the same style of

firing, which was not surprising, since Captain Pullings had been one of Jack's

midshipmen in his first command, a great while ago in the Mediterranean, and had learnt

all his practical gunnery from him. They were now very carefully aiming their pieces at the

Franklin's topsail yards with the intent of cutting halyards, backstays and the whole nexus

of cordage at the level of the mainyard and even with luck of wounding the mainyard itself:

in any case of delaying her progress without damage to her hull. There was no point in

battering the hull of a prize, and a prize the Franklin seemed fated to be in the long run -

perhaps even today, since the Surprise was perceptibly gaining. The range was now a

thousand yards or even a little less, and both Jack and Pullings waited for just before the

height of the roll to send their shot racing over the broad stretch of water.

'The Captain does not like it, however,' observed Maturin, referring to the wine-dark sea.

'He says it is not natural. He admits the colour, which we have all seen in the

Mediterranean on occasion; he admits the swell, which though unusually broad is not rare

but the colour and the swell together ..."

The crash and rumble of the Captain's gun, followed with scarcely a pause by Pullings',

cut him short: smoke and smouldering scraps of wad whistled about their heads, yet even

before they swept away to leeward Stephen had his spyglass to his eye. He could not

catch the flight of the ball, but in three heartbeats he saw a hole appear low in the

Frenchman's topsail, joining a score of others. To his astonishment he also saw a jet of

water shoot from her lee scuppers, and above him he heard Tom Pullings' cry. 'They are

starting their water, sir!'

'What does this signify?' asked Martin quietly. He had not applied to a very valuable

source, Dr Maturin being strictly a land-animal, but in this case Stephen could truthfully

reply 'that they were pumping their fresh water over the side to lighten the ship and make

it go faster'. 'Perhaps,' he added, 'they may also throw their guns and boats overboard. I

have seen it done.'

A savage cheer from all the Surprises in the fore part of the ship showed him that he was

seeing it again; and having watched the first few splashes he passed Martin the glass.

The boats went overboard, and the guns: but not quite all the guns. As the Franklin's

speed increased, her two stern-chasers fired together, the white smoke streaming away

across her wake.

'How disagreeable it is to be fired at,' said Martin, shrinking into as small a space as

possible; and as he spoke one ball hit the best bower anchor close behind them with an

enormous clang: the sharp fragments, together with the second ball, cut away almost all

the foretopgallantmast's support. The mast and its attendant canvas fell quite slowly,

spars breaking right and left, and the Surprise's bow-chasers just had time to reply, both

shots striking the Franklin's stern. But before either Jack's or Pullings' crew could reload

their guns they were enveloped in sailcloth, whilst at the same time all hands aft raised the

cry Man overboard and the ship flew up into the wind, all her sails taken aback and

clattering like a madhouse. The Franklin fired a single gun: an extraordinary cloud of

smoke, and extraordinary report. But it was drowned by Captain Aubrey's roar of 'Clew up,

clew up, there,' and emerging from the canvas 'Where away?'

'Larboard quarter, sir,' cried several hands. 'It's Mr Reade.'

'Carry on, Captain Pullings,' said Jack, whipping off his shirt and diving straight into the

sea. He was a powerful swimmer, the only one in the ship, and from time to time he

heaved himself high out of the water like a seal to make sure of his direction. Mr Reade, a

midshipman of fourteen, had never been able to do much more than keep afloat, and

since losing an arm in a recent battle he had not bathed at all. Fortunately the remaining

arm was firmly hooked into the bars of a hen-coop that had been thrown to him from the

quarterdeck, and though sodden and bruised he was perfectly in possession of his wits.

'Oh sir,' he cried from twenty yards, 'Oh sir, I am so sorry - oh how I hope we han't missed

the chase.'

'Are you hurt?' asked Jack.

'Not at all, sir: but I am so sorry you should have . . .'

'Then clap on to my hair' - the Captain wore it long and clubbed, 'and so get set on my

shoulders. D'ye hear me there?'

From time to time on the way back to the ship Reade apologized into Jack's ear, or hoped

they had not lost the chase; but he was often choked with salt water, for Jack was now

swimming against the wind and the set of the sea, and he plunged deep at every stroke.

Reade was less coldly received aboard than might have been expected: in the first place

he was much esteemed by all hands, and in the second it was clear to any seaman that

his being rescued had not in fact delayed the pursuit of the prize: whether Reade had

gone overboard or not, the shattered crosstrees had to be replaced and new spars, sails

and cordage had to be sent aloft before the frigate could resume her course. Those few

hands who were not extremely busy with the tangle forward passed him the bight of a

rope, hauled him aboard, asked him with real kindness how he did, and handed him over

to Sarah and Emily Sweeting, two little black, black girls from a remote Melanesian island,

belonging to Dr Maturin and attached to the sick-berth, to be led below and given dry

clothes and a cup of tea. And as he went even Awkward Davies, who had been rescued

twice and who often resented sharing the distinction, called out 'It was me as tossed you

the hen-coop, sir. I heaved it overboard, ha, ha, ha!'

As for the Captain, he was already in conference with Mr Bulkeley the bosun, and the only

congratulations he received were from Pullings, who said, 'Well, and so you've done it

again, sir,' before going on to the foretopmost cheekblocks. Jack looked for no more,

indeed not for as much: he had pulled so many people out of the water in the course of his

time at sea that he thought little of it, while those who, like Bonden his coxswain, Killick his

steward and several others, had served with him ever since his first command, had seen

him do it so often that it seemed natural -some God-damned lubber fell in: the skipper

fished him out -while the privateersmen and smugglers who made up most of the rest of

the crew had acquired much of their shipmates' phlegm.

In any case they were all much too preoccupied with getting the barky into chasing trim

again to indulge in abstract considerations; and to objective spectators like Maturin and

his assistant it was a pleasure to see the intense, accurately-directed and almost silent

energy with which they worked, a highly skilled crew of seamen who knew exactly what to

do and who were doing it with whole-hearted zeal. The medicoes, having crawled from

under the foretopmast staysail, had gone below to find Reade perfectly well, being fed

with sick-berth biscuit by the little girls; and now they were watching the strenuous activity

from the quarterdeck, where the ordinary life of the ship was going on in a sparse sort of

way: West, the officer of the watch, was at his station, telescope under his arm; helmsmen

and quartermaster by the wheel.

'Turn the glass and strike the bell,' cried the quartermaster in a loud official voice.

There was no one there of course to obey the order so he turned the glass himself and

paced forward towards the belfry to strike the bell. But both gangways were obstructed

with spars, cordage and a crowd of straining bodies, and he had to go down into the waist

and pick his way among the carpenter and his crew as they worked sweating under the

sun, now half-way to its height and terrible in the copper-coloured sky. They were shaping

not only the new crosstrees but also the heel of the new topgallantmast, an intent body of

men, working to very fine limits in a rolling ship, plying sharp-edged tools and impatient of

the slightest interruption. But the quartermaster was a dogged soul; he had served with

Nelson in the Agamemnon and the Vanguard; he was not going to be stopped by a parcel

of carpenters; and presently four bells rang out their double chime. The quartermaster

returned, followed by oaths and bringing with him the two helmsmen who were to take

their trick at the wheel.

'Mr West,' said Stephen, 'do you suppose we shall eat our dinner today?"

Mr West's expression was difficult to read; the loss of his nose, frost-bitten south of the

Horn, gave what had been a mild, good-humoured, rather stupid face an appearance of

malignity; and this was strengthened by a number of sombre reflexions, more recently

acquired.

'Oh yes,' he said absently. 'Unless we are in close action we always shoot the sun and

pipe to dinner at noon.'

'No, no. I mean our ceremony in the gunroom.'

'Oh, of course,' said West. 'What with Reade going overboard and the chase stopping us

dead and tearing away like smoke and oakum just as we were overhauling her, it slipped

my mind. Masthead, there,' he hailed. 'What do you see?'

'Precious little, sir,' the voice came floating down. 'It is cruel hazy - orange sorts of haze -

in the south-east; but sometimes I catch what might be a twinkle of topgallants.'

West shook his head, but went on, 'No, no, Doctor; never you fret about our dinner. Cook

and steward laid it on handsome, and though we may be a little late I am sure we shall eat

it - there, do you see, the crosstrees go aloft. They will be swaying up the mast directly.'

'Will they indeed? Order out of chaos so soon?'

'Certainly they will. Never you fret about your dinner.'

'I will not,' said Stephen, who accepted what seamen told him about ships with the same

simplicity as that with which they accepted what he told them about their bodies. 'Take this

bolus,' he would say. 'It will rectify the humours amazingly,' and they, holding their noses

(for he often used asafoetida) would force the rounded mass down, gasp, and feel better

at once. With his mind at ease, therefore, Stephen said to Martin 'Let us make our

forenoon rounds,' and went below.

West, left to his solitude, returned to his own fretting - an inadquate word for his concern

for the future and his anxiety about the present. Captain Aubrey had begun this much-

interrupted voyage with his old shipmate Tom Pullings acting as his first lieutenant and

two broken officers, West and Davidge, as second and third. He did not know them as

anything but competent seamen, but he was aware that the sentences of their courts-

martial had been thought extremely harsh in the service - West was dismissed for

duelling, Davidge for signing a dishonest purser's accounts without checking them -and

that reinstatement was their chief aim in life. Up until recently they had been in a fair way

to it; but when the Surprise was nearly a thousand miles out of Sydney Cove, sailing

eastwards across the Pacific Ocean, it was found that a senior midshipman named Oakes

had stowed a young gentlewoman away in the cable-tier; and this had led almost all the

gunroom officers except Dr Maturin to behave extremely badly. Her instant marriage to

Oakes had set her free in that she was no longer a transported convict liable to be taken

up again, but it did not liberate her from the adulterous wishes, motions, and jealousies of

her shipmates. West and Davidge were the worst and Captain Aubrey, coming late to an

understanding of the position, had told them that if they did not put aside the barbarous

open enmity that was spreading discord and inefficiency in the ship he would turn them

ashore: farewell for ever to any hope of reinstatement.

Davidge had been killed in the recent action that made the Polynesian island of Moahu at

least a nominal part of the British Empire and Oakes had gone off for Batavia with his

Clarissa in a recaptured prize; but so far Captain Aubrey had said nothing. West did not

know whether his zeal in the approaches to Moahu and in getting the carronades up

through rough country and his modest part in the battle itself had earned him forgiveness

or whether he should be dismissed when the ship reached Peru: an agonizing thought.

What he did know, here and in the immediate present, was that a valuable prize, in which

he would share even if he were later dismissed, had almost certainly escaped. They would

never catch her before nightfall and in this hazy, moonless darkness, she could run a

hundred miles, never to be seen again.

That was one torment to his spirit: another was that this morning Captain Aubrey had

promoted Grainger, a forecastle-man in the starboard watch, to fill the vacancy left by

Davidge's death, just as he had raised a young fellow called Sam Norton to replace

Oakes. West had to admit that Grainger was a capital seaman, a master-mariner who had

sailed his own brig on the Guinea run until he was taken by two Salee rovers off Cape

Spartel; but he did not like the man at all. He had already known what it was to be shut up

in the gunroom with a shipmate he detested, seeing him at every meal, hearing his voice;

and now it seemed that he should have to go through the odious experience again for at

least the breadth of the Pacific. Yet more than that, far more, he felt that the gunroom and

the quarterdeck, the privileged places in a man-of-war, were not only sacred in

themselves but that they conferred a kind of sanctity on their rightful inhabitants, a

particular being and an identity. He felt this strongly, though he found the notion difficult to

express; and now that Davidge was dead there was nobody with whom he could discuss

it. Pullings was a small tenant-farmer's son; Adams, though he acted as purser, was only

the Captain's clerk; and Martin did not seem to think either family or caste of much

importance. Dr Maturin, who lived almost entirely with the Captain, being his particular

friend, was of illegitimate birth and the subject could not be raised with him; while even if

West had been in high favour with his commander it would have been quite useless to

suggest that if it was necessary to promote foremast jacks, as it was in this case, then

they might be made master's mates, herding with the midshipmen, so that the gunroom

should be preserved: useless, because Jack Aubrey belonged to an older Navy in which a

collier's mate like James Cook could die a much-honoured post-captain, and a foremast-

hand like William Mitchell might begin his career by being flogged round the fleet and end

it as a vice-admiral, rather than to the modern service, in which an officer had not only to

pass for lieutenant but also for gentleman if he were to advance.

Dr Maturin and his assistant had the usual seamen's diseases to treat and a few wounds

to dress, not from the recent battle, which had been a mere point-blank butchery of an

enemy caught in a narrow rocky defile, but from the wear and tear of dragging guns up

and down a jungly mountainside. They also had one interesting case of a sailor who, less

sure-footed by land than by sea, had fallen on to the pointed end of a cut bamboo, which

let air into the cavity of his thorax, into his pleura, with the strangest effect on one lung.

This they discussed at length, in Latin, to the great satisfaction of the sick-berth, where

heads turned gravely from one speaker to the other, nodding from time to time, while the

patient himself looked modestly down and Padeen Colman, Dr Maturin's almost monoglot

Irish servant and loblolly-boy, wore his Mass-going reverential face.

They never heard the orders that attended the swaying-up of the new topgallantmast, an

anxious business at such a height and with such a swell; nor did they hear the cry of

'Launch ho!' as the bosun's mate at the topmast head banged the fid home through the

heel of the topgallantmast, thus supporting it on the topmast trestle-tree. The complex

business of securing the long unhandy pole escaped them too - an exceedingly complex

business, for although before the swaying-up the shrouds had been placed over the head

of the mast, followed by the backstays, the preventer-stays and the very stay itself, they all

had to be made fast, bowsed upon and set up simultaneously with all possible dispatch so

that they exerted an equally-balanced force fore and aft and on either side. The rigging of

the topgallant yard with all its appurtenances also passed unnoticed; so did two typical

naval illogicalities, for whereas by tradition and good sense only the lightest of the topmen

laid out on the lofty yard to loose the sail, this time, once it was loosed, sheeted home and

hoisted, the Captain, with his acknowledged sixteen stone, ran aloft with his glass to

sweep what vague horizon could still be distinguished through the growing haze.

But the medical men and their patients did make out the cheer as the ship returned to her

former course, and they did feel her heel as she gathered way, running with a far more

lively motion, while all the mingled sounds of the wind in the rigging and the water

streaming along her side took on the urgent note of a ship chasing once more.

Almost immediately after the Surprise had settled into her accustomed pace, shouldering

the strange-coloured sea high and wide, the hands were piped to dinner, and in the usual

Bedlam of cries and banging mess-kids that accompanied the ceremony, Stephen

returned to the quarterdeck, where the Captain was standing at the windward rail, gazing

steadily out to the eastward: he felt Stephen's presence and called him over. 'I have never

seen anything like it," he said, nodding at the sea and the sky.

'It is much thicker now than it was when I went below,' said Stephen. 'And now an umber

light pervades the whole, like a Claude Lorraine run mad.'

'We had no noon observation, of course,' said Jack. 'There was no horizon and there was

no sun to bring down to it either. But what really puzzles me is that every now and then,

quite independent of the swell, the sea twitches: a quick pucker like a horse's skin when

there are flies about. There. Did you see? A little quick triple wave on the rising swell.'

'I did, too. It is extremely curious,' said Stephen. 'Can you assign any cause?'

'No,' said Jack. 'I have never heard of such a thing.' He reflected for some minutes, and at

each lift of the frigate's bows the spray came sweeping aft. 'But quite apart from all this,'

he went on, 'I finished the draft of my official letter this morning, before we came within

gunshot, and I should be uncommonly obliged if you would look through it, strike out

errors and anything low, and put in some stylish expressions, before Mr Adams makes his

fair copies.'

'Sure I will put in what style there is at my command. But why do you say copies and why

are you in haste? Whitehall is half the world away or even more for all love.'

'Because in these waters we may meet with a homeward-bound whaler any day.'

'Really? Really? Oh, indeed. Very well: I shall come as soon as our dinner is properly

disposed of. And I shall write to Diana too.'

'Your dinner? Oh yes, of course: I do hope it goes well. You will be changing very soon, no

doubt.' He had no doubt at all, because his steward Killick, who also looked after Dr

Maturin on formal occasions, had made his appearance, standing at what he considered a

respectful distance and fixing them with his shrewish, disapproving eye. He had been with

them for many years, in all climates, and although he was neither very clever nor at all

agreeable he had, by mere conviction of righteousness, acquired an ascendancy of which

both were ashamed. Killick coughed. 'And if you should see Mr West,' added Jack, 'pray

tell him I should like to see him for a couple of minutes. I do hope your dinner goes well,'

he called after Stephen's back.

The dinner in question was intended to welcome Grainger, now Mr Grainger, to the

gunroom; Stephen too hoped that it would go well, and although he ordinarily ate his

meals with Jack Aubrey in the cabin he meant to take his place in the gunroom for this

occasion: since in principle the surgeon was a gunroom officer his absence might be

taken as a slight. Grainger, a reserved, withdrawn man, was much respected aboard, for

although he had not belonged to the Surprise during her heroic days as a privateer, when

she recaptured a Spaniard deep-laden with quicksilver, took an American commerce-

raider and cut out the Diane from the harbour of St Martins, he was well known to at least

half the crew. He had joined at the beginning of this voyage, very highly recommended by

his fellow-townsmen of Shelmerston, a port that had provided the Surprise with scores of

prime seamen, a curious little West Country place, much given to smuggling, privateering,

and chapel-going. There were almost as many chapels as there were public houses, and

Grainger was an elder of the congregation of Traskites, who met on Saturdays in a

severe, sad-coloured building behind the rope-walk. Although the Traskites' views were

controversial, he and the younger men who came aboard with him were perfectly at home

in the Surprise, which was an ark of dissent, containing Brownists, Sethians, Arminians,

Muggletonians and several others, generally united in a seamanlike tolerance when afloat

and always in a determined hatred of tithes when ashore. Stephen was well acquainted

with him as a shipmate and above all as a patient (two calentures, a broken clavicle) and

he valued his many qualities; but he knew very well how such a man, dignified and

assured in his own circle, could suffer when he was removed from it. Pullings would be

kindness itself; so would Adams; but kindness alone was not necessarily enough with so

vulnerable a man as Grainger. Martin would certainly mean well, but he had always been

more sensitive to the feelings of birds than to those of men, and prosperity seemed to

have made him rather selfish. Although he was sailing as Stephen's assistant he was in

fact a clergyman and Jack had recently given him a couple of livings in his gift with the

promise of a valuable third when it should fall in; Martin had all the particulars of these

parishes and he discussed them over and over again, considering the possibility of

different modes of gathering tithes or their equivalent and improvement of the glebes. But

worse than the dullness of this conversation was a self-complacency that Stephen had

never known in the penniless Martin of some years ago, who was incapable of being a

bore. West he was not sure of. Here again there had been change: the moody, snappish,

nail-biting West of their present longitude was quite unlike the cheerful young man who

had so kindly and patiently rowed him about Botany Bay, looking for seaweed.

'Oh, Mr West,' he said, opening the gunroom door, 'before I forget it - the Captain would

like to see you for a minute or two. I believe he is in the cabin.'

'Jesus,' cried West, looking shocked; then recollecting himself, 'Thank you, Doctor.' He ran

into his cabin, put on his best coat, and hurried up the ladder.

'Come in,' called Jack.

'I understand you wish to see me, sir.'

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