O'Brian Patrick - Aub-Mat 12 - The Letter of Marque

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PATRICK O'BRIAN

The Letter of Marque

CHAPTER ONE

Ever since Jack Aubrey had been dismissed from the service, ever since his name, with

its now meaningless seniority, had been struck off the list of post-captains, it had seemed

to him that he was living in a radically different world; everything was perfectly familiar,

from the smell of seawater and tarred rigging to the gentle heave of the deck under his

feet, but the essence was gone and he was a stranger.

Other broken sea-officers, condemned by court-martial, might be worse off: indeed, two

had come aboard without so much as a sea-chest between them, and compared with

them he was uncommonly fortunate, which should perhaps have been a comfort to his

mind - it was none to his heart. Nor was the fact that he was innocent of the crime for^,

which he had been sentenced.

Yet there was no denying that materially he was well off. His old but beautiful frigate the

Surprise had been sold out of the service, and Stephen Maturin had bought her as a

private ship of war, a letter of marque, to cruise upon the enemy; and Jack Aubrey was in

command.

She was now lying at single anchor in Shelmerston, an out-of-the-way port with an

awkward bar and a dangerous tide-race, avoided by the Navy and by merchantmen but

much frequented by smugglers and privateers, many of whose fast, rakish, predatory

vessels could be seen along the quay. Turning in his mechanical walk on the starboard

side of the quarterdeck, Jack glanced at the village and once again he tried to make out

what it was that made Shelmerston so like the remaining pirate and buccaneer

settlements he had seen long ago in the remoter West Indies and Madagascar when he

was a youngster in this same Surprise. Shelmerston had no waving coconut-palms, no

brilliant coral strand; and yet there was this likeness; perhaps it lay in the large and flashy

public houses, the general air of slovenliness and easy money, the large number of

whores, and the feeling that only a singularly determined and well-armed press-gang

would ever make an attempt upon it. He also noticed that two boats had put off for the

Surprise and that each was stretching out to reach her first: neither however contained Dr

Maturin, the ship's surgeon (few people knew that he was also her owner), who was to

come aboard today. One of these boats was coxed by an extraordinarily pretty girl with

dark red hair, newly come upon the town and enjoying every minute of it; she was a great

favourite with the privateers-men and they responded to her shrill cries so heroically that

one broke his oar. Although Jack Aubrey could never fairly have been described as much

of a whoremonger, he was no celibate and from his earliest youth until the present he had

taken the liveliest pleasure in beauty, and this spirited girl, half standing and all alive with

excitement, was absurdly beautiful; but now he only observed the fact, and in a genuinely

indifferent tone he said to Tom Pullings, 'Do not let that woman come aboard: take only

three of the very best.'

He resumed his pensive walk while Pullings, the bosun, the gunner and Bonden, his own

coxswain, put the men through their paces. They had to lay aloft, timed by a log-glass,

loose and furl a topgallant sail, then traverse and point a great gun, fire a musket at a

bottle hanging from the foreyardarm, and tie a crowned double wall-knot before the eyes

of a crowd of thorough-going seamen. Ordinarily, manning a ship, a King's ship, was an

anxious business, with the impress-service doing what it could, with humble prayers for a

draft of sometimes criminal nondescripts from the receiving-ship, and with the boats

cruising in the Channel to take hands out of homeward-bound merchantmen or to raid

towns along the coast, often with so little success that one had to put to sea a hundred

short of complement. Here in Shelmerston on the other hand the Surprise might have

been fitting out in Paradise. Not only were all marine stores delivered the same tide by the

willing and competitive chandlers whose well-furnished warehouses lined the quay, but

the hands needed no pressing at all, no solicitation at the rendezvous, no beating of the

drum. Jack Aubrey had long been known among seamen as a successful frigate-captain,

a fighting captain who had been exceptionally fortunate in the article of prize-money, so

fortunate that his nickname was Lucky Jack Aubrey; and the news that his own frigate, a

remarkable sailer when skilfully handled, was to be converted into a letter of marque with

himself in command brought privateersmen flocking to offer their services. He could pick

and choose, which never happened aboard King's ships in wartime; and now he lacked

only three of the number he had set as the proper complement. Many of the foremast

jacks and petty officers were old Surprises who had been set free when the frigate was

paid off and who had presumably avoided the press since then, though he had a strong

suspicion that several had deserted from other King's ships, in some cases with the

connivance of particular friends of his - Heneage Dundas, for example - who commanded

them: and there were of course the personal followers such as his steward and coxswain

and a few others who had never left him. Some of the men he did not know were from

merchant ships, but most were smugglers and privateersmen, prime seamen, tough,

independent, not much accustomed to discipline, still less to its outward, more ceremonial

forms (though nearly all had been pressed at one time or another), yet eager and willing to

serve under a captain they respected. And at this point Jack Aubrey was, in a

privateersman's eye, an even more respectable commander than he himself might have

supposed: he was leaner than he had been but he was still uncommonly tall and

broadshouldered; his open, florid, cheerful face had grown older, less full; it was now lined

and habitually sombre, with a touch of latent wickedness, and anyone used to the abrupt

ways of the sea could instantly tell that this was not a face to be trifled with: if such a man

were put out the blow would come without a moment's warning and be damned to the

consequences - dangerous because past caring.

The Surprise now probably had a more efficient, more professional ship's company than

any vessel of her size afloat, which might well have filled her captain's heart with joy: and

indeed when he reflected upon the fact it did bring a certain amount of conscientious

pleasure and what joy the heart could hold; this was not very much. It might have been

said that Jack Aubrey's heart had been sealed off, so that he could accept his misfortune

without its breaking; and that the sealing-off had turned him into a eunuch as far as

emotion was concerned. The explanation would have been on the simple side, yet

whereas in former times Captain Aubrey, like his hero Nelson and so many of his

contemporaries, had been somewhat given to tears - he had wept with joy at the

masthead of his first command; tears had sometimes wetted the lower part of his fiddle

when he played particularly moving passages; and cruel sobs had racked him at many a

shipmate's funeral by land or sea - he was now as hard and dry-eyed as a man could well

be. He had parted from Sophie and the children at Ashgrove Cottage with no more than a

constriction in his throat which made his farewells sound painfully harsh and unfeeling.

And for that matter his fiddle lay there still in its wax-clothed case, untouched since he

came aboard.

'These are the three best hands, sir, if you please,' said Mr Pullings, taking off his hat.

'Harvey, Fisher and Whitaker.'

They touched their foreheads, three cousins with much the same long-nosed, weather-

beaten, knowing faces, all smugglers and excellent seamen - none others could have

passed the short but exceedingly severe examination - and looking at them with a certain

mitigated satisfaction Aubrey said 'Harvey, Fisher and Whitaker, I am glad to see you

aboard. But you understand it is only on liking and on passing the surgeon?' He glanced

again at the shore, but no surgeon's boat did he see. 'And you understand the terms of

pay, shares, discipline and punishment?"

'We do indeed, sir. Which the coxswain read them out to us.'

'Very well. You may bring your chests aboard.' He resumed his steady to and fro,

repeating Harvey, Fisher, Whitaker: it was a captain's duty to know his men's names and

something of their circumstances and hitherto he had found little difficulty even in a ship of

the line with six or seven hundred aboard. He still knew every one of his Surprises of

course, shipmates not only in the last far Pacific voyage but sometimes for many years

before; but the new men escaped his memory most shamefully and even his officers

called for an effort. Not Tom Pullings, naturally, once one of Aubrey's midshipmen and

now a half-pay commander in the Royal Navy, perfectly unblemished but with no hope of

a ship, who, on indeterminate leave from the service, was acting as his first mate; nor the

second and third mates, both of them former King's officers with whom he had been more

or less acquainted and whose courts-martial were clear in his mind - West for duelling and

Davidge for an unhappy complex affair in which he had signed a dishonest purser's books

without looking at them - but he could remember his bosun only by the association of his

massive body with his name, Bulkeley; fortunately no carpenter ever objected to being

called Chips nor any gunner Master Gunner; and no doubt the unfamiliar petty officers

would come in time.

To and fro, to and fro, looking towards the shore at each turn, until at last the seaweed

high on his cable and the run of the water told him that if he did not get under way

precious soon he would miss his tide. 'Mr Pullings,' he said, 'let us move outside the bar.'

'Aye aye, sir,' said Pullings, and he cried 'Mr Bulkeley, all hands to weigh anchor.'

The quick cutting notes of the bosun's call and the rush of feet followed instantly, a fair

proof that the Shelmerston men were well acquainted both with the frigate's draught and

their own uneasy bar. The messenger was brought to, the capstan-bars were shipped,

pinned and swifted as briskly as though regular Surprises alone were at it; but as the

capstan began to turn and the ship to glide across the harbour towards her anchor, some

of the hands struck up the shanty

Walk her round and round she goes

Way oh, way oh

which had never happened in her life as a King's ship, working songs not being

countenanced in the Royal Navy. Pullings looked sharply at Jack, who shook his head and

murmured 'Let them sing.'

So far there had been no bad blood between the old Surprises and the new hands and he

would give almost anything to prevent it arising. He and Pullings had already done their

best by mixing the gun-crews and the watches, but he had no doubt that by far the most

important factor in this strangely peaceful relation between two dissimilar groups was the

unparalleled situation: all those concerned, particularly the Surprises, seemed amazed by

it, uncertain what to say or what to think, there being no formula to hand; and if only this

could last until some three- or four-day blow in the chops of the Channel or better still until

a successful action began to weld them into a single body, there were fair prospects of a

happy ship.

'Up and down, sir,' called West from the forecastle.

'Foretopmen,' said Jack, raising his voice. 'D'ye hear me, there?' They would have been

mere blocks if they had not, for the 'there' came back loud and clear from the housefronts

at the bottom of the bay. 'Away aloft.' The foreshrouds were dark with racing men. 'Let fall:

let fall.'

The topsail flashed out; the larboard watch sheeted it home and without a word they ran to

the halliards. The yard rose smoothly; the foretopsail filled; the Surprise had just enough

way on her to trip her anchor, and in a pure, leisurely curve she stood for the bar, already

a nasty colour in the green-grey sea, with white about its edges.

'The very middle of the channel, Gillow,' said Jack to the man at the wheel.

'The very middle it is, sir," said Gillow, a Shelmerstonian, glancing left and right and

easing her a spoke or so.

In the open sea the Surprise folded her wings again, dropped the anchor from her

cathead, veered away a reasonable scope and rode easy. It had been a simple operation,

one that Jack had seen many thousand times, but it had run perfectly smoothly, without

the slightest fuss or fault, and it pleased him. This was just as well, since for some

considerable time a feeling of indignation at Maturin's lateness had been growing in him:

his huge misfortune he could, if not accept, then at least endure without railing or

complaint, but small things were capable of irritating him as much as ever they did -

indeed a great deal more - and he had prepared a curt note for Stephen, to be left on

shore, appointing another rendezvous in a fortnight's time.

'Mr Davidge,' he said, 'I am going below. If the Admiral should come round the headland,

pray let me know directly." Admiral Russell, who lived at Allacombe, the next cove south

but one, had sent word to say that wind and weather permitting he would give himself the

pleasure of waiting on Mr Aubrey in the course of the afternoon and that he hoped Mr

Aubrey would spend the evening at Allacombe with him: he sent his compliments to Dr

Maturin, and if he was aboard, would be delighted to see him too.

'Directly, sir,' said Davidge, and then more hesitantly, 'Just how should we receive him,

sir?'

'Like any other private ship,' said Jack. 'Man-ropes, of course, but nothing more.' He had a

horror of 'coming it the Royal Navy'; he had always disliked the close imitation of naval

ways by the East India Company and some other large concerns and by the bigger, more

ambitious privateers; and at present he was dressed in a frieze pilot-jacket and tweed

pantaloons. On the other hand he was perfectly determined that the Surprise, though

shorn of pennant, gold lace, Royal Marines and many other things should still be run man-

of-war fashion in all essentials and he was fairly confident that the two were not

irreconcilable.

He would have given an eye-tooth to avoid this meeting with Russell. But he had served

under the Admiral as a midshipman; he had a great respect for him and a lively sense of

gratitude, since it was to Russell's influence that he owed his lieutenant's commission. The

unfortunate invitation had been as kindly phrased and as kindly meant as possible; it could

not in decency be refused; but Jack most heartily wished that Stephen had been there to

help him through the evening. At present he had no small social gaiety to draw upon and

he dreaded the presence of other guests, particularly naval guests - the sympathy of any

but his most intimate friends, the supercilious, distant civility of those who did not like him.

In the great cabin he called 'Killick. Killick, there.'

'What now?' answered Killick in an ill-tempered whine from where Jack's cot was slung;

and for form's sake he added 'Sir.'

'Rouse out my bottle-green coat and a decent pair of breeches.'

'Which I've got it here, ain't I? And you can't have it these ten minutes, the buttons all

being to be reseated.'

Neither Killick nor Bonden had ever expressed the slightest concern about Captain

Aubrey's trial and condemnation. They had the great delicacy of feeling in important

matters that Jack, after many, many years experience and very close contact, had come

to expect of the lower deck; there was no overt sympathy whatsoever apart from their

attentive presence, and Killick was if anything more cross-grained than he had been all

these years, by way of showing that there was no difference.

He could be heard muttering in the sleeping-cabin - Goddamned blunt needle - if he had a

shilling for every button that fat-arsed slut at Ashgrove had put on loose, he would be a

rich man - no notion of seating a shank man-of-war fashion - and the twist was the wrong

shade of green.

In time however Captain Aubrey was dressed in newly-brushed, newly-pressed clothes

and he resumed his habitual solitary pacing on the quarterdeck, looking now at the land,

now at the cape to the southward.

Ever since Stephen Maturin had become rich he was troubled from time to time by fits of

narrowness. Most of his life he had been poor and sometimes exceedingly poor, but

except when poverty prevented him from satisfying his very simple needs he had taken

little notice of money. Yet now that he had inherited from his god-father (his own father's

particular friend, his mother's third cousin once removed, and the last of his wealthy race),

and now that the heavy little iron-bound cases holding don Ramdn's gold were so

crowding his banker's strong-room that the door could scarcely be closed, a concern with

pence and shillings came over him.

At present he was walking over a vast bare slightly undulating plain, going fast over the

short turf in the direction of the newly-risen sun: brilliant cock-wheatears in their best

plumage flew on either side; countless larks far overhead, of course; a jewel of a day. He

had come down from London in the slow coach, getting out at Clotworthy so that he could

cut across country to Polton Episcopi, where his friend the Reverend Nathaniel Martin

would be waiting for him; and there they would both take the carrier's cart to Shelmerston,

from which the Surprise was to sail on the evening tide. According to Stephen's calculation

this would save a good eleven shillings and fourpence. The calculation was wrong, for

although he was quite able in some fields, such as medicine, surgery and entomology,

arithmetic was not one of them, and he needed a guardian angel with an abacus to

multiply by twelve; the error was of no real importance however since this was not a

matter of true grasping avarice but rather of conscience; as he saw it there was an

indecency in wealth, an indecency that could be slightly diminished by gestures of this

kind and by an outwardly unaltered modest train of life.

Only slightly, as he freely admitted to himself, for these fits were spasmodic and at other

times he was far from consistent: for example, he had recently indulged himself in a

wonderfully supple pair of half-boots made by an eminent hand in St James's Street, and

in the sinful luxury of cashmere stockings. Ordinarily he wore heavy square-toed shoes

made heavier still by sheet-lead soles, the principle being that without the lead he would

be light-footed; and indeed for the first three miles he had fairly sped over the grass,

taking conscious pleasure in the easy motion and the green smell of spring that filled the

air. Yet now, perhaps a furlong ahead, there was a man, strangely upright and dark in this

pale horizontal landscape inhabited only by remote amorphous bands of sheep and by

high white clouds moving gently from the west-south-west: he too was walking along the

broad drift, marked by the passage of flocks and the ruts of an occasional shepherd's hut

on wheels, but he was walking more slowly by far, and not only that, but every now and

then he stopped entirely to gesticulate with greater vehemence, while at other times he

would give a leap or bound. Ever since Maturin had come within earshot he had perceived

that the man was talking, sometimes earnestly, sometimes with extreme passion, and

sometimes in the shrill tones of an elegant female: a man of the middling kind, to judge by

his blue breeches and claret-coloured coat, and of some education, for at one point he

cried out 'Oh that the false dogs might be choked with their own dung!' in rapid,

unhesitating Greek; but a man who quite certainly thought himself alone in the green

morning and who would be horribly mortified at being overtaken by one who must have

heard his ejaculations for the last half hour.

Yet there was no help for it; the halts were becoming more frequent, and if Blue Breeches

did not turn off the path very soon Stephen must either catch him up or loiter at this

wretched pace, perhaps being late for his appointment.

He tried coughing and even a hoarse burst of song; but nothing answered and he would

have had to sneak past with what countenance he could had not Blue Breeches stopped,

spun about, and gazed at him.

'Have you a message for me?' he called, when Stephen was within a hundred yards. 'I

have not,' said Stephen.

'I ask your pardon, sir,' said Blue Breeches, with Stephen now close at hand, 'but as I was

expecting a message from London, and as I told them at home that I should be visiting my

dell, I thought . . . but sir,' he went on, reddening with confusion, 'I fear I must have made

a sad exhibition of myself, declaiming as I walked.'

'Never in life, sir,' cried Stephen. 'Many a parliament-man, many a lawyer have I known

harangue the empty air and thought nothing of it at all, at all. And did not Demosthenes

address the waves? Sure, it is in the natural course of many a man's calling.'

The fact of the matter is, that I am an author,' said Blue Breeches, when they had walked

on a little way; and in answer to Stephen's civil enquiries he said that he worked mostly on

tales of former times and Gothic manners. 'But as for the number that you so politely ask

after,' he added with a doleful look, 'I am afraid it is so small that I am ashamed to mention

it: I doubt I have published more than a score. Not, mark you,' he said with a skip, 'that I

have not conceived, worked out and entirely composed at least ten times as many, and on

this very sward too, excellent tales, capital tales that have made me (a partial judge, I

confess) laugh aloud with pleasure. But you must understand, sir, that each man has his

particular way of writing, and mine is by saying my pieces over as I walk - I find the

physical motion dispel the gross humours and encourage the flow of ideas. Yet that is

where the danger lies: if it encourage them too vigorously, if my piece is forfned to my full

satisfaction, as just now I conceived the chapter in which Sophonisba confines Roderigo

in the Iron Maiden on pretence of wanton play and begins to turn the screw, why then it is

done, finished; and my mind, my imagination will h"ve nothing more to do with it - declines

even to write it down, or, on compulsion, records a mere frigid catalogue of unlikely

statements. The only way for me to succeed is by attaining a near-success, a coitus

interruptus with my Muse, if you will forgive me the expression, and then running home to

my pen for the full consummation. And this I cannot induce rny bookseller to understand: I

tell him that the work of the mind is essentially different from manual labour; I tell him that

in the second case mere industry and application will hew a forest of wood and carry an

ocean of water, whereas in the first . . . and he sends word that the press is at a stand,

that he must have the promised twenty sheets by return.' Blue Breeches repeated his

Greek remark, and added, 'But here, sir, our ways must part; unless perhaps I can tempt

you to view my dell.'

'Is it perhaps a druidical dell, sir?' asked Stephen, smiling as he shook his head.

'Druidical? Oh no, not at all. Though something might be made of druids: The Druid's

Curse, or The Spectre of the Henge. No, my dell is only a place where I sit and

contemplate my bustards.'

'Your bustards, sir?' cried Stephen, his pale eyes searching the man's face. 'Otis tarda?'

The same.'

'I have never seen one in England,' said Stephen.

'Indeed, they are grown very rare: when I was a little boy you might see small droves of

them, looking remarkably like sheep. But they still exist; they are creatures of habit, and I

have followed them since I was very young, as my father and grandfather did before me.

From my dell I can certainly undertake to show you a sitting hen; and there is a fair

chance of two or three cock-birds.'

'Would it be far, at all?'

'Oh, not above an hour, if we step out; and I have, after all, finished my chapter.'

Stephen gazed at his watch. Martin, an authority on the thick-kneed curlew, would forgive

him for being late in such a cause; but Jack Aubrey had a naval regard for time - he was

absurdly particular about punctuality to the very minute, and the idea of facing a Jack

Aubrey seven feet tall and full of barely-contained wrath at having been kept waiting two

whole hours, a hundred and twenty minutes, made Stephen hesitate; but not for very long.

'I shall hire a post-chaise at Polton Episcopi,' he said inwardly, 'a chaise and four, and thus

make up the time.'

The Marquess of Granby, Polton's only inn, had a bench along its outer wall, facing the

afternoon sun; and on this bench, framed by a climbing rose on the one hand and a

honeysuckle on the other, dozed Nathaniel Martin. Swallows, whose half-built nests were

taking form in the eaves above, dropped little balls of mud on him from time to time, and

he had been there so long that his left shoulder had a liberal coating. He was just aware of

the tiny impact, of the sound of wings and the tumbling, hurried swallow-song, as well as

the remoter thorough-bass of a field full of cows beyond the Marquess's horsepond; but he

did not fully wake to the world until he heard the cry 'Shipmate, ahoy!'

'Oh my dear Maturin," he exclaimed, 'how happy I am to see you! But' - looking again - 'I

trust no accident has occurred?' For Maturin's face, ordinarily an unwholesome yellow,

was now entirely suffused with an unwholesome pink; it was also covered with dust, in

which the sweat, as it ran down, had made distinct tracks or runnels.

'Never in life, soul. I am so concerned, indeed so truly distressed, that you should have

had to wait: pray forgive me." He sat down, breathing fast. 'But will I tell what it is that kept

me?'

'Pray do,' said Martin, and directing his voice in at the window, 'Landlord, a can of ale for

the gentleman, if you please: a pint of the coolest ale that ever you can draw.'

'You will scarcely believe me, but peering through the long grass at the edge of a dell and

we in the dell looking outwards you understand, I have seen a bustard sitting on her eggs

not a hundred yards away. With the gentleman's perspective-glass I could see her eye,

which is a bright yellowish brown. And then when we had been there a while she stood up,

walked off to join two monstrous tall cocks and a bird of the year and vanished over the

slope, so that we could go and look at her nest without fear. And, Martin, I absolutely

heard the chicks in those beautiful great eggs calling peep-peep peep-peep, like a distant

bosun, upon my word and honour.'

Martin clasped his hands, but before he could utter more than an inarticulate cry of

wonder and admiration the ale arrived and Stephen went on, 'Landlord, pray have a post-

chaise put to, to carry us to Shelmerston as soon as I have drunk up this capital ale: for I

suppose the carrier is gone long since.'

'Bless you, sir,' said the landlord, laughing at such simplicity, 'there ain't no shay in Polton

Episcopi, nor never has been. Oh dear me, no. And Joe Carrier, he will be at Wakeley's by

now.

'Well then, a couple of horses, or a man with a gig, or a tax-cart.'

'Sir, you are forgetting it is market-day over to Plashett. There is not a mortal gig nor tax-

cart in the village. Nor I doubt no horse; though Waites's mule might carry two, and the

farrier dosed him last night. I will ask my wife, Anthony Waites being her cousin, as you

might say."

A pause, in which a woman's voice could be heard calling down the stairs 'What do they

want to go to Shelmerston for?' and the landlord came back with the satisfied expression

of one whose worst fears have been realized. 'No, gentlemen,' he said. 'Not the least hope

of a horse; and Waites's mule is dead.'

They walked in silence for a while, and then Stephen said, 'Still and all, it is only a matter

of a few hours.'

'There is also the question of the tide," observed Martin.

'Lord, Lord, I was forgetting the tide,' said Stephen. 'And sailors do make such a point of

it.' A quarter of a mile later he said, 'I am afraid my recent notes may not have given you

quite all the information you might have wished.' This was eminently true. Stephen Maturin

had been so long and so intimately concerned with intelligence, naval and political, and

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摘要：

PATRICKO'BRIANTheLetterofMarqueCHAPTERONEEversinceJackAubreyhadbeendismissedfromtheservice,eversincehisname,withitsnowmeaninglessseniority,hadbeenstruckoffthelistofpost-captains,ithadseemedtohimthathewaslivinginaradicallydifferentworld;everythingwasperfectlyfamiliar,fromthesmellofseawaterandtarredri...

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O'Brian Patrick - Aub-Mat 12 - The Letter of Marque

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