The Hundred Days (10 page)

 The
Commodore knew Port Mahon intimately well and he took the lead, beginning his
salute at exactly the right distance from the great batteries and sailing on
until the port-captain’s boat hailed him, desiring him to take up his old
moorings with the others astern of him.

‘How very little it has changed,’ he said, gazing
about with lively pleasure as they glided down the long, long inlet and raising
his voice to carry above the prodigious reverberations of the fort’s reply,
echoing from shore to shore.

‘It is even finer than I had remembered,’ said
Stephen.

On, past the lazaretto, past the hospital island:
but now the warm breeze, meeting the flank of La Mola, hauled aft, blowing so
gently that even with topgallants abroad the squadron took just over an hour to
reach the moorings at the far end of the port, just under the steep-pitched
town and a cable’s length from the wharf, where the Pigtail Steps ran down from
the main square, sailing all the way under a pure sky, intensely blue at the
zenith and passing through imperceptible gradations to a soft lapis lazuli just
above the land.

It was as beautiful a run,
or rather a living glide, as could be imagined. Ordinarily the northern side of
the great harbour was somewhat harsh, even forbidding, but now in the very
height of Mediterranean spring it was green, countless varieties of green, all
young and delightful - even the grim scrub-oak looked happy. And if they turned
to contemplate the much nearer, much more cultivated land to larboard, there
were orange-groves, with the round-topped, exactly spaced little trees like the
most charming embroidery imaginable; and from them wafted the scent of blossom
- fruit and blossom on the tree together.

They did not speak, except to point out a known
house or inn or once, on Stephen’s part, an Eleonora’s falcon, until they were
very near the man-of-war’s end of the great wharf, when Jack, exchanging a
happy smile with Stephen, said to the master, ‘Let us moor ship, Mr Woodbine.’

 ‘Aye-aye,
sir,’ said Woodbine, and he roared to the bosun, just at hand, ‘All hands to
moor ship.’

The bosun and his mates repeated the order louder
still, emphasizing it with an extraordinarily shrill piping, as though the
entire ship’s company had not been poised for the exercise ever since the
mooring buoys were seen - a roaring and piping repeated right down the
squadron’s line and even aboard the little Ringle, a biscuit-toss to leeward.

‘We will furl in a body, if you please, Mr
Woodbine: and let us square by the lifts and braces.’

Meeting Bonden’s questioning look, Jack nodded, and
said to Stephen, ‘I hope you will accompany me? I must pay my respects to the
Spanish commandant.’ It was known throughout the Surprise - always had been
known - that the Doctor spoke foreign to a remarkable extent, and was always
called upon to do the civil thing in case of need: today he was to present the
Commodore’s ceremonial compliment to the senior officer who represented his
country’s sovereignty, a purely nominal sovereignty at present, since with the
full agreement of her Spanish ally, Great Britain’s Royal Navy carried on with
the unrestricted use of the great naval base.

While his barge was lowering down, Jack lingered on
the quarterdeck, watching the other ships as they too furled in a body and
squared their yards. It was toilsome, but it did look trim; and, he hoped,
would to some extent redeem the slowness of his passage.

‘Now, sir,’ said Killick at his side, ‘all is laid
along, together with your presentation sword. But, sir,’ - lowering his voice -
‘the Doctor can’t go ashore in that there rig. Which it would bring discredit
on the barky.’

Stephen was in fact wearing an old black frock-coat
in which he had obviously been either operating or dissecting without an apron;
and although late last night Killick had privately taken his shirt and
neck-cloth from beside his cot, the Doctor had obviously found where they were
stowed.

 Some years
before this, the Sick and Hurt Board had ordained a special uniform for
surgeons, a blue cloth coat with blue cloth lapels, cuffs and embroidered
collar, three buttons on cuffs and pockets, white lining, white cloth waistcoat
and breeches: the garments existed, they having been made by the naval tailor
who had always looked after Jack, but Stephen had doggedly resisted hints that
he should wear them, even when the gunroom gave a ceremonial dinner to welcome
Mr Candish, their new purser.

Now, however, Jack’s argument that for the sake of
the Adriatic cruise and all that it entailed they must both look like grave,
responsible beings, after their call on the Spaniard, when they waited upon
Admiral Fanshawe, his secretary and his political adviser, good relations being
of the first importance - an argument that was expressed with great earnestness
- overcame Stephen’s reluctance, and they both went over the side soberly
magnificent.

‘Lord,’ said Jack, pausing for breath at’the top of
the Pigtail Steps, ‘I must get back to my way of running up to the masthead at
least once every morning. I am growing old, unsound in wind and limb.’

‘You are growing obese: or rather you have grown
obese. You eat far too much. I particularly noticed the shameless way you
indulged in the soused pig’s face at our feast to welcome Mr Candish.’

‘I did so deliberately, to encourage him. He is
somewhat bashful, though he is a very fine fellow. I am delighted to have him:
though how Mr Smith ever came to propose him, I cannot tell.’

‘When the convoy’s captains came aboard there was a
certain lack of candles, as you may recall.’

‘Well, what of it?’

‘And perhaps Mr Smith may have heard one of our
sailors call out “if only we had a real purser, there would not be all this Bedlam
running about and shouting every single time we want a bloody dip”. And one of
the Indiamen’s officers asked “What, ain’t you got a real purser?”

‘Well, whatever you may say I am very glad to have
him. And if only I had a master’s mate of the same competence I should be
gladder still. Poor Wantage. He was one of the most
promising young men I have ever had - a born navigator - had the Requisite
Tables by rote, so that he could give you your position without looking at
them. And he had a very good feeling for Surprise’s likes and dislikes. How I
regret him. And all because of that vile wench.’

In the peace of 1814, the Surprise, setting out on
what was ostensibly an expedition to survey the coasts of Chile, had sailed with a very
moderate ship’s company - no ordinary midshipmen and no youngsters at all. On
her first leg she had carried Sophie Aubrey and her children and Diana Maturin
and her daughter as far as Madeira for a holiday, the plan being that the women
and children should return to England in the packet when the Surprise carried
on to South America. But during this stay, young Wantage, exploring the
mountains, had met a shepherdess. Then, Napoleon having escaped from Elba, the frigate was at once
ordered to Gibraltar. Parties were sent out for
stragglers, guns were fired, the Blue Peter flew to the very last minute before
she sailed, all her people aboard except for Wantage; and it was generally
believed that the shepherd, coming back untimely to the mountain hut, had
killed him.

‘He was indeed a most amiable young man,’ said
Stephen. ‘But I believe that the great house with two sentinels before it is
where Don José lives.’

It was, and Don José was at home. He received them
very kindly: Stephen and he went through the graceful Spanish ceremony of
compliments presented and returned, Jack bowing from time to time, and Don José
accompanied them to the outer door itself.

They were equally well received by Admiral Fanshawe
and his secretary. Jack introduced Stephen: the Admiral  said, ‘How do you do, sir? I remember
you well after that horrible affair off Algeciras, when you were so good to
my brother William.’

Stephen asked after his former patient. ‘Very well,
I thank you, Doctor,’ said the Admiral. ‘He can get along quite well without
crutches now, and he has had a saddle made that allows him to take leaps that
would astonish you.’

Very soon after this the secretary said, ‘I
believe, sir, that I should take Dr Maturin to see Mr Colvin.’

‘Do, do, by all means; and the Commodore and I will
talk about convoys.’

‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Jack to the Admiral, and in
a discreet undertone to Stephen, ‘In case your conversation takes a great
while, let us meet at the Crown.’

As he walked along the corridors with the Admiral’s
secretary, Stephen wondered how Colvin came to be here rather than in Malta. He was a man with whom
Stephen had quite often had dealings, almost always in London or Gibraltar, and without being friends
they were necessarily well acquainted. Colvin had probably meant to restrict
their conversation to intelligence, to the question of the Adriatic, but he could not prevent
a certain earnestness from making part of his ‘I hope I see you well?’ or from
giving a slightly more than usual pressure as they shook hands.

When the Admiral’s secretary had left them they sat
down and with an artificial cheerfulness Colvin began, ‘I am happy to say that
although the Ministry is growing more and more worried about the Russians’
procrastination, the passing of time, and the possibility of this shocking intervention,
we have at least made a beginning with the Adriatic yards. From Ancona and Ban
our banking friend, a man of extraordinary energy for his age, has not only
called in the loans made to the small and out-of-the-way shipwrights concerned
with French vessels but he has also warned all suppliers to insist on cash: no
notes of hand, no promises. He and his associates along the coast are closely
allied to what few local banks there are on the Turkish side of the water: they
will make no difficulties, nor, of course, will any of the beys or pashas. Mr
Dee knows perfectly well that these small yards have almost no capital of their
own - they work on borrowed money - and that when pay-day comes round and there
is no pay, the workmen are likely to turn ugly, very ugly. These places rely
for a large part on itinerant skilled labour, most of it Italian. Now I do not
know, sir, whether you have any moral scruples about having dealings with the
Carbonari... or even Freemasons: as it were allying yourself with such people.
Or perhaps I should say making use of them.’

Both Colvin and Stephen were Catholics and like
most of their kind they had been brought up with some curious notions: in
childhood they had been assured by those they loved and respected that whenever
Freemasons held a formal gathering one of their number was invariably the Devil
himself, sometimes more or less disguised; and after a short pause Stephen
replied, ‘As for the Carbonari, Lord William had no hesitation about treating
with them in Sicily...’

‘In these parts they are said to be strangely
allied to the Freemasons: some of their rites are similar.’

Stephen shook his head. ‘I have known only one
avowed Mason,’ he said, ‘a member of my club: and when he voted for the
execution of the King, his brother, he was asked to resign. Such things sustain
a largely irrational prejudice. However, a scruple would have to be very moral
indeed for me to reject any means of bringing this vile war to an end. I take
it that you feel these people might be useful to us?’

‘Indeed they may. Many of the Italian craftsmen in
the yards and even some of the natives are Carbonari. At the same time our
friends in Ancona and Ban have great
influence with their fellow-Masons in the Adriatic ports - the bankers and
money-men, I mean - and will prevent them from relieving the shipwrights. Now
wood is by its nature inflammable, and when two pay-days have gone by with no
wages, it would not be surprising if the yards were to go up in flames. The
Carbonari are much given to an incendiary revenge - I believe it has to do with
their mystic beliefs - and a very little prompting or tangible encouragement of
the more enthusiastic would certainly earn brilliant results. I might almost
promise a blazing success.’

Stephen’s dislike of Colvin increased, but with no
change of tone or expression he went on, ‘In some yards, as I understand it,
the French officers who oversee the construction are strongly Bonapartist, in
others hesitant or downright for the King. Only the first are potentially dangerous,
either as privateers on their own or as renegadoes
with the Barbary pirates, preying on our
trade. Quite apart from any other point of view, a general conflagration would
be wholly against our interests: you are to consider that some vessels may come
over to us voluntarily, joining the King of France; and at this juncture even a
few allied French men-of-war would be of the utmost value here in the Mediterranean. Then again, a wholesale
burning would do away with the possibility of cutting out any nearly completed
or repaired vessels commanded by resolute Bonapartists, and making prizes of
them. It is difficult for a landsman to have any conception of the sailor’s
delight in a prize or of the prodigies of valour and enterprise he will display
to gain it. But as to these differing loyalties, have you any information?’

‘I am very sorry to say I have not. Because of a
gross indiscretion committed by an agent belonging to the other firm just
before I arrived, it was not thought desirable that I should cross to the
Turkish side. On the other hand, we have all the details you could wish about
the geographical and financial position of the yards, and the presents expected
by the beys, pashas and local officials for various accommodations and forms of
blindness.’

The other firm was an intelligence service of
sorts, or rather a collection of services, run by the army; and its agents
often poached on naval preserves, sometimes doing serious  damage and always causing a very high
degree of resentment.