Book 6 - The Fortune Of War Page 22

  'Oh, Stephen,' she cried, springing up with such a look of gratitude and trust and affection that it filled his heart with guilt and remorse, 'I knew I could always rely on you.' She embraced him, pressing him close, and he concealed his lack of physical emotion by pressing her closer still. Then she stood away; her face fell, and she said, 'No. Oh, no. I was forgetting. They believe Aubrey had something to do with intelligence—that he palmed some papers off on Louisa when she was aboard the Leopard. God knows if they are right—I no longer know what to think about anybody—I should never, never have believed Louisa was a spy—but if they are, God help him, in Johnson's hands. There will be no exchange.'

  Johnson could be heard, calling out in remarkably bad French, some way down the corridor, and they had time to recover an appearance of indifference before he came in. He excused himself for having been so long, and catching sight of the diamond necklace he picked it up. 'I was just going to put it away,' said Diana.

  It flashed and sparkled as he poured it from hand to hand, and an infinity of tiny prismatic lights raced across the ceiling like swarms and swarms of shooting-stars. 'Yes, do,' he said. 'I am not quite satisfied with the clasp, and I should like the case to carry it in.'

  Diana left the room without a word, carrying the necklace, and Johnson said, 'I saw Captain Aubrey this afternoon; he spoke so handsomely of you, Dr Maturin; and we got along very well together. There had been some unfortunate misunderstanding with the gentlemen who had questioned him before, but that was soon resolved. I rather think they were on the wrong track altogether, and that the business will soon be settled. Captain Aubrey is the most complete British sea-officer, the kind that taught our men their trade. But he puzzled me once or twice: would it be indiscreet to ask who the Admiral Crichton to whom he compared you may be? I cannot remember any such name among Lord Nelson's companions. And what can he have meant by saying that Napoleon was killing the golden calf in Russia? I did not like to linger, because really he has been so shockingly knocked about, and Dr Choate insisted that I should not fatigue him.'

  'The Crichton in question was no doubt the ingenious Scotchman of some two centuries ago who spoke so many languages and who was called the Admirable for his shining parts: Captain Aubrey has long been persuaded that he served in the Royal Navy. As for the golden calf, I can only hazard the guess that there may have been some confusion between the error of the Israelites and the goose of our childhood that laid those golden eggs, poor bird.'

  'Ah, I see, I see. Yes. So that he meant that Napoleon was ill-advised in attacking the Czar: just so. What is your opinion, Dr Maturin?'

  'I really know so very little of these things. I only hope that all this useless slaughter and destruction will soon come to an end.'

  'With all my heart,' said Johnson. 'You are a man of peace, and so am I; yet it does appear to me that if only there were a clearer understanding between the opposing forces—more true knowledge of the real aims and potentialities of each—that peace would come much sooner. And as I observed not long ago, we in the States are quite shockingly ignorant of the finer points of the situation in Europe. For example, it was only recently that we learnt of the existence of various organizations among the Catalans of north-east Spain who are determined to break away from the domination of Castile: we had supposed that there was only one. And then of course there is the state of affairs in Ireland. There are so many points of that kind where I should be so grateful for your advice.'

  'I am afraid, sir, that the advice of a plain naval surgeon would be of little use to you.'

  'You are not quite the plainest of naval surgeons,' said Johnson, looking amused. And after a pause he went on, 'I know something of your publications, your reputation, and your activities—your scientific activities. And Louisa Wogan has told me of your distress at the prospect of a war between the States and the United Kingdom, and of your let us say impatience at the English government's conduct in Ireland. But even if you were no more than a plain naval surgeon, you are a European, a much-travelled European, and your advice would be valuable. After all, our ends are essentially the same, the restoration of a just and lasting peace.'

  'I fully take your point, and I have much sympathy with what you say,' said Stephen, 'but I must beg to be excused. In spite of my esteem for you personally, sir, I must point out that we are technically at war, and that if my advice should be of the least value to you, then I should be comforting the enemy, which, as you will agree, has a most unpleasant sound. You must forgive me.'

  'A man of your intelligence will never be the prisoner of words, mere lawyers' words at that. No, no; pray reflect on what I have said. It is only on points quite unconnected with the Navy that I should like to consult you.'

  'We have it on excellent authority that a man cannot serve two masters,' said Stephen, smiling.

  'No,' replied Johnson, returning the smile, 'but he can serve an end that transcends both. Dear Doctor, I will not take your refusal.' He pulled the bell. 'Ask the gentlemen to come in,' he said to the servant, and to Stephen, 'Forgive me a moment. I just have to hand a letter to these Frenchmen.'

  Dubreuil walked in, followed by the tall Pontet-Canet. Stephen recognized Dubreuil at once—he had after all watched the man in and out of the embassy at Lisbon, and from a maid's window opposite the ministry in Paris, although he was almost certain that Dubreuil knew nothing of him except by description. Dubreuil made a distant bow, which Stephen returned: Pontet-Canet asked him how he did. There were no introductions, and the Frenchmen, having received an envelope, retired.

  'Did you notice that man?' asked Johnson. 'The small, unnoticeable man? You might not think so, but he is the most devilish creature. They had an agent on the Canadian border who thought it more profitable to be paid by both sides: they brought him down here, and what they did to him I will not even attempt to describe, although you are a medical man. The sight of the body, I do assure you, haunted me for weeks. They have notions I cannot possibly approve, although they may be efficacious, and it was a gross violation of our sovereignty; but in these critical times we cannot be as rigid with our French colleagues as I could wish. However, let us meet tomorrow: there are certain formalities to do with Captain Aubrey's exchange that we can deal with—I am sure he should not be worried in his present lamentable condition—and when you have slept upon it, I hope you will not object to my consulting you on a few points of purely European politics.'

  Chapter Seven

  Stephen was aware of Johnson's motives: they were tolerably obvious, for all love, obvious and tolerably clumsy. The man was not an artist, though the avoidance of any hint of material reward was a good stroke, and the mention of Catalonia was better still. What he did not know was just how much certainty Johnson and Dubreuil possessed. The Catalans might have been no more than a lucky shot in the dark: there had been a good many shots of one kind and another after dinner, sometimes directed towards regions utterly remote from Stephen's battlefield, such as Moscow, Prussia, and Vienna. A great deal would depend on what Johnson had learnt from Jack

  Their interview had been present to his mind through out this afternoon with Diana, sometimes strongly present, sometimes no more than a cold worrying ghost or shadow far in the background, far behind her words, and now as he hurried back to the Asclepia he turned Johnson's account of it over in his mind. A true account, he was sure, no man could have invented the golden calf nor the phantom admiral. The implications of that Admiral Crichton made him feel colder still, and he increased his pace.

  'There you are, Stephen,' said Jack. 'I am glad to see you. Did they give you a decent dinner? We had a Lenten dish of cod and beans.'

  'Excellent, I believe. Yes, excellent, with a capital Hermitage. Diana sends you her love.'

  'Why, that was kind in her, I am sure indeed we are cousins, after all. And now, since I know where she is, I shall send her all proper acknowledgments for her goodness in writing to Sophie. Her—that is to say, Mr Johnson came to see me this afte
rnoon. It seems that he is a great man under government in these parts: Choate was quite impressed.'

  'How did you go along with him?'

  'Surprisingly well. I was pretty reserved and distant to begin with, but he explained that the whole business had fallen into the wrong hands in the first place: he had looked into the matter of the brig, the Alice B. Sawyer, and he agreed that since the positions did not coincide it was nonsense to say that Leopard had brought her to—there had been a foolish mistake somewhere in the Department and he knew the man who would put it right.'

  'Did he speak of your exchange?'

  'Not particularly. He seemed to take it for granted that once the mistake was put right it would go through in the normal way, and I did not press him. I gathered that he was too great a man to look after the details. No: after we had dealt with the brig we mostly talked about Nelson—he is a great admirer of Lord Nelson—and the schooner he has down in the Chesapeake, one of those fast American schooners, I take it, that can lie so close to the wind, but even more about you. He thinks the world of Doctor Maturin.'

  'Does he, indeed?'

  'Yes, and he said such handsome things about your birds and your learning, your Latin and Greek; and not to be behindhand I added your French like a Frenchman's, and your Spanish and Catalan too, not to mention the outlandish languages you picked up in the East.'

  'Brother,' said Stephen to himself, 'you may have dished me with your kindness.'

  'He lamented that he never could contrive to speak the French,' continued Jack, 'and so did I, and we puzzled for a while over a paper someone had sent him from Louisiana: without boasting, I may say that I made out more of it than he did. By the way, what does Pong mean?'—writing it on a piece of paper.

  'I believe it means a peacock.'

  'Not a bridge?' Stephen shook his head. 'Oh well, never mind. Let us cross that peacock when we come to it. Then he was curious to know how you came to speak the Catalan, such an out-of-the-way sort of tongue; but knowing that there were some things you had rather keep under hatches, I said to myself, "Jack," I said, "tace is the Latin for a candle," and left him none the wiser. I can be diplomatic, when I choose.'

  Nothing but Jack's diplomacy by land had been wanting to complete the picture: nothing could more effectually have fixed Johnson's attention on the one point that might determine Dubreuil in his identification. Yet on the other hand, the only Frenchmen who knew about Stephen's activities in Catalonia, who knew them at first hand and who knew him by sight if not by name, could (as dear Jack would put it) tell no tales. All was not lost, by any means: he might yet remain Dr S. Anon, a mere ornithologist.

  'Jack,' he said, 'I am obliged to you for your good opinion, but in principle, my dear, you might avoid applauding what you are so kind as to call my parts to strangers when we are abroad; it might lead them to think that I was intelligent—even over-intelligent In our service, on the other hand, you may say whatever you please: the more the better.'

  'Lord, Stephen,' cried Jack, 'have I done wrong? I was diplomatic, as I say, as deep and mute as—why, anything you like to name'

  'No, no I merely threw it out as a general observation Tell, what news from the sea today?'

  'Shannon looked into the port before breakfast, as I was telling you when you ran off, and finding President and Congress gone she sent her consort, probably Tenedos, away into the offing. Then Evans dropped in, bringing one of their officers, Lawrence, who had the Hornet when she sank our Peacock. He has Chesapeake now.'

  'What kind of a man is he? Like Bainbridge?'

  'No. Quite a different sort, much more open and unreserved—younger, too: about our age. I liked him extremely. To tell the truth, I liked him much more than Johnson, because although Johnson was so civil about you and a very gentlemanlike creature altogether, there was something I did not really care for: he was not the sort of man I should like to serve with, nor under, whereas I should be happy to ship with Lawrence. He brought a message from young Mowett, taken in Peacock and wounded, but doing well in New York.'

  They talked of Mowett, a most engaging young man with a literary turn, and Stephen recited some of his verse:

  While o'er the ship the gallant boastwain flies,

  Like a hoarse mastiff through the storm he cries,

  Prompt to direct the unskilful still appears,

  The expert he praises, and the timid cheers:

  Still through my pulses glides the kindling fire

  As lightning glances on the electric wire.

  'What a memory you have,' said Jack. 'Like a . . .'

  'Bull of Bashan?'

  'Just so. Then after that Mr Herapath very kindly came and sat with me for a while after he had seen his sister. He told me what sad dogs the Republicans were, little better than mere democrats, and how he had fought for the King under General Burgoyne. He is a fine old boy, and he has promised to look in tomorrow, bringing me—here's Shannon,' he said, reaching for his telescope. 'See, she is just clearing the long island. Now he will put his helm down, to avoid the shoal. There is a nasty shoal just off the point; Herapath pointed it out to me; but by now Broke knows that channel like the palm of his hand. There: he rises tacks and sheets—they will all be on tiptoe for the word—prettily done! She stays in her own length, nimble as a cutter. She is all alone now, with only Chesapeake to watch, Constitution being laid up; so we need not expect to see her throw out any signals.'

  'Why alone? Surely two would keep the Chesapeake in far better than one.'

  'That is the whole point,' cried Jack. 'He don't want to keep her in, of that I am very sure. He wants her to come out. She cannot be expected to come out against two frigates. That is why he sent Tenedos away the moment he saw that President and Congress was gone. There! She lays her foretopsail to the mast and brails up her driver, makes a sternboard, fills again; and she is round: prettily done . . .'

  Jack kept up a steady commentary on the Shannon's progress as she made her way in through the winding fairway, and while he did so Stephen wondered in himself, 'What shall I tell him?' Jack's physical state was fairly sound, but Stephen did not wish to interrupt his convalescence with any unnecessary agitation of mind; then there was the long-engrained habit of secrecy: and then again there was the uncertainty with regard to Dubreuil. On this occasion was he anything more than a property that Johnson moved on to the stage for his own purposes? As for Johnson, he was reasonably confident of being able to deal with him, although no doubt he was a dangerous man: Dubreuil, however, was quite another pair of sleeves, and he had suffered very, very much more from Stephen's activities

  He still had not made up his mind by the time the frigate reached the extreme range of the American batteries 'She lies to,' said Jack 'Just so. And there is Philip Broke at the masthead with his glass, staring at the Chesapeake. I was almost sure of him this morning, and now, with the sun in the west, I am quite certain. Should you like to have a look?'

  Stephen aimed the telescope, found the distant figure, and said, 'I can make nothing of him, at all. But perhaps you know him well—can distinguish him at a great distance?'

  'In course I do,' said Jack. 'Man and boy, I have known Philip Broke these twenty years and more. Surely I must have told you of Philip Broke a score of times?'

  'Never,' said Stephen. 'Nor have I met the gentleman. I trust he is an able mariner?'

  'Oh yes, yes, a capital seaman. To think that I should never have told you about him in all these years. Lord!'

  'Pray tell me about him now. There is an hour to go before our supper.' Stephen did not very much wish to know about Captain Broke, but he did want the steady background of Jack's deep, kindly voice while his mind revolved upon itself, waiting for the sudden flash that would tell him how to act.

  'Well,' said Jack, 'Philip Broke and I are kind of cousins, and when my mother died I was packed off to stay at Broke Hall for a while, a fine old place in Suffolk. Their land runs down to the Orwell, the estuary of the Orwell, before it joins
the Stour by Harwich, and Philip and I used to spend hours there in the mud, watching the shipping pass up to Ipswich, or fall down with the tide; a lot of those east-country craft, you know, that manage so amazingly well with short tacks in a tricky fairway, and colliers, barges from London river, and Dutchmen from across the way with their leeboards and fat arses, doggers, schuyts, and busses. We were both wild to run away to sea, and we tried once; but old Mr Broke came after us in a dog-cart, took us back, and whipped us till we cried like puppies—he was quite impartial. But still, we did have a misshapen sort of punt of our own, with a lugsail we were hardly strong enough to hoist: it was the most crossgrained brute that ever swam, and although it was so monstrous heavy, it would overset for a nothing. I used to save Philip's life three or four times a day, and once I said he should give me a halfpenny for each rescue. But he said no, if I could swim and he could not, it was clear duty as a Christian and a cousin to pull him out, particularly as I was already wet myself: still, he did say he would pray for me. Oh, those were happy days: you would have liked it, Stephen—there were all sorts of long-legged birds on the mud—we called 'em tukes—and bitterns booming away in the reeds, and those what-d'ye-call-'em big white birds with odd-shaped beaks—spoonbills—and the other kind whose bills turn upwards, and there was a dry place on the bank crammed with ruffs all fighting one another or pretending to, spreading out their neck-feathers like studdingsails. And we used to gather plovers' eggs by the bucketful. God knows how long it lasted, but it seemed like a small eternity, and it was always summer. But then he went off to school and I went off to sea.

  'We wrote three or four times, which is a good deal for boys; but I am no great fist at a letter, as you know, and we rather lost touch with one another until I came back from the West Indies when Andromeda paid off. Then I found that he had been unable to bear his school, though he was quick at his book, and had persuaded them to send him to the Academy at Portsmouth. Well, of course, I did not like to be seen walking about with an Academite—'