Dinner in the Captain's cabin
Jack always likes to think that the great room looks more inviting in the evening.
From where he stands in his cabin, with Killick bustling around him brushing, tugging, and fussing with his coat, Jack can see the table laid for dinner. The candles are unlit still but the wine is open and the tablecloth is pale yellow in the light of the lantern.
Killick grumbles something that may be “Burning the meat..” and Jack dismisses him quickly. A man of great appetites, Jack would never willingly ruin a good meal. He follows Killick from the sleeping cabin and goes to stand by the stern windows. Open, latched to the ceiling, they let in stray breezes from the sea and the smell of fresh pitch on the rigging along with the sounds of work on deck. The bustle is louder than usual as the men work to repair the mizzenmast.
The increase in noise on deck is not the only unusual aspect of the evening; tonight the table is set for only three. Mowett is on deck, monitoring the work of the hands and answering questions as they arise. Poor Alleyn has been bundled into his berth since sundown with a racking cough brought on by the damp and cold of the previous day. In light of these decreases in their numbers Jack has chosen simply not to pass the word for Captain Howard or one of the midshipmen.
Tonight he will be dining only with the Doctor and his first lieutenant. And, if he is honest, Jack rather likes the idea of dinner with Tom and Stephen. Jack is not, by his nature, a formal man, and the amount of wine that it takes to bring a dinner in the Captain’s cabin to a level of informality that he is comfortable with can seriously inhibit the next day’s productivity. He likes the idea that Tom and Stephen will come through the door not expecting him to be grand in his proclamations or wise in his words, especially after the events of these last two days. He will be able to speak of home and happenings and not feel pressured to live up to their expectations.
He has chosen, deliberately, to set all three places at one end of the table rather than a seat at the head and foot and another abandoned along one side. He has also chosen his favorite port to end the meal. He will not feel pressured to keep his coat on for the entire evening. These are the things that make a good meal for him, not pomp and clever anecdotes.
Reaching into the closest lantern Jack takes the taper and holds it over the candles on the table. The area around the table is suddenly warm with light, the corners still dark in shadow and combined with the cooking smells coming from the galley the feeling is quietly intimate. There is a soft rap at the door and a smile brightens Jack’s face.
“Come in.”
From where he stands in his cabin, with Killick bustling around him brushing, tugging, and fussing with his coat, Jack can see the table laid for dinner. The candles are unlit still but the wine is open and the tablecloth is pale yellow in the light of the lantern.
Killick grumbles something that may be “Burning the meat..” and Jack dismisses him quickly. A man of great appetites, Jack would never willingly ruin a good meal. He follows Killick from the sleeping cabin and goes to stand by the stern windows. Open, latched to the ceiling, they let in stray breezes from the sea and the smell of fresh pitch on the rigging along with the sounds of work on deck. The bustle is louder than usual as the men work to repair the mizzenmast.
The increase in noise on deck is not the only unusual aspect of the evening; tonight the table is set for only three. Mowett is on deck, monitoring the work of the hands and answering questions as they arise. Poor Alleyn has been bundled into his berth since sundown with a racking cough brought on by the damp and cold of the previous day. In light of these decreases in their numbers Jack has chosen simply not to pass the word for Captain Howard or one of the midshipmen.
Tonight he will be dining only with the Doctor and his first lieutenant. And, if he is honest, Jack rather likes the idea of dinner with Tom and Stephen. Jack is not, by his nature, a formal man, and the amount of wine that it takes to bring a dinner in the Captain’s cabin to a level of informality that he is comfortable with can seriously inhibit the next day’s productivity. He likes the idea that Tom and Stephen will come through the door not expecting him to be grand in his proclamations or wise in his words, especially after the events of these last two days. He will be able to speak of home and happenings and not feel pressured to live up to their expectations.
He has chosen, deliberately, to set all three places at one end of the table rather than a seat at the head and foot and another abandoned along one side. He has also chosen his favorite port to end the meal. He will not feel pressured to keep his coat on for the entire evening. These are the things that make a good meal for him, not pomp and clever anecdotes.
Reaching into the closest lantern Jack takes the taper and holds it over the candles on the table. The area around the table is suddenly warm with light, the corners still dark in shadow and combined with the cooking smells coming from the galley the feeling is quietly intimate. There is a soft rap at the door and a smile brightens Jack’s face.
“Come in.”