The Trouble with Time Travel...: Chapter 3
Title: The Trouble with Time Travel...
Genre: Mystery, Adventure and Romance (I can't help myself)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own nothing, all rightfully belongs to Patrick O'Brian's estate. I'm only doing this for fun and to improve my English.
Summary:...is that it never goes as planned. Carry no proof of it, don't stay long in the same place and avoid talking too much about yourself. Those are simple rules that should prevent any traveler from meeting an horrible fate. Of course, it's easier said than done....Yet another mysterious woman is rescued by Captain Lucky Jack Aubrey and his crew, and of course canon goes by the board!
Author's notes: I am obsessed with details. So much so that I researched so that the geographical cordinates were if not exact at least credible. The facts related by dear Mowett were taken from the novel "Master and Commander", as well as two excellent books: "Patrick O'Brian's Navy", by Richard O'Neil, and "Nelson's Navy: The Ships, Men and Organization, 1793-1815", by Brian Lavery. Those two books have been lifesafers to get life aboard, as well as a man o'war anatomy,rightly described. I shall never thank my boyfriend enough for offering them to me!
Chapter 3: Suspicions and decisions
In which Captain Aubrey make a heart-wrenching decision as we learn more about the mysteries of the rigging.
Saturday, April the 14th 1801. Light breeze blowing from the northeast. Latitude: 36º42’N. Longitude: 18º20’E. Are bound for a small island, south of the Greek archipelagos, for water supplies. M. Jenkinson knows those waters well, and is confident we shall find a small stream.
On the island. Went there myself so I could make more precise observations and map the place carefully. Water casks filled without incidents. Weather beautiful, and so allowed the men some free time.
Back aboard, with two more passengers. The meeting was most unusual, and merits to be fully reported here, with all the details. I had ventured further up on the small island, because I was informed by M. Jenkinson that an ancient Greek temple was still standing somewhere on the island, and I wished to see it. While we were exploring the ruins, we saw that they were inhabited. A man was sitting alone on the steps of the temple. He had his eyes closed, and did not stir when we hailed him. I deduced that perhaps he spoke not our language, since he did not seem from England, nor from any country of the old world. He was from the East Indies, that much I could tell, but I could not identify his archaic armour for sure, despite having been in service in those parts of the world for many years. M. Boyd hailed him one more time, and the man opened his eyes, but did nothing else…as if he did not acknowledge our presence. It was only when we got closer to him that he rose swiftly and unsheathed his sword, as if it could save him from our muskets! He did it even though two of my men were taking aim at him, and despite my order to drop his weapon. But then a voice, barely audible, rose from behind him, in a language I did not know, bade him to let us through I suppose, because that is what he did.
I was most surprised to find inside my old acquaintance, Sir Walter Chandler, a poet and a linguist, who I regard with esteem for his anthology of poems from my homeland. Lying there in the dark, he appeared to me very diminished and obviously suffering. We brought him back aboard to entrust him in the capable hands of M. Smith.
Sunday, April the 15th, 1801. Latitude: 35º47’N, Longitude: 16º33’E. Our guest is getting weaker by the hour; I am afraid he will not remain with us much longer. Sir Chandler is affected by a serious fever, and is often delirious. In one of his rare moments of sanity, he asked to see me, and made me take an oath on my sacred honour to carry his papers home and entrust them to someone in the Admiralty who I deemed trustworthy. Before his mind wandered away once more, he told me that those documents were of the utmost importance, and that not only lives depended on them, but also maybe the outcome of the war. At first, I must confess, I doubted the man’s sanity, but rarely have I seen such desperate determination, and so I believed him. Even if I don’t think the papers are that vital, surely they are enough to entrust them to my cousin, who is a member of the Parliament. He shall know what to make of them. That is the least I can do for this poor unfortunate man.
[…]
Tuesday, April the 17th 1801. Latitude: 37º07’N; Longitude 12º18’E. Committed to the deep the body of Sir Walter Chandler, passenger. May he rest in peace.
Friday, April the 20th 1801. Latitude 38º68’N; Longitude 08º58’E. The man accompanying Sir Chandler was found dead this morning. It appears he sliced his bowels open with his own sword and his head was cut. I doubt that he was able to do the later alone, but an investigation of course found nothing. I refuse to believe that one of my men could do such a thing….but we never know, unfortunately.
According to Miss O’Reilly, the man has committed suicide according to a ritual particular to his rank. If it is indeed the case, then we cannot decently give a Christian service to a man who has taken his own life, even if it is common practice amongst his people. In any case, he was probably a pagan.
Monday, April the 23rd 1801. Latitude 40º32’N; Longitude 06º29’E. I am beginning to suspect Miss O’Reilly to have committed the decapitation, although I cannot resolve myself to admit that this frail creature could have committed such a barbaric act. But I have no proof anyway, none but a series of circumstances, and I do not for now know Miss O’Reilly’s version of the events. Since this happened, she is more taciturn, more withdrawn. This is abnormal, as she normally has a cheerful and very sociable temperament, although she sometimes is too much spirited for her own good. She used to ask us a thousand questions, and would not leave us alone lest she understood the answers we had given her.. It was a bother most of the time, until she was permitted to join the midshipmen in their daily lesson. Her insatiable curiosity was satisfied, and my men could go to their duty in peace. But this has changed, she is barely aware of what’s going on around her. Her only reaction was a violent outburst yesterday, when, as it is custom, the possessions of the yellow man were sold before the mast. She fiercely opposed to the sale of his two swords, so much that M. Moore, who wished to buy them, had to beat a retreat. Honestly, I don’t know what to make of her anymore. And I still do not know what happened that day.
**************
Captain Aubrey laid down the journal and rubbed his eyes wearily. He then left his cabin, headed for the sacrosanct quarterdeck and began to pace thoughtfully. Until now, Miss O’Reilly’s report corresponded with Wallace’s log. Except for the encounter of the Cacafuego and the Pégase, of course, that Wallace did not have the chance to fully consign. And so, he did not know anything about the fate of those ships, which bothered him greatly. Were they still lurking in those waters? Jack had no wish to confront them, at least not both at the same time….poor old Sophie would not stand a chance, he’d be blown out of the water for sure!
As for the fact that his passenger might have beheaded a man….Jack did not believe it. How could a small creature like that deliver a blow with enough strength and precision to take the head off in one single shot? He had a lot of esteem for Wallace, a courageous man, a true sailor. But the man was also a passionate and romantic man, like most Scots. The sheer recklessness of his plan…to cast away a woman alone in the middle of the sea! And the importance he gave to the last word of Sir Chandler, a learned man doubtlessly, but obviously stricken with delirium…
“What is more”, said he inwardly while making another sharp turn, “I cannot say if those papers were really worth it, I do not recognize the language….Chinese perhaps….In any case, I can’t read a word! And the rest, in French, seems of no importance…personal letters which reveal nothing…at least as far as I can decipher”.
But on the other side, there was the fact that a Spaniard privateer and a French frigate had joined forces together. Surely there was something amiss.
And there was the question as to who must he entrust those documents to. Jack had not the support of many members of the Parliament…except perhaps Heneage’s brother, and still…giving them to his father was of course out of question. It was like telling it to Boney himself.
The scolding face of Admiral Harte pervaded his mind. “I suppose the right thing to would be to entrust them into capable hands”, he sighed. But this meant returning to Port Mahon, which the Sophie had just left behind. Gallantry and prudence would advocate that he turn around and safely deposit poor Miss O’Reilly and her burden ashore but….All this would equal to ruin a cruise he had worked hard to get…no, that Molly had worked hard to get him….And nothing could predict what the old fart had in mind for his wife’s lover. Probably something far less lucrative, and worse, far more boring, like the blockade of Toulon. And Jack Aubrey was not willing to take that risk.
But while his body was pacing the quarterdeck, and his mind weighing the pros and cons, Jack had to face his thrice-damned conscience: he had to go back. It was breaking his heart - and his purse - but he believed it was his duty to deliver those papers to his superior, and, most of all, to warn the Admiralty about the fate of poor Wallace. This way, or so he hoped, all would know what had befallen the Crusader, and this would raise the chance to pay back the Frogs and the Spaniards for what they did. Yes, sighed once more Jack, he had to go back, and rail at his new passenger would change nothing.
****************
Meanwhile, on another part of the deck, escorted by Mr Mowett and Mr Babbington, Aileen was recovering slowly. Since Dr Maturin had joined the crew of the Sophie, William Mowett had improvised himself official guide and protector of all the clumsy landlubbers who would come aboard. Unfortunately for him, however, he had trouble catching the attention of the pretty lady, as he had in William Babbington a most fierce contestant. The later, despite his small height and his youth - he was barely twelve - was already an accomplished seducer. He managed to win the favours of all, old and young, ugly and beautiful, and most of the time attracted on himself many misfortunes. But it did not slow him down, far from it, and right now he was displaying his most charming smiles and recalling his most droll anecdotes.
And it worked, because Aileen’s laughter was often heard during the morning. Even Mr Mowett couldn’t hide completely his amusement behind his frown in front of all the young midshipman’s shticks. Aileen found him hilarious, and, thinking Mr Mowett was about to reprimand the boy, tried to distracted his attention from the boy:
“ So, if I understand correctly, the Sophie is a sloop only because Captain Aubrey is aboard?
- Well, yes, it is. If she was commanded by a lieutenant, you see, the Sophie would become a mere brig.” Mowett paused, gathering his thoughts. “As I was saying before, our ship is most peculiar. The majority of brigs don’t have a rear castle; they are what we call flush-decked. But our old dear Sophie, now, you see, has one, which gives us this queer little quarterdeck, more like a poop.” said he while pointing towards where Captain Aubrey was standing.
But as Aileen began to walk towards the captain to greet him, Mr Mowett gently took her by the arm and guided her on the other side: “ We must not bother Captain Aubrey, this side of the quarterdeck is reserved for him only. We cannot go unless we are invited or if we absolutely have to talk to him. This applies to us all.
- Oh.
- Come with us, we will go and sit behind, at the poop, that is, were it would be if we really had one, and join Dr Maturin. While we’re there, I’ll explain to you the difference between the two sorts of riggings.
- He made us promise not to tire you too much”, explained Mr Babbington, discretely pointing the Doctor as he spoke, but without mentioning the barely veiled threats of the later if the young men did not honour their parole.
- It is very kind of him!” said she with a smile. “Oh! A good day to you Doctor! May we join you? Those young men are worried about my health, and wish that I sit down while they entertain me on the mysteries of the rigging.
- Please, child, do sit down, come and make the most of this glorious sun, with its most invigorating virtues. I myself bask in its rays whenever I can, and am rejuvenated every time!” answered Maturin.
At those words, Mowett and Babbington exchanged a glance, and blessed their luck. Because it was known of everyone that the Doctor indeed loved to bask in the sun like a lizard, but that he did it exactly like the creature, that is to say just like God made him, completely naked. And should this happen before a lady, even dressed up in an old midshipman uniform, it would disgrace the Sophie forever. But, thank God, it was not the case today.
Aware of their captain being not far away, both midshipmen launched themselves in their explanation: “ The first one is constituted of shrouds, which prevent the lateral movement of the masts, and of stays to stop them from swinging back and forth. And then there’s the running rigging which allow us to control the sails and the yards,” continued Mowett; pointing here and there to show all the things he was explaining. Seeing that his public seemed to understand all that was said, Mr Mowett undertook some more technical descriptions, carried away by his enthusiasm in having an attentive listener.
Stephen, for his part, soon lost interest in the young master’s mate explanations, which Mowett had already told patiently him many times already, and that he had understood perfectly well the first time. His thoughts quickly wandered away, while his gaze followed the birds’ flight near the Sophie.
Just like Captain Aubrey, Maturin worried about the nature of the documents carried by Miss O’Reilly. And his transcription wasn’t to blame, since he had painstakingly copied even the minor details before giving back the originals to the Captain. The problem laid in the fact that most of the documents were written in what seemed to be Chinese, a language that Stephen did not know.
Worst, the more the Doctor studied the texts written in French, the more he was convinced they were encoded, and that the key of the code was in the documents in Chinese. And so, he was making no progress at all, and it was incredibly frustrating. He wished nothing more than to get back to Mahon, where he could send the documents to his superior, who would then have them translated.
He could not count on the help of Miss O’Reilly to unlock the mystery, as a discreet inquiry had revealed that she knew not what she had been carrying. But he was not able to carry an in-depth interrogation, she had been too weak for that so far, and so it was possible he could still learn more from her. The Doctor was also curious to learn more about her whereabouts prior to her arrival aboard the Crusader. He found it odd, verily queer, that a woman should travel alone like this. But his questions would have to wait, for the young woman was showing signs of exhaustion.
Indeed, Aileen was doing her very best to follow Mr Mowett and Mr Babbington in their explanations, but her head was starting to spin. She enjoyed the charming company of the young men very much, and she felt indebted to them and to the rest of the crew. And so, she listened with application and interest, and remembered most of what was said. But when Babbington began to enumerate all the sails’ name and those of all the parts of all the masts in a singsong voice, it was just too much to bear; she felt she would faint again.
However, as she was about to excuse herself, and Doctor Maturin to vivaciously chide the midshipmen, the bell rang, announcing the change of watch.
“We will take our leave now, miss, and stop here for today. I must go and take Mr Pullings’ place, and Mr Babbington here”, added Mowett, “must go and finish his work so he can show his progress in geometry to the Captain. A good day to you, miss!”
Aileen thanked them, and both young men went about their respective duties, smiling blissfully. Because, unlike their Captain, most of the officers of the Sophie were delighted to have a lady aboard, even if the Doctor didn’t let them get near her most of the time. Thanks to her presence aboard, and to the splendid weather since her arrival, the mood on the quarterdeck was a little less heavy. But it’d take much more to relieve it completely and to dissipate the coldness between Lieutenant Dillon and Captain Aubrey.