MAES 25: Confirmation
AN: As an American citizen, Fortune of War is perhaps one of my least favorite books in the series, and then only because of the last chapter. I know it’s historical events, but…sheesh. Still, I did have some sympathy for Phillip Broke, and thought he deserved a better conclusion, after all the buildup POB gave us concerning how much a victory meant to him.
“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…”
-Fortune of War, pg. 240, Norton Press paperback
---
He reflected on Captain Broke, an even more devoted, determined man than he had supposed. An austere man and no doubt rather shy in personal relationships: Stephen had the impression that he did not arouse quite the same affection among his crew as did Jack Aubrey, but there was not the least question of their great respect. It appeared to him that Broke lived in a state of unusual tension, as though he had an unusually great cross to bear, and as though great concern with his guns and his ship helped him to do so.
-Fortune of War, pg. 311, Norton Press paperback
Confirmation
Philip Broke did not know if this was a dream or a nightmare. Vivid visions were chasing themselves through his rattled brain: leaping over the bodies of his men to board with a score of hands, shouts for grapeshot, the ships drifting apart and the knowledge that he was outnumbered. A terrible blow to his head - a musket? - and a man standing over him, poised to strike. The strike not falling, a familiar arm and sword cutting off his attacker’s arm, flinging him away. A dazed memory of great confusion, a dim voice calling the word “surrender” and another voice, also familiar, echoing in his head, asking, “Are you all right, Philip?”
Jack’s voice that was. The voice of his cousin, who, though one-armed for the time being, had fought heroically alongside him. And done more than that: Philip had no doubt to whom he owed his own survival. Jack had saved him on the Chesapeake, striking down the man who might have cleft his skull in two.
But there was another part to this vision that he could not make sense of: the American colors falling, and then rising again. He could not make sense of it. Had they won, or lost? His memories of the end of the battle were confused; the last clear thing he could recall was Jack asking if he was all right. When he concentrated, he thought he could also recall his cousin’s voice telling him to look aft, that she’d struck; that the ship was his. But was that a recollection of true events, or was it his own greatest wish being given life by his addled brain?
He forced his eyes to open. Light stabbed into his brain and he groaned. Mr. Fox the surgeon immediately put a hand on his shoulder. “Lie still sir; you’ve taken a nasty knock. Your skull was exposed to the open air, and I have no doubt you’re suffering from a concussion. I know you must be very tired, but it is vital you stay awake for some hours yet, or you might never wake again.”
“Where are we?” Broke asked hoarsely.
“Aboard the Shannon, sir, and the Chesapeake is in tow. I give you joy of your victory, sir! It was a plain miracle --”
“You mean we’ve won?” Broke asked sharply, and tried to sit up. The surgeon forced him down.
“Of course we did, sir. Do you not remember?”
Broke frowned. He thought he almost did, but-
“I need to see her,” he said firmly, and tried to rise again, fighting the urge to faint.
“You’re not going anywhere for the moment sir,” said the surgeon, equally firm. “It was only by the grace of God that blow didn’t kill you outright. Your ears are still bleeding, and your eyes haven’t been able to focus on anything since Captain Aubrey carried you back over.”
“But I have to see, don’t you understand, man? I can’t remember! I have to see it for myself! I don’t know that we won!”
“I just told you we did, sir. Does this look like a Yankee prison to you?” he gestured at the Shannon’s cabin, quite familiar to them both.
Mr. Fox didn’t understand, Broke thought in despair. Logic and reason were one thing, having the evidence in front of one’s own eyes was quite another.
He had fought for this victory for far longer than the length of the actual battle. He had trained his crew relentlessly for what felt like years on end, driving them and himself to the limits of their ability. And he had done it for one purpose: to prove that the Royal Navy was by no means inferior to their American counterpart, in spite of the shocking losses they had sustained at the hands of their enemy.
Even if this victory was now real, Broke knew it was somewhat hollow. The capture of a single frigate would not erase those ships that had been lost to Britain, nor did it mean the next frigate battle fought between the two nations would end in a British victory. In order to gain this one, he had had to train his crew to a standard that, alas, was not at all common in the Royal Navy. Captains like his cousin Jack might also push their crews to the highest professional standards when it came to naval battle, but such captains were few and far between.
It was these reflections, and others, that made him so desperate to confirm his victory anew, to see his capture with his own eyes. He must have seen it before, he knew, but his memories were addled, he could not remember clearly, and the dim memory of the American colors rising sent an unreasonable fear through him.
But arguing this point with his surgeon would get him nowhere. The man might be a warrant officer of His Majesty’s Navy, but he simply did not place the importance that Broke did on a victory. No; there was perhaps only one man aboard who could fully comprehend what a victory would mean to him…
“Send me my cousin,” he ordered Mr. Fox abruptly.
“Captain Aubrey?”
“Yes, him. Send him to me at once.”
0~0
By the time Jack was summoned from wherever he had been his cousin’s state had deteriorated into near-delusion. After Mr. Fox had left, Broke had tried to relax, to quiet the unbearable pounding in his head, but it had only worsened, and through the distraction and agony, one image kept recurring: the American colors rising.
He did not notice his cousin’s entrance until he felt a hand touch his, and heard Jack’s voice asking in a low rumble, “Are you all right, Philip? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Broke opened one eye, and immediately closed it again. The pain was unbearable.
“Tell me Jack, and tell me honestly: did we win?”
He could hear the surprise in his cousin’s voice. “Of course we did! Do you not remember? I told you to look aft, and you did. We both saw the colors come down; you looked at your watch and said it had only taken fifteen minutes, but you seemed quite dazed so I told you to look again, you did, and thanked me. You lost consciousness right afterward, and I carried you back to the Shannon.”
Broke forced his eye to open, and remain open this time, adjusting slowly to the light of the single lamp. “You carried me? How? Your arm is still damaged.”
“I hoisted you over my shoulder and held you there. Your surgeon was angry with me for that, he said it sent a deal of blood rushing to your head, and your scalp being split most of it came pouring out. But I had no other choice, really. Your men were busy securing the prisoners, and there was no one else at hand. Besides, I didn’t need help - you’re not that heavy, and I was feeling particularly strong at that moment. You know how it is in battle: you feel like you can conquer the world.”
Broke would have nodded agreement at this, but his head still hurt abominably. “Jack, I must ask a favor of you. It may seem strange, but...”
“Ask it, Philip, and I shall oblige if I can.”
Broke opened his other eye, and stared directly at Jack’s dim face. “Might you carry me once more?”
0~0
The two men stood on the quarterdeck of the Shannon, looking out across the short expanse of water to the Chesapeake. Jack had not questioned, even for a moment, Philip’s desire to confirm his victory. He understood, as his cousin had guessed.
Jack had only a little difficulty carrying his cousin one-armed: Philip had enough strength in his own body to cling to Jack’s neck, while Jack’s good arm supported his legs under the bent knees. They had made an odd sight going up to the quarterdeck, and they had nearly been stopped by Mr. Fox , but fortunately Stephen Maturin had been with his colleague, and laid a firm hand on his shoulder, quelling any protest about the advisability of bringing a man as badly injured as Philip Broke on deck. Stephen also understood well enough why Jack was doing what he was with Captain Broke.
Philip Broke stared at his greatest capture in silence. All other considerations aside, he had done what he had set out to do. His mind and heart, filled with doubt and a good deal of fear since the commencement of this war, were greatly eased. In spite of their victories, he had proved the American Navy was not wholly invincible.
Jack, too, seemed to take comfort from the sight. He shifted Broke’s arm, draped across his shoulders, and smiled at his cousin. “Look at her, Philip. You did it, cousin, and you hold on to that, eh? It seems you’ve got a good deal of healing to do before you’ll be in top form again, but you just hold on to that memory, and doubtless you’ll pull through.”
Broke smiled back at his cousin, not speaking. Jack really did understand.