MAES 27: Meeting a Legend
AN: In Chapter five, Jack visits his home again, and although POB doesn’t describe the visit in detail, it occurred to me that this would have been perhaps the first time Philip would have met his older brother and been old enough to remember him clearly, with the possible exception of Jack’s wedding, where Philip must have been at least four years old. I think Philip Aubrey is sadly underused in the books.
They had not met half a dozen times since Philip was breeched, but Jack felt a certain responsibility for him, and in case he should wish to make the Navy his career rather than the army he had had his name entered on the books of various ships for the last few years.
-The Letter or Marque, pg. 257, Norton Press paperback
Meeting a Legend
Philip Aubrey was not normally an impressionable lad, as Mrs. Pearce would say. He had his own distinct character, quite different from his father’s, or that of his older brother, who, once upon a time, he had scarcely known existed.
All that had changed shortly after Jack’s wedding. Mrs. Pearce had noticed that Philip had been unusually quiet since he and his parents had attended the event, and was not altogether surprised when Philip asked her, “Was that man really my brother?” after telling her about the ceremony in what detail he could provide.
“Yes, he was,” Mrs. Pearce had replied. “And a finer man you’d be hard-pressed to find, though I do say it myself.” She couldn’t help feeling a slightly maternal pride in Jack, even after all these years.
Philip had asked her to tell him more about Jack, and she had complied, providing him with a stack of newspaper and gazette cuttings she had saved since Jack had first gone to sea. Most of the earlier ones didn’t mention Jack by name, only related battles involving ships he had served in, but all of the articles she had collected since Jack had been made a commander did mention him by name, and many included copies of his official letters, complete with his transmogrified signature, usually illegible.
Philip had not been keen on learning to read until he had been provided with this material, and he had asked her to read them aloud to him the first time. Then, he had asked if he could keep them. The old cook had allowed this, thinking that whatever impression Philip received of his brother from these accounts had to be better for Philip than the more direct and personal impressions that the General was giving his youngest son.
In a way, she was right. Although Jack Aubrey quickly became something of a legendary being to his younger brother, given that the only accounts Philip had read concerning Jack were of the heroic sort, the accounts did not fall too far short of the real man, and Philip was certainly more impressed with this shadowy brother than he was with his live father, who was very much a living absence in his life.
Jack was often away from his own home, with the result that after the wedding, Philip did not meet his older brother again for a few years, and by that time, his anticipation was so high Mrs. Pearce thought it likely that even Jack might disappoint the little boy who idolized this man he had read so much about.
She needn’t have worried: although Jack could not possibly have any notion of the pedestal Philip had placed him on, the fact was that any grown man who paid more attention to Philip than his own father ever had was quickly elevated in his esteem, and Jack had never been impatient or supercilious with children.
She watched the three carefully during those times that she was called to the dining room to bring more courses and clear away the remains of those previous. The General was seated at the head of the table, as was his right, with Jack on his right hand and Philip across from Jack, with the General’s other guests - disreputable men on the whole - spread out down the length of the table. The meal progressed in silence until she brought in the pudding: it was at this point her master usually remembered to speak to what guests he had, since there was no longer in anticipation of more food to come. She served the pudding and left the room, but pressed her ear to the crack in the door to listen in on what was said.
At his father’s request, Jack related not one, but three actions he had taken part in since he had been last to Woolcombe. The first was an account of sinking a Dutch seventy-four in the midst of an Antarctic storm, and Mrs. Pearce did not need to see her youngest charge to know that Philip’s eyes were bugging nearly out of his head. The boy would have new fodder for his imaginings of his brother after tonight, she thought fondly.
Jack then related the battle of the Java and the Constitution, followed by the Shannon and the Chesapeake, and Mrs. Pearce found herself listening as eagerly as the young boy in the dining room. That last had certainly been welcome news, but the official letter had made no mention of Jack being aboard. She made a mental note to find the clipping for Philip to add to his collection.
The other men at the table turned the talk to other matters, conversing in ones or twos, and occasionally addressing the General at the head of the table, who boomed out replies. Jack was largely silent; when he did speak it was to his brother, asking Philip “Are you enjoying school, then?”
Philip replied in a squeak, clearly overwhelmed at being addressed by his hero. “Yes, sir. That is to say, I like it sir,” Mrs. Pearce could picture the boy’s face turning red.
“That is good. And are you learning much of the mathematics?”
“A little, sir. It’s difficult at times.”
Jack laughed at that. “Aye, I remember when I was your age I couldn’t tell a hexameter from a logarithm! It did come to me in time, though, and I daresay it will grow easier for you as you go along.”
Jack continued in this vein for some time, speaking kindly - and exclusively - to his brother, to Philip’s obvious delight. He had never been given the chance to talk so much at table, since the general rule was that children be seen and not heard. Mrs. Pearce regretfully entered some time later to take the boy up to bed. He went reluctantly, she thought, and cast many a backward glance over his shoulder at Jack, still seated at the table.
0~0
Philip woke late the next morning, and it took him a moment to remember why he was so happy. But then the recollection of the previous evening came back to him, and he smiled for the pure joy of it.
His brother was everything he had thought he would be, and more. He had expected a hero, a brave man, veteran of many dangerous battles, and Jack was certainly that: the tales told at table last night were even better than the newspaper clippings he kept preserved in a hollow book one of his schoolmates had sold him for a shilling.
What he had not expected was everything else that Jack was. His brother’s easy kindness and genuine interest in Philip’s life had left him staggered. Apart from his schoolmasters, he couldn’t remember a grown man paying so much attention to him. Not only had Jack told the most wonderful stories, but he had also neglected the other guests, all grown men, simply to speak to him! He had said that he too had once had trouble with mathematics, which came as a surprise to Philip, for Mrs. Pearce had told him that his brother was a fellow of the Royal Society, in the mathematical line. Would he be able to progress as much as Jack? Philip wondered.
He still felt the effects of that conversation with his brother like a warm glow in his heart. He lay in bed relishing the memory before suddenly remembering that Jack would be leaving today: he had only come to see the General in his illness, and the General had been mostly recovered even before Jack arrived. He certainly wouldn’t linger here, when he had his own family.
Philip jumped out of bed and dressed at top speed, flying down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs. Pearce was there, as she usually was, placing some eggs on a plate with toast. Another plate covered in crumbs was on the kitchen table, along with an empty glass.
“Where is he?” Philip gasped, afraid she would say Jack had already left.
“He went for a walk around the north pasture,” Mrs. Pearce replied, having no need to ask who ‘he’ was. “Eat your breakfast and then you can go to find him. I daresay you’d like to talk with him a little more before he goes.”
Philip bolted his breakfast, ignoring Mrs. Pearce’s admonition to chew each mouthful at least ten times, and raced out the kitchen door.
Jack was indeed in the north pasture, or rather on the edge of it, sitting on the fence, facing away from the house. Philip ran almost right up to the fence, and then stopped abruptly. Was he not to disturb his brother? Would Jack take it amiss if he were to be interrupted?
He had no cause to worry: without turning around, Jack calmly said, “Care to join me?” as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Philip hastily mounted the fence and sat upon it, as close to Jack as he dared. He said nothing, and neither did Jack. Philip watched his brother looking northward, seeming very contemplative. Philip was contemplating too. He had never been so close to his brother before, nor been given the chance to study him overmuch. His eyes fell on one of the scars on his brother’s face: deep and jagged, it must have been a painful blow. Philip wondered if it had been made by a sword, and if so, how long ago. It certainly had not been there at his wedding. He was staring so intently, he was not aware that he was himself being inspected, until Jack asked, “Are you shocked by my scars?”
Startled, Philip blushed for his rudeness in staring and looked quickly away. “No, sir,” he muttered.
In a tone he usually reserved for ship’s boys, Jack demanded, “What?” in a short bark.
Philip said louder, “No sir!” then added as an explanation for his behavior, “I was just wondering what caused that one,” and pointed.
Jack smiled and traced a finger down the crooked line. “An oaken splinter, in the battle with the Dutch ship I told you about last night. It was one of the last shots she managed to fire at us before we sunk her.” His eyes appeared suddenly distant, and Philip wondered what he was remembering.
“It wasn’t a sword, then?” Philip asked, a little disappointed, and at Jack’s curious look added, “Mrs. Pearce says you’ve been wounded with a sword before.”
“That I have,” Jack rolled up the sleeve of his coat and Philip saw a long white line against the skin of his brother’s arm. “That’s from one of those times, and I have others. Bullet holes, too, although those are healed over quite small. I think the most painful weapon to get hit with is a boarding axe; it’s not only likely to cut you up most dreadfully, but it can break bones as well.” His tone was that of a connoisseur.
Philip was flabbergasted. “You’ve been shot, too?”
Jack laughed at his awestruck tone. “More times than I can count; I should have to have pen and paper and the help of my friend, Doctor Maturin, to map out all my scars and record their provenance. Fortunately, most of them are hidden by my clothes, or I should be quite the spectacle.”
Philip could think of nothing to say to this, and his eyes darted about for another topic of conversation. His gaze landed on the saber suspended from Jack’s belt. Was that the kind of weapon his brother fought with? Had he been wounded by one such himself? How bad did it hurt to be cut by a sword, really?
Jack noticed where his brother’s gaze was directed, and hiding a smile, he asked in a careless tone, “Should you like to heft it?”
Eagerly, Philip jumped down from his perch. Jack unsheathed his blade in a smooth movement and presented it hilt-first. Philip took it, and was surprised by its weight: he thought such a blade must be much heavier. Seeing his look and correctly interpreting it, Jack smiled and said, “No man wants a weapon heavier than it has to be: it’s hard enough to fight for minutes, still less hours on end if one is weighed down by his own weaponry, in addition to his other burdens.”
Philip took the hilt in both hands and was about to swing it down through the air when Jack’s hand covered both of his. “Not like that, like this,” he said firmly, rearranging the boy’s fingers for a steadier grip. Philip obeyed, and began swinging the blade up and down, back and forth, turning it to slash sideways at imaginary members of Napoleon’s army, gleefully picturing all his foes going down before him.
He heard giggles from no great distance, and turning his head, noticed two of the village girls standing on the lane that bordered the north pasture. Both were watching him, and one called out, “Aren’t you a little small for that sword, Philip?” Hastily, he lowered the weapon and offered it back to his brother.
Jack smiled but did not laugh, and waved the girls on. They went with many a backward glance and giggle. “It seems you’ve got an admirer or two,” Jack said lightly. “Only imagine how many you’ll have when you’re older, and have learned how to wield a blade better.” His tone was not teasing or even amused: it was of one man to another, and Philip felt himself swelling with pride. His brother at least did not think him a silly child with foolish dreams. His brother had let him swing a real sword, and spoke of being admired by others as though it were only to be expected.
Dimly, Philip heard Mrs. Pearce calling for him and Jack; it seemed Jack’s horse was ready to take him off. Jack smiled at him, and his look turned challenging. “How fast can you run, boy?” Before Philip could answer Jack was off like a shot, and the two raced across the pasture to the house. Philip won, but he suspected Jack had let him win, for he had only overtaken his brother in the last dozen yards or so.
But that was all right, Philip thought as he watched Jack bid farewell to Mrs. Pearce. Jack could have beaten him outright and then mocked him for his short legs. Instead he had allowed him the victory, and praised him for his speed. “When I was your age I could never have run so fast,” Jack assured him seriously.
After embracing the old cook and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek that made her pinch his cheek in return, Jack turned to him, kneeling so they were eye to eye. “I’m happy to have met you again, brother. I know I didn’t get much chance to be acquainted with you at my wedding, and sorry I was for it. Before then, I hadn’t seen you since you were a baby.”
“I’m glad to know you better too, sir,” said Philip eagerly. “Will you come back soon?”
Jack looked a little sad. “I can’t say. Likely not, if I get another command soon. But if I can come to visit, I certainly will. Come here, now,” he opened his arms, and Philip stepped into his brother’s embrace. Jack stood up, lifting Philip with him. Philip inhaled Jack’s scent, so different from the General’s. Jack smelled of sweat and salt air, and something unnamable. It was a pleasant smell though, and Jack’s arms were tight around him; the General had never hugged him like this. In fact, Philip realized with a jolt, his father had never hugged him at all, and his mother’s embraces were few and far between.
Suspended in Jack’s powerful arms, Philip felt a sudden desperation come over him. He wanted to speak, to ask permission to go with Jack to Ashgrove, to beg Jack to stay here a little longer. He might have done it too, had not the General suddenly appeared at the door.
“What’s this then?” he exclaimed in his usual blustering tone. “Aren’t you off yet, Jack? You’ll be late if you don’t shake a leg! Come, put him down and I’ll see you out.” When Jack did put him down Philip clung briefly to the placket of his coat, wishing Jack would voice the offer to take him away when he left. Both Jack and the General noticed his reluctance to let go, and the General barked, “Oh, let him go boy! Honestly, what are turning into, too weak to say good-bye to someone you hardly know?”
I know him better than you, Philip thought mutinously, but he stepped back, made his leg and looking up at Jack said, “Good-bye, sir. I hope to see you again soon,” in a polite tone that did not disguise his sincerity.
Jack nodded gravely in return, and followed the General out the door.
Mrs. Pearce said, in slightly too bright a voice, “Well! I hope he was all you expected?”
Philip nodded, feeling an odd tightness in his throat. “Yes, ma’am. He’s just what I thought he would be, and better still.” Then, unable to stop two tears from rolling down his cheeks, added, “I just wish he could have stayed longer, or I could have gone with him, perhaps. He makes me feel…” he couldn’t find the words.
Mrs. Pearce bent and dried his eyes on her apron ruffle. “I was a little afraid this would happen. You need more attention than what the master gives you, that’s for sure. I wager you were happy, to have Jack speak to you, and listen to what you said?”
Philip nodded and smiled through his tears. “He let me hold his sword, and taught me how to grip it properly, and he just…spent time with me, and paid attention to me, and spoke kindly all the time. I never thought he would do that. I never thought anyone would do that, except you.”
But it was more than that, he thought later that night as he sat up late in bed, reading over the clipping of the Shannon’s victory that Mrs. Pearce had given him. It wasn’t just how Jack had treated him, it was how Jack was. Jack was a tall man, and a big man. Jack fought in important battles and had been wounded more times than he could count. Jack wore a fine uniform and carried a fine sword. Jack had a very big scar on his face, and was the sort of man people admired.
Philip announced aloud to his empty room, “When I grow up, I want to be a sailor.”
He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, imagining himself tall and proud and handsome and scarred like Jack, carrying a sword and wearing a blue and gold uniform just like Jack’s, standing at his brother’s side as cannons boomed overhead and wooden splinters flew through the air around them.
He fell asleep smiling, dreaming of the day when he could join his brother at sea.