Morning on the Surprise (a character sketch)
Morning is the only time during which it would ever occur to Tom Pullings to move slowly.
Part of it comes from his general stiffness. After years and years on boats, he should be more comfortable in the sleeping hammocks. He should know exactly how to settle himself down to rest and allow his long legs to hang over the edges of the fabric. For the most part, he does not notice his discomfort, tired as he is after a long day on deck.
He owes his current position half to the Captain and half to the man ten feet away, already standing and dressed in all but his topcoat and sword-William Mowett, his friend since childhood and the only person who saw exactly how Tom received his scar; Mowett, whom Tom had not seen since after the Ramillies, his last commission, came home. Mowett was originally commissioned to be the first lieutenant on this journey, and stepped down the moment he found Tom floundering in the city, reporting to the Admiralty and looking for work. Mowett presented an astonishing case for both their employment to Captain Aubrey, and Aubrey, who remembered Tom fondly from so many years ago-sniveling midshipman, well, yes he was, and Tom is usually first to say so, long before the Captain has a chance to-eagerly took him on. Mowett’s smile at this decision was so wide, his “thank you, Sir” so heartfelt that Tom could not hold back his own, rarer smile.
Now, several weeks into their commission, Tom is grateful for Mowett’s company even more than his referral.
“Out of your pit, Tom,” Mowett says quietly, stepping back to give Tom room at the large bowl of water for washing. Tom half-falls from the hammock and leans heavily over the bowl until he hears a sound behind him.. He and Mowett share two servants, and one scurries forward with a clean vest and trousers, knuckling his forehead with his free hand. Tom stands up perfectly straight and dismisses the old man with a nod before he pulls on the uniform, ignoring the ache in his knees and elbows, his wrists and neck.
Today is a punishment day, the one day of the week when Tom feels both proud and vaguely disgusted by his duties. Yes, he is in charge of reporting infractions great and small, and he is often left to decide and mete out floggings and fines on his own, but his ideas of punishment often differ from the Captain’s. And from memory Tom knows it is pointless to argue once Lucky Jack’s eyes go stormy in the face of insubordination.
Still, today’s list is short-three men and a little one (caught stealing some of the midshipmen’s biscuits and shoved into a cabinet by Williamson until the master at arms could retrieve him)-and their crimes are small. Default should take no more than ten minutes, fewer if Tom can convince Jack to merely scold the boy into the next week-or allow him to do it himself.
Today, however, may mark the last time default is this quiet, the seamen this well-behaved. Something is stirring on the ship, and while Tom’s heard whispers here and there of a Jonah, he’s for the most part chosen not to listen further. He does not rise to Mowett’s jokes before they fall asleep, and he smiles in the direction of the Doctor, who sees everything-knows everything. More often Tom finds himself watching the seamen instead of listening to them, watching especially Captain Aubrey’s coxswain, Mr. Bonden, who likely sees as much as the Doctor and will reveal even less.
Tom turns from dressing to take his sword from Mowett’s hand, and as they bend to leave their berth, Mowett says something quiet about the watch-Tom hears the words Hollom, Calamy, Will fell asleep-and Tom leans closer to listen. Before Mowett can say anything more, Jack Aubrey emerges from his cabin, somewhat less resplendent in his rumpled uniform than Mowett and Tom, but commanding nevertheless. And Tom sees out of the corner of his eye Mowett’s cheeky roundness stiffening, his shoulders rolling back and his spine lengthening until he’s nearly as ramrod straight at Tom himself.
“Good morning, sir,” he and Mowett say as one, and Jack’s smile in return is warm. Tom feels the small aches and pains leaving his body, to be replaced by pride in the uniform, in the ship, and he climbs the stairs leading to sunlight, his raspy morning voice growing stronger as the slowness leaves him.
“Make way for the Captain,” Tom calls-
And begins another day.
Part of it comes from his general stiffness. After years and years on boats, he should be more comfortable in the sleeping hammocks. He should know exactly how to settle himself down to rest and allow his long legs to hang over the edges of the fabric. For the most part, he does not notice his discomfort, tired as he is after a long day on deck.
He owes his current position half to the Captain and half to the man ten feet away, already standing and dressed in all but his topcoat and sword-William Mowett, his friend since childhood and the only person who saw exactly how Tom received his scar; Mowett, whom Tom had not seen since after the Ramillies, his last commission, came home. Mowett was originally commissioned to be the first lieutenant on this journey, and stepped down the moment he found Tom floundering in the city, reporting to the Admiralty and looking for work. Mowett presented an astonishing case for both their employment to Captain Aubrey, and Aubrey, who remembered Tom fondly from so many years ago-sniveling midshipman, well, yes he was, and Tom is usually first to say so, long before the Captain has a chance to-eagerly took him on. Mowett’s smile at this decision was so wide, his “thank you, Sir” so heartfelt that Tom could not hold back his own, rarer smile.
Now, several weeks into their commission, Tom is grateful for Mowett’s company even more than his referral.
“Out of your pit, Tom,” Mowett says quietly, stepping back to give Tom room at the large bowl of water for washing. Tom half-falls from the hammock and leans heavily over the bowl until he hears a sound behind him.. He and Mowett share two servants, and one scurries forward with a clean vest and trousers, knuckling his forehead with his free hand. Tom stands up perfectly straight and dismisses the old man with a nod before he pulls on the uniform, ignoring the ache in his knees and elbows, his wrists and neck.
Today is a punishment day, the one day of the week when Tom feels both proud and vaguely disgusted by his duties. Yes, he is in charge of reporting infractions great and small, and he is often left to decide and mete out floggings and fines on his own, but his ideas of punishment often differ from the Captain’s. And from memory Tom knows it is pointless to argue once Lucky Jack’s eyes go stormy in the face of insubordination.
Still, today’s list is short-three men and a little one (caught stealing some of the midshipmen’s biscuits and shoved into a cabinet by Williamson until the master at arms could retrieve him)-and their crimes are small. Default should take no more than ten minutes, fewer if Tom can convince Jack to merely scold the boy into the next week-or allow him to do it himself.
Today, however, may mark the last time default is this quiet, the seamen this well-behaved. Something is stirring on the ship, and while Tom’s heard whispers here and there of a Jonah, he’s for the most part chosen not to listen further. He does not rise to Mowett’s jokes before they fall asleep, and he smiles in the direction of the Doctor, who sees everything-knows everything. More often Tom finds himself watching the seamen instead of listening to them, watching especially Captain Aubrey’s coxswain, Mr. Bonden, who likely sees as much as the Doctor and will reveal even less.
Tom turns from dressing to take his sword from Mowett’s hand, and as they bend to leave their berth, Mowett says something quiet about the watch-Tom hears the words Hollom, Calamy, Will fell asleep-and Tom leans closer to listen. Before Mowett can say anything more, Jack Aubrey emerges from his cabin, somewhat less resplendent in his rumpled uniform than Mowett and Tom, but commanding nevertheless. And Tom sees out of the corner of his eye Mowett’s cheeky roundness stiffening, his shoulders rolling back and his spine lengthening until he’s nearly as ramrod straight at Tom himself.
“Good morning, sir,” he and Mowett say as one, and Jack’s smile in return is warm. Tom feels the small aches and pains leaving his body, to be replaced by pride in the uniform, in the ship, and he climbs the stairs leading to sunlight, his raspy morning voice growing stronger as the slowness leaves him.
“Make way for the Captain,” Tom calls-
And begins another day.