Dinner in the Great Cabin ... through Tom's eyes (1 of 2)
Dinners in the Captain's cabin serve as reminders to Tom that there is a civilized, relaxed peace to be found on board even a ship so busy as the Surprise. Jack Aubrey makes the effort to pass as much wine as possible around the table, heckling gently anyone whose hand remains on the bottle for longer than necessary-which is to say, longer than it takes to pour and pass along.
The food, too, is better than Tom would expect from Killick-poor fellow wasn't even meant to be a cook, wasn't trained to be more than a general steward. And Tom's been told by Mowett that in his first month, Killick was so poor and resentful a cook that Bonden took over the duties for a week-which of course served notice enough to Killick that he grudgingly learned his new and unintentional trade.
Now, Killick's warmed so much to his tasks that he refuses to let another enter his ridiculously small galley beyond his own steward, and he takes grave pride in his ability to make Jack's-and more important, because it's a hell of a lot more difficult to grind beans properly, thankee-Stephen's coffee just the way they like it.
But it is more than the food and drink that warms Tom at Jack's table. The songs, Jack's anecdotes, the Doctor's good natured bickering, Allen's cheerful bluster and the competing red noses and cheeks of Mowett and Howard all combine to make Tom feel like he is home, seated at the table of family he hasn't seen in two-perhaps it is three, now-years. And when he sweeps his eyes across the table, a genuine, easy smile on his face and fading laughter still on his tongue, Tom's gaze usually settles proudly on whichever young midshipman has accompanied him to the Captain's table that night.
Tom and Mowett share the responsibility of checking the midshipman's logs, their penmanship and their general behaviour at all times. Mowett is hard on the young men, perhaps too hard, and Tom is perhaps too lenient. In any case, Tom has never had cause to be disappointed with Calamy or little Blakeney, or even Hollom, quiet and shy as he may be, at this table. They alternate evenings here, as do Williamson and Boyle (the twin banes of Mowett's existence, if you asked him), and they bring a special spark to the evenings with their questions and blushing smiles when talk turns to things they would not likely learn elsewhere at their age. Yes, Tom is proud of them.
Tom remembers vividly his own behaviour as a midshipman at the Captain's table, more like Hollom's than any of the others', and he can understand every emotion they are going through. They miss their homes, their mothers especially, but they are desperate to prove their worth to the lieutenants-and more certainly, to Jack.
Now, as Tom stretches in his berth and walks to the even smaller section where the midshipman sleep and work and play, the same proud smile crosses his face. He steps inside their little hole, bending, and nods in the direction of Calamy, who takes up his hat and quickly in response.
"The Captain bids you join us at dinner, Mr. Calamy," Tom says, gently but firmly, and turns on his heel.
Tom knows young Peter will follow-as Tom followed Jack so many years before.
The food, too, is better than Tom would expect from Killick-poor fellow wasn't even meant to be a cook, wasn't trained to be more than a general steward. And Tom's been told by Mowett that in his first month, Killick was so poor and resentful a cook that Bonden took over the duties for a week-which of course served notice enough to Killick that he grudgingly learned his new and unintentional trade.
Now, Killick's warmed so much to his tasks that he refuses to let another enter his ridiculously small galley beyond his own steward, and he takes grave pride in his ability to make Jack's-and more important, because it's a hell of a lot more difficult to grind beans properly, thankee-Stephen's coffee just the way they like it.
But it is more than the food and drink that warms Tom at Jack's table. The songs, Jack's anecdotes, the Doctor's good natured bickering, Allen's cheerful bluster and the competing red noses and cheeks of Mowett and Howard all combine to make Tom feel like he is home, seated at the table of family he hasn't seen in two-perhaps it is three, now-years. And when he sweeps his eyes across the table, a genuine, easy smile on his face and fading laughter still on his tongue, Tom's gaze usually settles proudly on whichever young midshipman has accompanied him to the Captain's table that night.
Tom and Mowett share the responsibility of checking the midshipman's logs, their penmanship and their general behaviour at all times. Mowett is hard on the young men, perhaps too hard, and Tom is perhaps too lenient. In any case, Tom has never had cause to be disappointed with Calamy or little Blakeney, or even Hollom, quiet and shy as he may be, at this table. They alternate evenings here, as do Williamson and Boyle (the twin banes of Mowett's existence, if you asked him), and they bring a special spark to the evenings with their questions and blushing smiles when talk turns to things they would not likely learn elsewhere at their age. Yes, Tom is proud of them.
Tom remembers vividly his own behaviour as a midshipman at the Captain's table, more like Hollom's than any of the others', and he can understand every emotion they are going through. They miss their homes, their mothers especially, but they are desperate to prove their worth to the lieutenants-and more certainly, to Jack.
Now, as Tom stretches in his berth and walks to the even smaller section where the midshipman sleep and work and play, the same proud smile crosses his face. He steps inside their little hole, bending, and nods in the direction of Calamy, who takes up his hat and quickly in response.
"The Captain bids you join us at dinner, Mr. Calamy," Tom says, gently but firmly, and turns on his heel.
Tom knows young Peter will follow-as Tom followed Jack so many years before.