OOC: canon: the rational garment
Jack got him into the after-cabin at last, a finely-proportioned, bare, spacious cabin with a great gun on either side and little else but the splendid curving breadth of the stern-windows: Hamond was clearly no Sybarite. Here he sat on a locker and gazed at Stephen’s garment. It had been horrible at a distance; it was worse near to - far worse. ‘Stephen,’ he said, ‘I say, Stephen... Come in!’
It was Paris, with a rectangular sail-cloth parcel. Stephen ran to him, took it from his arms with infinite precaution and set it on the table, pressing his ear to its side. ‘Listen, Jack,’ he said, smiling. ‘Put your ear firmly to the top and listen while I tap.’ The parcel gave a sudden momentary hum. ‘Did you hear? That shows they are queen-right - that no harm has come to their queen. But we must open it at once; they must have air. There! A glass hive. Is it not ingenious, charming? I have always wanted to keep bees.’
‘But how in God’s name do you expect to keep bees in a man-of-war?’ cried Jack. ‘Where in God’s name do you expect them to find flowers, at sea? How will they eat?’
‘You can see their every motion,’ said Stephen, close against the glass, entranced. ‘Oh, as for their feeding, never fret your anxious mind; they will feed with us upon a saucer of sugar, at stated intervals. If the ingenious Monsieur Huber can keep bees, and he blind, the poor man, surely we can manage in a great spacious xebec?’
‘This is a frigate.’
‘Let us never split hairs, for all love. There is the queen! Come, look at the queen!’
‘How many of those reptiles might there be?’ asked Jack, holding pretty much aloof.
‘Oh, sixty thousand or so, I dare say,’ said Stephen carelessly. ‘And when it comes on to blow, we will ship gimbals for the hive. This will preserve them from undue lateral motion.’
‘You think of almost everything,’ said Jack. ‘Well, I will wear the bees, like Damon and Pythagoras - ho, a mere sixty thousand bees in the cabin don’t signify, much. But I tell you what it is, Stephen: you don’t always think of quite everything.’
‘You refer to the queen’s being a virgin?’ said Stephen.
‘Not really. No. What I really meant was, that this is a crack frigate.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. There she goes - she lays an egg! You need not fear for her virginity, Jack.’
‘And in this frigate they are very particular. Did not you remark the show of uniforms as you came aboard -an admiral’s inspection - a royal review.’
‘No. I cannot truthfully say that I did. Tell me, brother, is there some uneasiness on your mind?’
‘Stephen, will you for the love of God take off that thing?’
‘My wool garment? You have noticed it, have you? I had forgot, or I should have pointed it out. Have you ever seen anything so deeply rational? See, I can withdraw my head entirely: the same applies to the feet and the hands. Warm, yet unencumbering; light; and above all healthy - no constriction anywhere! Paris, who was once a framework knitter, made it to my design; he is working on one for you at present.’
‘Stephen, you would favour me deeply by taking it right off. It is unphilosophical of me, I know, but this is only an acting-command, and I cannot afford to be laughed at.’
‘But you have often told me that it does not matter what one wears at sea. You yourself appear in nankeen trousers, a thing that I should never, never countenance. And this’ - plucking at his bosom with a disappointed air - ‘partakes of the nature both of the Guernsey frock and of the free and easy pantaloon.’
-- Patrick O'Brian, Post Captain
It was Paris, with a rectangular sail-cloth parcel. Stephen ran to him, took it from his arms with infinite precaution and set it on the table, pressing his ear to its side. ‘Listen, Jack,’ he said, smiling. ‘Put your ear firmly to the top and listen while I tap.’ The parcel gave a sudden momentary hum. ‘Did you hear? That shows they are queen-right - that no harm has come to their queen. But we must open it at once; they must have air. There! A glass hive. Is it not ingenious, charming? I have always wanted to keep bees.’
‘But how in God’s name do you expect to keep bees in a man-of-war?’ cried Jack. ‘Where in God’s name do you expect them to find flowers, at sea? How will they eat?’
‘You can see their every motion,’ said Stephen, close against the glass, entranced. ‘Oh, as for their feeding, never fret your anxious mind; they will feed with us upon a saucer of sugar, at stated intervals. If the ingenious Monsieur Huber can keep bees, and he blind, the poor man, surely we can manage in a great spacious xebec?’
‘This is a frigate.’
‘Let us never split hairs, for all love. There is the queen! Come, look at the queen!’
‘How many of those reptiles might there be?’ asked Jack, holding pretty much aloof.
‘Oh, sixty thousand or so, I dare say,’ said Stephen carelessly. ‘And when it comes on to blow, we will ship gimbals for the hive. This will preserve them from undue lateral motion.’
‘You think of almost everything,’ said Jack. ‘Well, I will wear the bees, like Damon and Pythagoras - ho, a mere sixty thousand bees in the cabin don’t signify, much. But I tell you what it is, Stephen: you don’t always think of quite everything.’
‘You refer to the queen’s being a virgin?’ said Stephen.
‘Not really. No. What I really meant was, that this is a crack frigate.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. There she goes - she lays an egg! You need not fear for her virginity, Jack.’
‘And in this frigate they are very particular. Did not you remark the show of uniforms as you came aboard -an admiral’s inspection - a royal review.’
‘No. I cannot truthfully say that I did. Tell me, brother, is there some uneasiness on your mind?’
‘Stephen, will you for the love of God take off that thing?’
‘My wool garment? You have noticed it, have you? I had forgot, or I should have pointed it out. Have you ever seen anything so deeply rational? See, I can withdraw my head entirely: the same applies to the feet and the hands. Warm, yet unencumbering; light; and above all healthy - no constriction anywhere! Paris, who was once a framework knitter, made it to my design; he is working on one for you at present.’
‘Stephen, you would favour me deeply by taking it right off. It is unphilosophical of me, I know, but this is only an acting-command, and I cannot afford to be laughed at.’
‘But you have often told me that it does not matter what one wears at sea. You yourself appear in nankeen trousers, a thing that I should never, never countenance. And this’ - plucking at his bosom with a disappointed air - ‘partakes of the nature both of the Guernsey frock and of the free and easy pantaloon.’
-- Patrick O'Brian, Post Captain