A Friendship Dissected, Chapter 2 - In the Beginning….

[ozfille]

Title: A Friendship Dissected, Chapter 2 - In the Beginning….
Characters: Stephen/Jack, Mowett, Dillon
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers for Master & Commander
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O'Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis
Notes: I have chosen to use the Paul Bettany version for Maturin. I think because he based Stephen Maturin on himself O’Brian may have decided that it was better to imply he was rather ill looking. For my purposes I prefer the more pretty movie version.



The ambrosial scent of bacon, eggs and coffee wafted into the sleeping cabin drawing Stephen from his troubled sleep. Getting up, he looked at his face in the small mirror hanging in the sleeping cabin and contemplated shaving, but dismissed it when the smell of coffee decided him in favour of breakfast before beauty.

He was bending down to pick up the clothes he’d discarded the previous evening when Killick stumped in to the sleeping cabin with clean shirt, breeches and a towel, folded across his arm and holding a bowl of warm water and some soap. “Don’t put them wrinkled old clothes back on. I’ll have to wash ‘em. How can a learned man like you manage to get so dirty, so quick? Here is the water to wash and shave, afore breakfast. The Admiral is waiting upon you. Lord just look at these stains.” He scolded. Stephen looked suitably contrite and meekly started washing under Killick’s disapproving glare.

“I can wash and dress myself, Killick. I am not a child. Tell the Admiral not to wait for me. He must be hungry. I’ll be with him as soon as I am dressed.”

Killick scowled again and stalked off. “Not a child, almost like. How the man has survived this long is a wonder. Prodigious learning, but not a pennyworth of common sense.”

Jack looked up from his plate and beamed at Stephen when he joined him at the table. “Ah! There you are Stephen. How are you this morning? Did you manage to sleep at all? You look a little better. Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Good morning to you Jack. Yes I managed to sleep a little.”

“Good, good,” Jack smiled again a little quizzically this time. “Well, what do you want me to think about today Stephen, anything in particular? What’s your plan of action?”

He leant back in his chair, sipping his coffee when Killick placed the plate loaded with bacon rashers and eggs in front of him and smiled and said, “Well Jack, I think maybe we should start at the beginning. Today I want you to think about your first command on the Sophie, not anything in particular, just the things that seem to stand out in your memory about us or about me then. It doesn’t have to be pleasant. It may be more important to contemplate the things about me that you found disagreeable? Who knows? I will of course do the same. Maybe I shall reach the answer by some process of free association of ideas. A logical, reasoned approach may not answer and perhaps a closer attention to emotion would be more fruitful. The fears that I harbour concerning myself are based on irrational, rather than rational behaviour and it is within the heart that I may find some of the answers I need. I would like to talk to you this evening about what comes to mind? This won’t interfere with your duties, in any way I hope?”

“No, it is smooth sailing at the moment. I’m taking a little holiday from command until we reach the squadron. Whewell and the other officers can handle the ship quite well without me at the moment. I want to concentrate on you. Do you have many patients in the sick berth? Perhaps you can take a little holiday as well. Amos can look after any major problem, if it comes up, can’t he?”

“There are only a few cases and none of them are acute. Amos can deal with it quite easily. I’ll just go down this morning and have a look.”

He turned to his meal, feeling ravenous and started to eat with a gusto that delighted Jack. Killick tsked and said, “Mind your sleeve. That’s a clean shirt don’t get egg on it.” Stephen immediately drew back a little to preserve the shirt from stain, while Jack glared at Killick, shushing him. “Just pour the coffee, Killick. The Doctor’s cup is empty.”

“Come up on deck after your rounds. It’s a clear day and you can lounge in the sun all you like on the taff-rail bench and look for more birds, while you ponder.”

Another crystal clear day with good wind, but Jack for once did not take full advantage. For once, ordering adjustments to the sails to slow the Surprise’s progress. The topmen were not best pleased. They looked forward to shore leave in Buenos Aires. Grumbling only a little they obeyed orders and wondered what he was up to. Didn’t he want to reach his flagship as soon as possible? His officers and the men on deck, who had heard the argument, knew exactly why he was dragging the anchor.

Jack stood on the quarterdeck staring again at the shore and thinking perhaps they may stop somewhere to take on water. The Atlantic coast stretching up to the Rio Plate was rather dry and the water that can be got was rather brackish. The water from the shores of the Strait was supposed to be among the purest available. He’d consult the charts the whalers gave him. He was sure they had marked all their reliable watering places. He’d do it this evening, before he spoke to Stephen. Perhaps he could offer a day or so onshore for him to have a closer look at the land’s birds and beasts and maybe capture a few specimens. He’d like that. The men may be able to hunt some game and they’ll have some fresh meat.

Just as Jack had this happy thought, Stephen climbed on deck and headed toward the taff-rail with a book and his glass, returning the warm greetings of the officers and men who knew from their eavesdropping how distressed he was and wanting to comfort him a little. The Doctor was much caressed by the crew some of whom were almost as determined as Jack to get the Doctor to stay.

Stephen lifted his battered and disreputable hat to Jack, “A beautiful day indeed sir. I’m sure that I’ll spot a whole flock, a veritable winged armada of new birds today.”
The very young Mr Hanson, only recently promoted as master approached Stephen and told him that if he looked off to the starboard he might see a very odd looking bird indeed, pointing so Stephen could focus his glass. Stephen smiled and said, “Yes indeed Mr Hanson, I don’t recognise it at all. It must be extremely rare and if only the creature will stay still long enough for me to draw it we may be able to say we have discovered a new species. Oh damned flighty thing, it’s taken off. Hopefully we will see another soon.”

Stephen was warmed by the gentle affection shown by this young man and yes, the kindness of the crew. In most of the ships on which he had served he had always experienced this. Even from his first days on the Sophie. Seeing that Stephen was distracted by his thoughts, Mr Hanson bowed and returned to the larboard side of the quarterdeck to speak to Mr Daniel. Stephen sat down on the bench, put his blue-tinted spectacles on and opened his book and pretended to read, while he thought on this.

Kindness, just simple kindness. How it had touched my wounded and very sore heart. A heart, barren and dry from so many disappointments and disillusion with life, humanity, nations and every ideal that I had held close. My heart thirsted for this kindness, not unlike the parched earth of Catalunya, after a long and arid summer greedily absorbs the gentle rains of autumn. This kindness poured upon me by Jack and the crew of the Sophie with such openhearted generosity. I felt like a dying man given sweet, life-giving water to drink. It revived me and helped me look again at life with some pleasure, revived joys and appetites that I long thought dead within me. All feelings had been killed by the pitilessness, cruelties and betrayals in Ireland in ’98 and the post-revolutionary terror in France. Fine words, “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” to express fine ideals, all brought to nothing by the base nature of man. These ideals crushed into the dust in the mad scramble to wield power over one’s fellow man and to wreak a bloody revenge upon past masters for their tyranny. How bitter my outlook, how barren my soul, empty of all fellow feeling in the early spring in Port Mahon, the Spring of 1800 when I met Jack and was plunged into this floating life.

What a miserable scrub I had been to Jack at our first meeting! All I could do was snipe at him for being a half a beat ahead in his enthusiastic enjoyment of the music. Maybe I could not stand the expression of such wholehearted and genuine enjoyment of the music, another pleasure that was dimmed for me at the time. I am even more ashamed of my elbowing Jack in the ribs near the end of the performance. There was truly no excuse for such appalling conduct on my part. My godfather would have been shamed to think that his son who he had brought up to be a gentleman should be so vulgar. The next day with a generosity of spirit that stunned me, he apologised to me for spoiling my enjoyment of the performance. My shame increased a thousand fold when I compared my behaviour with his and I stuttered an apology and could only offer a cup of chocolate or coffee as atonement. The joy literally streamed from his face and warmed even my miserable heart and we had a very pleasant conversation and discovered a mutual interest in music and that we both played and then he invited me to dinner. He wanted to feed my body as well as my spirit in the liberality of his newfound happiness. This is the kind of generosity I had experienced with so many seamen, but then it is hardly surprising, as we are so dependent on one another for our survival in these fragile craft, and at the mercy of the wholly unpredictable and violent forces of wind and sea. This is in sharp contrast with landsmen. One can be totally independent on land, not so on water, we all must share this tiny platform and that is perhaps why I have experienced such graciousness and an unlooked for kindness from the able and experienced seamen and many of the officers of my acquaintance. Even that ogrish mother hen, Killick is capable of displaying kindness in his own unique way and poor old Bonden, when he was with us always took especial care of me and not just because he feared Jack’s wrath. I admit I could do with a little less of the cosseting on occasions. It was most undignified being hauled up and down the riggings like a sack of potatoes or boosted over the side like an awkward piece of baggage when boarding.

What struck me most clearly, on that first voyage on the Sophie was the kindness of that excellent young midshipman, Mr Mowett. What patience and forbearance he had, dealing with my lubberly questions. I had gone to him on my second day on board to seek clarification on certain matters pertaining to the arcane jargon of the seamen and to perhaps refresh the knowledge pertaining to the architecture of The Sophie and perhaps learn a little more concerning the mysteries of the command structure and naval law. I was overflowing with enthusiasm to expand my nautical knowledge as I approached him on the quarterdeck that morning. He looked pleased to see me, at first.

“Good morning to you all and especially to you Mr Mowett. After your quite excellent and educational discourse on the matter of sails and masts and riggings and assorting nautical things yesterday, I thought that you might be able to help with a few more points relating to this ship, no….boat? no....hulk? no...”

At those last two, the Captain glowered at me and especially at Mr Mowett who shuffled his feet, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Brig?....Sloop?”

“Yes sir, the last sir. It’s a sloop,” smiling at me with relief. “Though it’s only called a sloop because she has a master and commander in command. If a lieutenant commanded her she would be a brig.”

“Thank you Mr Mowett. You seamen are so very particular about the correct use of your terminology and your attention to rank. That is why I want you to confirm some of the jargon, terms I’ve overheard from the seamen. Just to confirm their correct meaning and to avoid offending nautical sensibilities. I pride myself as a linguist but this is a totally new language and I must admit it is most confusing for a new recruit.”

Mr Mowett’s smile wavered a little uncertainly now, he gulped and bowed and said, “Pleasure to help you sir.”

“Question away Doctor, I’m sure Mr Mowett can answer all your questions. Glad to see that you’re so eager to learn about the correct naval ways. Makes things so much easier on board, I find. Once you understand our ways I’m sure you’ll want to sign on with the ship.” Jack bowed and walked back to the other side of the deck.

“First Mr Mowett, I have had a theory about the derivation of the word mizzen, as in the mizzen mast. It must be from the French, misaine or maybe the Italian, mezzana. But if that is the case why is it at the back of the boat, err sloop and not at the front of the ship, which is its meaning in both the Italian and the French? Is it to confuse the enemy? But that would hardly be of any use I would think a mast is a mast whether it is at the back of a boat or the front.”

“It’s the bow and the stern, Sir. The for’ard part of the ship is the bow and aft is the stern.”

“Right.”

“I don’t know sir. The mizzen is the mizzen and has always been abaft the other masts. It’s navy custom I suppose so.”

“Ah, yes navy custom, well honoured I’m sure. So at the bow, is the bow sprit and what else other than the figurehead?”

“Yes, that’s right. Well there’s the heads.” He appeared most diffident now. Was I making him uncomfortable? I can’t imagine why?

“Heads? Why plural? Is this a bifurcated ship? I would assume that the quarterdeck would be called the head or at least the brain of the ship? The place from where the power of command emanates to organise the body of the ship. Most confusing! But then I suppose it is better to lead with your head, rather than other parts of one’s anatomy.”

Jack straightened and turned and stared at me, as did the other officers and one of those little boys, oddly called powder monkeys, collapsed on the lower deck there in a fit of giggles. What had I said?

“No, heads don’t mean that. They’re the men’s privies, sir. Remember from yesterday. Maybe your first day at sea had unsettled you sir, made it hard for you to take it all in.” Mowett’s face now shone bright red at this and he kept shooting guarded glances at the Captain, who was well looking rather strange really. I can’t describe the expression on his face, pained and somewhat shocked or rather surprised all at the same time. Oh dear I hope I haven’t offended but I think I have.

“Ah, I see. Well oh I did not mean to imply the quarterdeck was ……”

“No, no, of course not sir! Have you another question sir?” Mowett was looking a little dogged now, dear boy.

“Well it is this strange thing about directions on board. There seems to be a multiple number of terms that are used, starboard, larboard, leeside and weatherside on top of your stern, bow, for’ard and aft. I assume that the evil leeside is always on the larboard and the weatherside is on the starboard. As the larboard is on the left, is it not, the leeside is also, as you seem to ascribe some sinister intent on the leeside’s part? Though I am not sure what stars have to do with weather? A strange association of ideas, indeed! Does it come from an ancient maritime superstition that the wind is generated by the stars?”

I could not discover the reason for the sudden gusts of laughter that erupted from the deck below and from above. Such a happy crew, it seems!

“Jack, I compliment you and your officers on commanding such a happy crew. They really seem to be enjoying their work. I cannot believe what good spirits these men are in.”

“Yes Doctor I’m sure they do enjoy their work. Mr Mowett will be very happy to explain the directions to you Doctor.”

But Jack did not look as happy as his crew. Have I offended some unknown law? Again that strange look wavering between shock and a smirk and he is quite red in the face. Maybe I should take his pulse? These bigger men are so prone to sudden apoplexies brought on by heat, exercise or tension. Dillon is looking at me with such contempt. How have I offended him? What a prickly character he has acquired.

“Well sir, no you’re not quite right there sir. They aren’t the same. The larboard is to the left but it really doesn’t have anything to do with leeside or leeward sir. Leeward just refers to being the landward side of the ship sir. So if we could see land to the right of the sloop sir, you could see it from the starboard side but it would be to the leeward side of the ship. Is that clear sir? I think starboard used to be said ‘steerboard’ sir, nothing to do with stars really. Weather side is the side from where the winds blow sir, usually from the sea.”

“Oh I see. Well I do seem to have a lot to learn?”

“Yes sir,” Mowett looked down at his boots, mute.

To cheer him up, I then thought I’d ask him about the divisions of the masts. I’m sure I’d got those terms right and he would know that I had gained some benefit from yesterday’s painstaking tutelage. “Well now as we were standing on that platform on the mast yesterday, the one with the lubbers hole, and we were looking at the tops, the platforms and arms of the masts above you so kindly pointed out the ….”

I stopped I had made another mistake. I could see it, Mowett looked even more disconsolate, “No sir that platform where we were standing is the maintop and we were looking at the crosstrees.”

“Oh dear, so the tops aren’t really at the top, they are actually the lowest platform. I must seem an awful landlubber to you. Well maybe we will move onto something less technical. Nautical jargon, I’m sure there will be no confusion there. It did seem an odd expression when I heard it, ‘blanket hornpipe’. What does it mean?”

A total hush fell on the quarterdeck and the decks below and above. Again all the officers visibly stiffened. There was a muffled titter and Mr Babbington turned quickly to look out to sea to avoid the Captain’s eye. Jack Aubrey stood absolutely rigid, back ramrod straight, his face a deep mottled red, verging on purple now. Dillon rolled his eyes and turned away looking aft.

“Which seamen spoke to you in such terms, Doctor?”

“Oh the comment wasn’t directed to me, I just overheard it. It was just a term they used in the conversation between them. I had no idea what they were discussing. I thought it was something vaguely musical. Oh! I see it has something to do with sexual intercourse then?” Mr Marshall, the master, Dillon and the Captain all stiffened again in silent reproach. The midshipmen, Babbington and Pullings tried to smother their guffaws.

“Yes, Doctor. Babbington stow that noise climb up to the mizzen top and stay there until I order you down. Pullings swing the lead, now.”

They both scuttled away as fast as they could and the estimable Mowett was now covered in shame. Oh these seamen, they can be as crude as any men! I’d seen them on shore, drunk and bibulous, screeching out the crudest expressions to whores, but here on board they were all as prim as old maids and I had offended again. Maybe I should rethink my plans of taking up Jack’s generous offer.

“I do apologise once again Captain I seem to have such a capacity this morning to offend. Perhaps it was not wise to accept your kind offer after all. I am most heartily sorry for my indiscretion. I did not realise that the opprobrium incurred by using such terms on the quarterdeck, is equivalent to that of swearing in church. I would not like to be seen as rude.”

“No, you were not aware of the meaning of the term and you did not mean to offend. Do not worry so Doctor, I’m sure you’ll learn in time about naval ways.” This last, he said with a rather forced smile.

“Thank you, Captain, most gracious. Then you will not clap me in irons, like that poor man, Wilson sitting in the bilge.”

“Orlop sir or the hold, bilge is the water in the hold sir.” Mowett whispered.

“Thank you and am most obliged. Bilge what disgusting foul smelling stuff. I don’t think it at all healthy for the crew, having it lie there, slurping away in the hold. It could become the source of some dire miasma.”

“Doctor, where did you get the idea that you would be clapped in irons for rudeness?” Jack addressed me again, but was glaring at poor Mowett.

“Well Mr Mowett told me that Wilson had been clapped in irons for being rude.”

“Just so, but that doesn’t apply to you sir. You would not be clapped in irons or flogged.”

“May I ask why not? What is the difference between me and the seamen?”

“You are my guest, at the moment and you will be officially appointed as ship’s surgeon, an officer if you agree to sail with us in a formal capacity.”

“So what form of discipline is applied to officers then?”

“If you were accused of an offence against the Articles of War you would be locked in your cabin till we reached shore again, where you would be either cashiered or committed to trial if it were a grave offence.”

“Oh, somewhat like a naughty child sent to their room, as punishment. I’m so relieved. The depth of my ignorance of these things is truly appalling and I will try not to offend any of the Articles of War. The prescribed punishments seem to indicate the officials who drafted these Articles had an unhealthy preoccupation with death.”

“Just so Doctor, a proper means of deterring all men from committing acts of infamy on board. They’re most necessary, when you think of all of those sea-lawyers aboard some ships.”

“Sea-lawyers, sir, I did not realise the legal profession went to sea. You do not have one on board. Is it only a custom during peace, so that instead of bombarding one another with cannon you have lawyers on all ships to swap writs when one ship has in someway injured another?”

The look of utter disbelief that passed across Jack’s face was a wonder to behold. “Mr Mowett, explain the meaning of the word to the Doctor.” He swung around quickly. His shoulders were shaking. Maybe he was having a fit of some kind wondered Stephen.

“Sir, it is a term used to describe an ungrateful seaman who stirs up trouble among the crew, even mutiny.” This last word was whispered as if by speaking it aloud, Mowett might tempt fate and bring this doom down upon the Sophie and her Captain.

“I see. Well there was one other term, which has sparked my interest, ‘Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter’. It seemed to be in relation to a form of punishment, but I’m not sure how it could be such a harsh punishment, unless the Gunner’s daughter was extremely ugly and I don’t think Mr Day would appreciate the men kissing his daughter, even if the Captain had ordered it? What offence would need to be committed to be forced to kiss her? I did not realise naval ships were allowed to carry women?”

Mr Mowett stared at me and broke into laughter, until he was quelled somewhat by the Captain’s warning growl, “Mr Mowett.”

“Oh sir, I’m so sorry to have laughed at you. It is a term we use to describe the punishment of the youngsters sir. If they have been disobedient they are tied to one of the cannon and given a thrashing sir.”

“How barbaric! How severe are these beatings? I’m not sure treating children in such a manner is altogether wise.”

“Needless to say Doctor, it is the naval custom.” Jack said, firmly quashing any further questioning of time-honoured naval practices.

“Oh, perhaps we should return to the rigging then? Safer ground there, I should think.”

“Yes sir, what would you like to know?” Mowett said, now quite resigned to his fate.

“I heard the men talk about ‘Missing Stays’ and so horrible was this event that the Captain would fall into a rage if these stays went missing. You explained to me about backstays and forestays but how do these very large and solid lengths of rope go astray? Does a mighty wind blow them away or a monstrous wave wash them overboard or some seaman cut them to pieces in a rage? It is barely believable that they could just go missing.”

This time all the top men on the mizzen mast broke out in hoots of laughter and the men just for’ard of the quarterdeck hurriedly moved away, chuckling.

“No sir, it’s when the ship fails to go about from one tack to another.”

“Tack? This is a term I thought applied to needlework, how does this apply to sailing a ship?”

At this point, in desperation Mowett looked for relief from the Captain his eyes wide and staring. “Stand down, Mr Mowett. I’ll finish the lesson.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir. Hoped I have helped the Doctor, just have to go and heave the log, sir. Good day to you.” With a look of one who had escaped a most horrible fate, he walked briskly forward.

“I seem to have wearied that congenial young gentleman with my questions. I am amazed at the depth of my ignorance and I so wanted to ask some questions about the mechanics of navigation as well.”

“Well if I must say so, I have not come across any creature so innocent of any knowledge relating to sea life as you Doctor. But that will be resolved in time. Tack, now tack refers to the course of the ship in relation to the direction of the wind and the position of her sails. If it is a ‘Starboard Tack’ the wind is coming across the starboard side. Do you understand?”

“Oh! I believe so.” I don’t think he believes me, but I’m not sure pursuing it would make anything clearer. Perhaps it is better to wallow in my ignorance.

“Is there anything else you need to know, Doctor? It is just that we are pressed for time. We have to call noon and such.”

“Oh no! I’ll enquire into navigation at a later time, a time more convenient to yourself or Mr Mowett.”

Jack smiled and said, “Good, I will assign Mr Pullings to you tomorrow to explain the finer points of navigation. Pullings you shall attend the doctor tomorrow and answer all his questions, in detail.”

“Yes sir.” Pullings bobbed his head and stood stiffly, his face set in rigid lines of obedience.

“Perhaps Babbington will be able to assist you another day, Doctor.”

“Most kind, most kind.”

“Now, Doctor would you like me to show you the ships of the convoy and explain their details to you again?” Jack smiled.

“Oh yes! They all seem very different. There is certainly a truly baffling range of terms to describe boats, that I’m sure I will barely retain them, but I will certainly make the attempt.”

Oh yes, that poor boy Mowett, when I look back now how sorely I had tried him that day. No malice did he ever show me, nor desire for petty revenge but always treated me in the same way in all my dealings through the years, with gentleness and kindness. The same could be said of Babbington and Pullings, all fine men. Yes that would be one of the things that would cause me to consider staying in the service. It will weigh heavily in my decision. I feel so tired. I’ll just close my eyes, just for a few minutes.

Jack standing on the starboard side of the deck looked back at Stephen on the bench at the taff-rail. His head had nodded forward, the book now fallen to the deck. Jack moved quickly back to the rail before the roll of the ship dislodged Stephen from his perch. “Mr Daniel, over here and help me move the Doctor so that he’s lying down. Mr Hanson run to the cabin and get a pillow for his head.”

When Stephen was comfortably arranged on the bench, Jack stood back a little looking down at him. Stephen was now smiling a little in his sleep, Jack returning the smile automatically. Then crouched down and removed his blue-tinted spectacles, searching for the small pouch around Stephen’s neck where he normally stored them, stowed the spectacles and being so close to Stephen’s face, as always was tempted to kiss him.

“The Doctor must be awfully tired sir,” Hanson said as he came back disturbing Jack’s reverie. “Do you think he will be warm enough sir? The wind is a bit sharp. Shall I get a blanket for him, sir?”

Jack took the pillow and gently placed it under his head and nodded. “He did not sleep well last night. Yes, go get a blanket, don’t want him to catch a chill.”

When had I first seen Stephen sleeping and marvelled at how innocent he looked, how vulnerable? This man evoked such protective feelings within me it shocked me. Has it always been that way? Yes, I remember thinking very early on that man should not be let out alone and unattended. Who knows what trouble he would blunder into, if left to his own devices? Entirely wrong of course, Stephen is much sharper than me on land and can pick out a villain at twenty paces, but still that impression has remained and I still worry when he wanders off by himself, even if he is only innocently chasing yet another bird or beast. Yes, the first time was the first time that I’d seen Stephen naked. I had come back from Molly Harte’s dissatisfied. She was entertaining some other gentleman friends and did not seem too well-disposed towards me so I’d walked out in a bit of a temper and found myself puffing and panting my way up the hill to Stephen’s room at Mr Florey’s house. Stephen wasn’t expecting me and so as not to disturb him I crept into his room, and what a sight I saw. It pulled me up sharp.

He was lying on a bed and directly behind opened the balcony that hung over the high cliffs of the bay of Port Mahon. I could see the entire bay from this height stretching out behind Stephen. It was glittering that particular colour aquamarine specific to the Mediterranean. The Sophie floated at anchor in the bay, I could see it, but it wasn’t the Sophie that distracted me. Stephen lay on the bed, the blankets tossed aside and the white sheets crumpled around him. He was only wearing a shirt and that totally open, the white frills of the shirtfront lying at his side. The morning sun flooded the room, and caused his auburn hair to be tipped with gold. He lay on his side; his back to the sun and his body was stretched full length, with one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. He had very little body hair and though not a very tall man had well-proportioned muscles, perhaps a little skinny. One arm was crooked and under his head the other almost cupping his cock lying relaxed against his inner thigh, from its tip a drop of milky fluid glistened in the sunlight. His face that of an innocent. I had this overwhelming urge to touch his hair, brush it back.

Then his face changed, as he grew restless in the dream he was having. He started tossing his head a little and crying out for someone to stop, praying to God they would stop. Then tears began to flow from his closed eyelids as whatever he was seeing in his dream was driving him to a state of despair. I heard him call out a name. I think it was Mona and then bitter rasping cries as he sobbed in his distress at whatever he was experiencing in the dream. I wanted to go over there and wake him and comfort him but I didn’t know how. I felt that I had to do something to stop the pain he was feeling, but I couldn’t let him wake and find me here, listening to his dreams. That would be too shameful for him. I always knew Stephen was a private man, even then. He hated people knowing his true self, but I saw it, no matter the occasional games he played to divert my attention. He began stretching, he was waking and I ran for the door. He must not find me there. That was all I was thinking.
I returned to the patio of Dr Florey’s house and waited and then went back to Stephen’s door and knocked.

He opened the door a robe clutched around him, his eyes still red-rimmed from crying, rubbing them with the back of his hands and squinting in the bright sun.
“Oh Jack, it’s you. Come in, come in. I’ve just woken. I was up all last night looking for a rare owl that is supposed to roost in the hills behind the town.”

“Did you find your owl?”

“No, no, I heard its calls but could not catch sight of it. Do you want coffee? I can get Maria to make some if she is still in the house. Or we could go down to Joselito’s and I will have a late breakfast while you have some coffee. I’ll just go wash. Sit down.” He slipped into the adjoining washroom.

I touched the bed still warm from his body and sniffed the pillow inhaling his scent. Then I felt it, my partial arousal. What had sparked that? I had wondered, but shrugged it off as a result of my frustration over Molly Harte. I certainly wasn’t sexually aroused by the sight or smell of Stephen. I wasn’t that type of man.

But no I shook my head, as the memory faded, that wasn’t what Stephen asked me to think about. I’m not sure he would be thrilled to hear how I had invaded his privacy that morning. But there is some connection and its linked back with James Dillon. I always suspected that the two of them had some secret they shared between them and it added to the tension and the dislike I had for Dillon, after he almost accused me of being a coward. I felt hurt and jealous that Stephen shared something with him that he would not or could not share with me. It certainly wasn’t sexual jealousy, as I could hardly accept the fact that Stephen was sexually appealing to me, even though sometimes I had the strangest of dreams. He still has never told me what that secret was. Though, now I’m sure he knew James Dillon from somewhere else other than the Sophie, perhaps in Ireland. I never saw Dillon as rebel material, though Stephen definitely is and I suspect he must have been involved or at least known and perhaps admired some of the people in the ’98 rebellion. If Dillon was in the opposite camp, he would have denounced Stephen I’m sure, so both of them must have agreed between them never to acknowledge their past friendship? Or were they only acquaintances that just happened to be on the same side and both feared exposure.

It hardly matters now, Dillon is dead, but yet somehow he changed the balance, made me want to keep Stephen closer to me. I was always having to stifle my feelings of resentment when I saw them playing chess together and sometime inviting Stephen to the cabin to dinner and not inviting Dillon, trying to keep them apart. It was pathetic really, but I saw him as a threat, but I don’t know why.

I do remember when those feelings within myself became more marked. It was the night I had arrived back in Port Mahon. I was in the mood for some music and I went in search of Stephen but did not find him in his rooms at Mr Florey’s or in any of the few other places I thought he might be. He and Dillon had sailed back before us on the French prize, Citoyen Durand. I was somewhat put out by being deprived of Stephen’s company but relieved with the removal of the Dillon’s uncongenial coldness and disapproval. I felt I could breathe easier without his constant critical and carping eye upon me, judging my every action and choosing to disapprove every one of them. What made it more hurtful was I did not know the reason why he disliked me so. Did he resent that I got my step up, while he didn’t. Did he think I did not deserve it? I hate being disliked. I like to rub along with everyone. It does not take that much effort to be pleasant but that stiff necked Irishman obviously thought otherwise.

I was walking through, a rather more than usually disreputable part of Port Mahon and I heard music, it sounded like the Irish music some of the men played on board. Those wild pipe sounds and fiddles and drums made a mournful sound that suited my mood so I stepped into the shanty for a drink.

I stood there at the doorway looking around the bar and there was Stephen with Dillon in a corner of the room. What did Dillon think he was doing bringing Stephen to this disreputable place? I have a good mind to go over there and demand an explanation. No I can’t do that, Stephen is not a child and would resent such presumption on my part. They seem to both be very sad and very serious listening to the woman singing to the mournful dirge of a tune. What was she singing about? It must be the Irish she’s singing in. They are both concentrating hard on the song and seemed to nod in unison and in agreement with what was being sung, both had tears in their eyes as did every Irishman in the room. I’ll go and sit down at that table where I can see them but they can’t see me. Here comes the girl to take my order. She is smiling and is quite winsome but I don’t understand a word she’s saying.

“I’m sorry, do you speak English?”

“Yes, what will you be wanting?” She said now the smile leaving her face and her eyes now staring at me, challenging me.

“Some rum, if there is any available.”

She nodded sharply and walked off. That look of hatred and contempt, almost like the look Dillon has when he disapproves of something or someone, usually me. They are now both leaning over the table. What is it they’re drinking from that carafe? Looks clear like water, maybe its gin. No Stephen doesn’t like gin. I’ll ask the girl when she comes back. The mood of the room has changed now. Its quite jolly and gay, the tune the fiddler and the fife player were playing was lively and merry. The faces of all those around, just as mercurial in mood as the music are now wreathed in smiles, their heads and their feet tapping to the music. Some get up and dance, that strange clog dance with rapid movement of feet, carefully and deliberately placed, their backs ramrod straight, their arms rigid at their sides, some of their faces stern and unmoving with the effort. Not like the Scottish highland dances, quite different really.

Here she is, I’ll ask her. “Can you tell me what the gentlemen are drinking over there?”

“It would be the poteen sir, an Irish drink. Like whiskey sir. Anything else you be wanting sir? Did you want anything to eat with your drink, sir? ”

“No thank you, this is fine.”

Now she’s gone back to the bar, I can see the cleared space on the floor and both Dillon and Stephen have joined in the dancing. Stephen is lightly leaping and kicking his feet. I didn’t think Stephen would be interested in dancing and Dillon even less. Dillon is less light on his feet, less skilful and slower than Stephen. Why does that make me smile? But then Stephen has music in his soul and Dillon does not. I doubt he ever did. Dillon slows and has gone back to his table to watch Stephen and the others dance. I sink further back into my dark corner. I don’t want either of them to see me. They might think I’m spying on them. But isn’t that what I’m doing? Why didn’t I go straight over to their table, when I came in? Because I know that I wouldn’t have been welcome to Dillon. No, I’ll sit here and watch them, keep Stephen safe. He wouldn’t know the type of lowlife that frequents these types of bars.
He’s a gentleman and I thought Dillon was too.

Finally the dancing has stopped and Stephen is walking back to their table. He looks a little flushed, probably just the exertion of the dance and maybe the effect of that poteen. I’ve heard it’s pretty rough stuff. I wonder why Stephen is drinking it? Not like him at all but when he is with Dillon maybe he is not his usual self. Which is the real Stephen, my Stephen, or rather the one I think is mine or this other Stephen the one who goes to seedy shanties with Dillon. The lively music and singing flowed on and now everyone in the bar who speaks Irish is singing along with the singer. Both Dillon and Stephen are singing too, with great gusto. Stephen looks like he’s enjoying himself. Maybe I should leave. Oh wait, they’re leaving. Stephen seems pretty unsteady on his feet and Dillon doesn’t looks so steady either, though he at least seems to be able to prop Stephen up and guide him a little. I’ll follow them. There are a few steep stairways they have to negotiate and I don’t know if they’re going down to join the Sophie or up to Stephen’s rooms. I wouldn’t like to see Stephen take a tumble down the Pigtail Steps.

I catch up with them half way down the road, catching Stephen as he stumbles. Dillon is not fast enough to catch him.

“What is this shipmates? Both of you are as drunk as lords by the look of you. Why Stephen it’s the first time I’ve actually seen you drunk.”

Stephen is leaning on me heavily now, singing a little to himself, quite happy. “Oh Jack we’ve been listening to Irish music and singing and dancing. It was so good. Have not done that for years and years.”

“And drinking a lot, too, this isn’t like you Stephen? Dillon why did you let him get so drunk? He could have fallen down any of these stairs in this part of the town.”

“He wasn’t so bad, until we got out in the fresh air and it seemed to affect him. He hasn’t drunk poteen for quite a while so he’s probably not used to it any more.”

“Where were you heading?”

“Well I thought it safer to take him back to my room.”

“You’re staying at The Crown?” He nodded. “I’ll take a room there myself, he can bunk in with me. I’ll get Mercy to look after him, put him to bed properly.”

“Right.” He stopped and said in a sharp tone. “You know he is not some idiot child, he can look after himself.”

“I’m sure he can, but not in this condition.”

By now we had reached The Crown and I banged on the door, calling “Mercy, mercy have you a room for us?”

“Captain Aubrey, oh and the Doctor. He is very drunk. Did you get him this drunk?” She looked at me angrily.

“No I didn’t he was with Dillon here. Do you have a room I can have and Stephen will share with me.”

“Only a room with one bed, but it is a very big bed.”

“OK, we’ll take that. Can I have some warm water and some soap, I’ll give him a bit of a wash before putting him to bed.”

“Here is your key ‘Teniente Dillon, you should have looked after Esteban much better.” Mercy scowled as she handed him the key.

“Goodnight Dillon, I’ll see you on board tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

He nodded coldly at me. “Yes sir, good night.”

Between the two of us, Mercy and me, we frogmarched Stephen up the stairs to the room. Mercy went down to warm some water as I managed to get his boots and stockings off. He roused a little and I asked him. “Do you want to go to the privy, Stephen?” He nodded. “Wait here’s a chamber pot. Let me help you.” He couldn’t get his breeches undone and so I helped him and then stripped the rest of his clothes, sweaty from the strenuous dancing from his body. He was now a little chilled and started shaking. Mercy left the water and I sponged him down as best I could. She came in with a few spare nightshirts that I had left there. It was way too big for Stephen but it would keep him warm. He was dead to the world as I climbed in beside him, tucking the blankets around him.

When I woke the next morning I noticed he’d snuggled up against me, his arm over my chest, his body pressed to my side. It was pleasant lying there with him beside me, my arm round his back.

“Mmm, where am I? What happened? Why does my head ache and my tongue feel like it’s covered with sawdust?”

“Doctor you’re in my bed because I had to bring you back here, because you were dead drunk. Someone had to look after you. Dillon was already three sheets to the wind when I saw you in the street. Really this is most disgraceful Doctor. A ship’s surgeon staggering drunk on the street.”

“And you have never been drunk in your life, have you?” He muttered sourly. “Can I have some water and then some coffee, very strong coffee? I should never have drunken that poteen with Dillon. The stuff is deadly.”

“No sympathy from me Doctor, you know you could have shown some restraint?”

“If it had come from anyone other than you, that statement might have been believable.”

A knock at the door and in came Mercy pushing a trolley with toast and marmalade, eggs and bacon and coffee and a carafe of water. She poured a glass of water and handed it to Stephen sitting up beside me now. “Thank you Mercedes, I needed that.”

“Esteban you were so drunk last night. That is not very good.”

“Why can he get drunk? No one says anything and when I do, just once and I am chastised by all and sundry.”

“Because you are the Doctor and you should know better.”

“My words exactly Doctor” I put in my tuppeny worth.

“Just wait Jack Aubrey next time you want treatment after a burst of overindulgence. I’ll wreak my revenge then. Can I have my coffee now? Some toast and marmalade too, please. No, no eggs or bacon for me.”

As Mercy left the room she turned back and waved a finger saying “No crumbs or grease in the bed.”

Why are my memories of that time dominated by thoughts of Stephen in bed? I certainly did not think of him in that way. The only other thing that stands out in my mind is the general deterioration of things with Dillon. I know it worried Stephen but I couldn’t talk to him about James. Their shared secrets stood in the way and I really couldn’t talk to him about a fellow officer. It only got worse when Stephen took himself off to roam Catalonia and we were forced to abandon the rendezvous to go on a wild goose chase for that American ship and Irish rebels. Between my worry for Stephen and Dillon’s hateful behaviour, I was extremely miserable.

There is one image of Stephen that stands so clear in my mind. It was when we boarded the Cacafuego. We had such a small crew in comparison to theirs we had to leave just one person on board the Sophie to steer her. Stephen volunteered. Stephen wouldn’t fight Spaniards, there may have been some of his Catalan compatriots on board and he did not want to be responsible for their deaths. He had no compunction fighting the French. I remember looking down at him from the Cacafuego, with that disreputable hat of his and a cigar clamped between his teeth, passively gazing up at us, his hand on the wheel. Looking almost seaman-like. Then I called out to him “Otros cincuenta!” and he yelled something in Spanish for the benefit of the Spaniards, playing the game to the hilt, as always. He always knew how to fox the enemy. He would have made a great commander, if he had just been a little more bloodthirsty. Or perhaps a pirate, he was not one for formal command structures and preferred independent action.

Stephen stretched and yawned and looked up into Jack’s eyes. “Oh, I must have nodded off. What are you looking at Jack Aubrey?”

“Well it was you that set me a task and here am I trying to fulfil my promise and here you are sleeping the day away.”

He sat up, passed his hand over his hair a few times and looked up at Jack, “For your information I had already considered the salient points and have formed a conclusion, a reason that stands up to scrutiny. Have you?”

“Well, not exactly, but you know you might see something in my impressions, though they are rather vague Stephen.”

Stephen bent down, picked up his hat, and walked forward. “I shall see you at dinner, then.” He went below deck, leaving Jack with his thoughts, uneasy still about telling Stephen what he had been thinking about. Wasn’t it those same sort of damned secrets that had led to an estrangement of sorts, before?

That evening, Jack was waiting nervously for Stephen to come to the cabin, still unsure whether or not to tell him about that little scene in his room at Port Mahon. He heard running footsteps and Stephen hurried into the cabin. “I’m sorry Jack, Amos wanted me to look at one of the men, just to ask my opinion.”

“Anything serious?”

“No, no he’ll be fine.”

“Well, Stephen who starts first? Maybe it should be you. I’m sorry Stephen I tried but there were only a few things that I thought about and one of them is not so creditable to me.”

“All right then, from my memories of those first years there is one shining quality that stuck in my mind, the kindness that you and the Sophies showed me, right from the very beginning. Do you remember the second day, on the quarterdeck? Poor Mowett, what I put him through with my questions. Dillon was thoroughly disgusted with me I know. I’m sure he thought that I was confirming all the other officers’ suspicions that all Irishmen are thick and stupid. I don’t think he ever forgave me that day.”

“Yes, I remember. Stephen you appalled every single one of my officers that day.” Jack sat there chuckling remembering Mowett’s extreme discomfort under Stephen’s innocent questions and thoroughly bizarre suppositions. “What is so significant about that day?”

“Oh, it was not so much that day, but it was Mowett. He was my messenger of hope, the one who saved me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That day you had arranged to meet me for dinner again, I came down to the quay to look for the Sophie and I saw you sailing away. This new friend that I had thought I had made and who had promised me a new life, a new start, was sailing away without me. Deserting me. I was still stuck in my miserable life, unable to escape the pain and desolation that my life had become. I had for so long maintained all my defences against people. I had been too hurt by betrayals, by too many needless deaths of people I had loved and the death of all my ideals. Then you came along with your kindness and generosity of spirit, your whole being bursting with joy and you seduced me, broke down all those barriers, filled me with hope again. When I thought you had abandoned me that was the final disappointment in my dismal life and probably in a day or two, I think I might have ended it, my last hope snuffed out. Then Mowett found me and gave me your message. My whole being was alive again and my young saviour Mowett with his message opened the door to a wondrous life, this life that I can never regret. Surrounded as I was, and still am by the tenderest care you and all the other men have shown me, you all made me feel part of a community. Gave me a sense of belonging for the first time in such a long while.”

“Then Stephen why don’t you stay? It can still be that way? It would just mean changing ships and I will be taking at least some of the men from here with me.” Jack urged.

“I still fear the possibility, that like Dillon I will become a bitter and disillusioned man, turning with savagery against those I admired out of deep disappointment with myself. I think I told you after his death, that I saw him die. The transcendent joy that shone from his face as he realised that he was dying, as if he had gained his most heart-felt desire shocked me. He hated himself so much that at the end it was a relief to have it ended and go out in a blaze of glory, his honour restored.”

“No, Stephen you are not like him. You turned away from bitterness and petty concern with matters of honour long ago. You grew up, he never did and I think I might be getting there.”

“A mature Jack Aubrey is an interesting concept, but highly unlikely I would have thought. Don’t become too mature for all that that means is you will have become a dull old Jack, plum and I certainly don’t want that to happen.”

“I will become a morose and miserable old Jack if you do go. You have to stay and save me from becoming dull. You can always jolly me out of a bad mood and please Stephen show a little of the respect due to an Admiral of the Blue, sir.”

“I shall brush up on my bowing and scraping, shall I?”

“As if you would, you’re just as stiff-necked and proud in your own way as Dillon. Stephen he is dead and long ago at that, but Stephen I want to ask you something about him. I know you don’t speak about your fellow officers and can’t abide an informer, but did you know James Dillon, before you met him on the Sophie?”

Stephen leant back in his chair giving Jack a long considering look, “Why do you ask?”

“It came up today when I was thinking of those days and you. He always seemed to be there at the edge of our friendship. I don’t know, but I must have always thought of him as some sort of threat to it or a rival for your affections. I always sensed that you shared a secret from the past and this knowledge excluded me from developing a friendship with you. That was part of my resentment towards him, not just that he had implied that I was a coward. Can you tell me now that secret you shared?” He pleaded.

Stephen looked down and sighed, “Yes I think I can. There will be no lives endangered, James is beyond any earthly reproach and it barely matters now. Yes he was a part of my life. I was going to be married to his cousin, Mona in 1799. We were also linked by membership of the United Irishmen and at the time were both fearful of exposure. The British forces in Ireland did not discriminate between those who sought freedom for Ireland by peaceful or by violent means. Both James and me believed that the only true means of gaining independence was through an Emancipation act in Parliament or some other peaceful way. James was not even there in 1798; he was serving with the navy at the Cape. It did not matter to the Castle what your beliefs were, just being a member of the group was a capital crime. I would surely have been hung if not for Sir Joseph’s influence in gaining a pardon for me, only a few years ago now.” Stephen hesitated but then looked up and said, “That’s all I can tell you.”

“This Mona, I have heard you say her name before.”

Stephen looked up sharply, “Have I? I don’t recall that.”

“That’s because you called out her name in your sleep. You were dreaming. It was something I was thinking about today. I visited you one morning and came into your room at Mr Florey’s without knocking. You were lying on the bed and well even then I think I must have thought you beautiful, but that was not my first thought. The top most thought when I saw you naked and vulnerable and in such pain, crying out her name so bitterly in your nightmare was that I wanted to wake you up and comfort you. I couldn’t, I was too ashamed and when you started to wake up I ran from the room. You would have been so angry with me if you had known. I’m sorry.” Jack put his head down and then glanced up at Stephen worrying that he had offended him.

“I see. Yes it was she. The British killed her, shot her dead. I didn’t see it, but heard of the details later. She was hiding one of her brothers and some cousins from the British. They had been identified by the Castle as United Irishmen and were to be arrested. Someone betrayed them. Mona was killed in the cross-fire.” Stephen’s face looked frozen and pinched with sadness and he looked down at his hands, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter now, it is all so long ago. No, I’m not offended, you were not spying on me and it was just an accident you were there.”

“I only wanted to protect you Stephen, you know that. I remember thinking when I left you on that beach in Spain of how uneasy I was that you were alone ashore. I remember thinking that there were times that I felt that you should not be allowed out alone but at the same time I could sense your hidden depths and thought you were smart enough to command a fleet. Yet all that time you were stranded there I worried about you. The men worried too. They did not approve of me leaving you alone, onshore and in the dark, with the owls.” He smiled at the recollection.

“Jack as much as I appreciate your well-intentioned zeal to protect me from all harm, I do resent this at times. I think that I am quite a deal more capable ashore, than you have ever been. What else came to mind today.”

“Well nothing much, just the night I discovered you and Dillon in that Irish bar together. I wasn’t spying on you, I just went into the bar to get a drink and there you both were. Neither of you looked very happy at first, listening to that terrible dirge that woman was singing in the Irish. I didn’t dare approach you, you both looked so hipped.”

“We were listening to a lament for all those killed and transported by the British after ’98. It was not a happy song and no you would not have been welcome.”

“Oh! Well things livened up and you and Dillon were dancing and singing and getting drunk. I followed you both just to make sure you didn’t fall down any steps or be assaulted by ruffians who might have taken advantage of you in your drunken state. I was angry with Dillon for taking you to such a low place. You were a gentleman and any of those ruffians might have attacked you for your purse.”

“Yes I remember the next morning, waking up with a vile headache and wondering what I was doing beside you in that bed, I was somewhat addled at the time.” Stephen smiled. “But I see now, you have picked up on the mirror image of my thoughts. I was thinking of the kindness that you and the Sophies had shown me, and how very much I needed it, at the time, while you were thinking of your need to protect me from harm. We seem to have achieved some degree of symmetry in our thinking. This may augur well, Jack.”

Stephen stretched and yawned and looked much more relaxed and smiled again at Jack, “I think I’ll go to my cot. I feel so tired now, that I could fall asleep straight away.”

“Oh, sleep, I was hoping, but no you need your sleep. Before you go what do you want me to consider tomorrow?”

“Naturally, the next part of our lives together, up to the time you were made post Captain.”

“I see. It wasn’t a very happy time for me or for you then and I behaved very badly towards you. I am ashamed when I remember what a perfect scrub I was. I spoiled your chances with Diana. You could have married her, much earlier if I hadn’t played the cad. Do we have to rake over this now? It can hardly provide any inducement for you to stay.”

“No Jack, I said I wanted to review the whole of our lives, the good and the bad. If you don’t want to continue….”

“No, no I’ll do it, if it means in the end you’ll stay.”

“Good,” he stood up, bent quickly to Jack’s upturned face and kissed his forehead. “Don’t stay up and brood over it. Goodnight my dear.”

Go to Chapter 3