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CHAPTER 8
The next few days
Frederick kept an eye out for the mysterious sail, but it never
reappeared. Was it French - was it an enemy? It seemed that he
would never know. Uncertainty was mixed with mortification; he
heard whispers under decks, saw the expressions of his officers:
Wentworth ran. He roiled with indignation, but could find
no relief. His instructions from Sir Joseph were most complete
- he could not share his knowledge of Dr. Maturin's secret occupation.
He would have retribution
for his humiliation by putting his crew through very intense
gunnery practice. Beginning the day after the encounter, the
Dog Watches would include clearing for action and exercising
the great guns. The first two days were just dumb show: rolling
the cannons about and practicing the procedure of loading them.
The third day was different.
Anne stood at the
stern - the great cabin was struck below - watching a boat crew
sail before the ship, towing a series of empty barrels tried
together with cable. Meanwhile the starboard gunports opened
and she could see the snouts of the cannons peek out. She saw
Frederick at his usual position on the windward side of the quarterdeck,
near the wheel. At a signal the boat crew released the first
group of barrels. As the ship approached the drifting targets,
she felt the presence of Dr. Maturin at her shoulder. "I
would suggest hands on the ears, Mrs. Wentworth."
No sooner had Anne
complied when the first gun fired. She jumped at the noise and
had just comprehended what it was that caused so great a sound
when its neighbor fired. One after another the Laconia's
guns saluted the barrels with a respectable broadside; smoke
billowed about the hull, the din almost drew the breath from
Anne. By the time the sixth gun fired, there was not much left
of the barrels; the remaining crew shot at the wreckage.
"My goodness,"
Anne managed to her fellow passenger after the noise and smoke
abated. Stephen gave a tight smile as he pointed ahead; the second
group of targets had just been released for the larboard guns.
This time Anne was ready, but the gun crews were not. The barrels
drifted unscathed until the last crew blew them to smithereens.
Landlubber as she
was, Anne knew this was could not be a good thing. Frederick
called out a command, and a midshipman raised a series of flags.
The boat crew released another set of targets for the larboard
guns. This time the crews acquitted themselves better; about
half the guns stuck home. But those that missed, missed badly.
"Recall the
boat, Mr. Dawsey," ordered Wentworth. Moments later, Lt.
Price reported from the gun deck. "Not good, Mr. Price -
not good at all."
"No sir - the
larboard crews are sadly lacking." He could say so with
a good conscience: he was in command of the starboard guns. Lt.
Mumphrey bore the brunt of his captain's displeasure.
"Mr. Mumphrey,
what have you to say for yourself, sir? Such shooting from a
frigate of His Majesty's fleet - it is a disgrace!"
"Yes sir."
Lt. Mumphrey took the tongue-lashing as he ought, no matter how
unfair it was. The larboard watch had been saddled with the larger
number of new men and was particularly heavy in landsmen.
"Beginning
tomorrow the larboards will have two targets for each of the
starboards' targets until they have had the practice they so
desperately need. That is all - have the men stand down."
The two lieutenants turned to go below decks. "Mr. Mumphrey,
a moment…"
As the man returned
to his side he added, "I know of the challenge that lies
before you, sir. I have faith in your abilities."
Mumphrey's lips
trembled at the apology in his captain's words. "Yes sir
- thank you, sir."
Wentworth grimaced
as his officers returned below decks. It was unfair to so berate
Mumphrey - he did have an ungodly number of lubbers on his watch.
He turned to see Dr. Maturin in quiet conversation with Anne.
No - there is the cause of my discontent!
The next morning
Anne was performing the first of her now customary twice daily
visits to the Sick Bay when a new patient was brought in.
"Ah, Mrs. Wentworth,"
said Dr. Powell, "you have the chance to see some real medicine."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Yes. You see
this man? He has a fever with congestion in the head. However,
the lungs are still clear. There is no danger of consumption
at this time - but to make sure I shall purge the patient."
"Purge, sir?
You mean let blood?"
"Yes - that
is the usual…"
"But, sir -
does not bloodletting weaken the patient?"
"My dear madam,
this is proscribed procedure in such cases. By letting blood
we remove impurities…"
"Dr. Powell,
I do not wish to offend, but in people of my acquaintance, those
that have had blood drawn seem to take longer to recover. Should
not such a draconian treatment be reserved for only the direst
of cases?"
"Mrs. Wentworth,"
Dr. Powell was positively arctic. "I have been a surgeon
in the Royal Navy these five years. I believe I can be entrusted
to know how to care for a patient."
Anne flushed. "Of
course, Doctor. Forgive my impertinence - I meant no offense.
I shall leave you to your work."
As she left the
Sick Bay, Anne was too agitated to notice that Dr. Maturin was
standing nearby. He watched the lady ascend the steps to the
upper decks and then entered the room. "Dr. Maturin - welcome!"
cried Dr. Powell.
"I see we have
a new patient."
"Yes. A mild
fever, it does not appear to be infectious. A routine case. Even
I can handle it!"
"You seem upset,
colleague."
"Humph! Well,
what can you expect from a lady -- forgive me. I shall not trouble
you."
"'Tis no trouble."
Powell lowered his
voice. "Well, you know how deuced careful one has to be
when the captain's wife is aboard - especially when she decides
to involve herself in business that is above her understanding."
"Delicate situation,
indeed."
"She actually
tried to give me advice on bloodletting!"
Stephen shook his
head. "Unfortunate, my dear sir. Trying to push it upon
you, I dare say. Well, without the benefit of the latest research…"
He shrugged.
"Latest research?"
"Oh, yes. William
Harvey, as you know, was against bloodletting. And I had the
opportunity to meet the most outstanding young physician in Russia
- a Pierre Louis…"
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, an unfortunate
situation of birth. I pity him. However, as you know, scientific
knowledge is not limited by country of origin."
"Just so. Please
continue."
"His studies
have just begun, but he believes that the letting of blood in
most cases actually does more harm than good."
"Extraordinary!
The Royal College of Physicians disagrees with that!"
"True. But
as a fellow of that august intuition, I must say that the actual
position is 'blood-letting is a remedy which, when judiciously
employed, it is hardly possible to estimate too highly'.
I do not think it serves in all cases. Observe: it is well known
that a quick hand with the saw is advantageous to the patient."
"That is so."
"It is believed
that it reduces the shock to the patient when the limb is removed,
and that is something worthwhile, but it also reduces the amount
of blood lost. I find that the men that recover faster are those
who have retained the greater part of their blood. I go by the
evidence of my eyes and use phlebotomy only in the most extreme
cases."
"I see. What
say you about this case here?"
Stephen examined
the man. "I agree that there is no fear of consumption.
It is but a mild fever. Water, potable soup and rest should serve
very well, with the blessing."
"And infection,
sir?"
"As you have
noted, I do not believe he is infectious, but one cannot be too
careful. Have the loblolly boy sling his hammock as far away
from Mr. Utley as may be."
Powell grinned like
a boy with his Christmas present. "It shall be done. How
fortunate! Two cases and I have been the beneficiary of the latest
in medical knowledge for both! Should we have an epidemic I am
sure I should qualify to sit as a physician!"
"One can only
hope, colleague," Stephen replied dryly.
There was a knock
on the door of the great cabin. "Yes?' said Anne, its only
occupant.
Nowak peeked in.
"Dr. Maturin ta see you, ma'am."
"Show him in.
Dr. Maturin, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I come to
apologize for the treatment you received in the Sick Bay today.
'Twas unwarranted."
Anne shook her head.
"Dr. Maturin, it is not up to you to apologize."
"Nevertheless,
you shall receive it. You were correct in your advice to Dr.
Powell."
Anne blushed. "It
is kind for you to say so."
"It is the
truth."
"Thank you."
Stephen shrugged.
"I can not say that Dr. Powell will be as forthcoming -
we all have our limitations."
"I understand.
I bear him no malice."
"Mercy is Our
Lady's special blessing," Stephen observed as he bowed.
That is certainly more than he deserves.
"Dr. Maturin,
will you take dinner with us today?"
"I believe
I shall."
Frederick was surprised
to find Dr. Maturin at the dinner table, but he recovered so
quickly that Stephen almost failed to note the displeasure on
the man's face. "Doctor! Welcome to our table. I am happy
to see that your spirits have recovered to such an extent."
Stephen bowed. "The
honor to break bread with you and Mrs. Wentworth is all mine."
The three engaged
in unremarkable conversation until, "Mrs. Wentworth, I see
a pianoforte in the corner."
"Yes, Dr. Marurin.
My husband was kind enough to provide one for me."
"Ah, then it
is you that I have had the delight of hearing. Do you play, sir?"
Frederick smiled.
"No - that talent is reserved for my wife. I have the pleasure
of being her audience."
"Do you play,
Doctor?"
"I scratch
a bit on the 'cello, Mrs. Wentworth."
Anne frowned a little.
"A pity we have no instrument, sir - I should like to hear
you play."
"My 'cello
remains aboard the Surprise. There was no call to bring
it." Stephen choked a bit.
Frederick jumped
in. "I understand Captain Aubrey plays the violin."
"Indeed? Oh
Doctor, you must have some wonderful duets!"
Stephen nodded.
"Captain Aubrey certainly makes my playing sound better.
He is very good."
"I had no idea
there were musicians among those in the Navy."
"Oh yes,"
said Frederick, "many officers take up music to while away
the hours. I myself have no ear at all."
"Captain Wentworth!
You have a lovely voice!"
"You are very
kind to say so, my dear. No, my passion is reading. Others paint
or draw or write - one admiral of my acquaintance was particularly
good with an embroidery needle."
The gentlemen spent
several minutes discussing their comrades' hobbies. "But
you, Doctor - you are a true naturalist. You are no mere enthusiast."
"Thank you,
Captain. It was why I went to sea in the first place." And
I was alone and friendless in Port Mahon on Minorca in 1800,
without money or employment. Only a chance encounter with a newly-promoted
Commander - Jack Aubrey… "I have been fortunate
to see many places in the world."
"As you have
said, Doctor. If you could, to which place would you return?"
asked Anne.
"The Galapagos."
"Why there?"
asked Frederick. "That is nothing but a volcanic wasteland…"
"There are
creatures there that may exist nowhere else in the world - 'tis
a naturalist's paradise."
"It is also
on the far side of the world - but I hope you will have the opportunity
to return there," replied Frederick, who inwardly wished
he could magically transport his unexpected passenger to the
godforsaken islands with a wave of his hand.
"With the blessing…"
Wentworth returned
to his meal. He's a bloody papist on top of everything else!
It was a thought unworthy of the captain - unlike many of his
contemporaries he had nothing against Catholics on the whole.
"Anne, I must
speak with you," Frederick began after supper.
"Yes, my dear?"
Frederick was unsettled.
Anne had taken to ship's life more rapidly than he could have
ever hoped, and he did not want to quash her enthusiasm. "I
am pleased you are so at home aboard the Laconia. It is all I
could wish for."
"Yes?"
"But I…um…
Anne, you need an escort." There - it was said.
"A what?"
Anne could not believe
her ears. For almost two months she had prepared to live aboard
a ship. She had talked at length with Sophy Croft; had asked
questions without end. She had worked hard to learn the ship,
so that she would not be a burden to her husband. And now it
seemed Fredrick was unsatisfied with her behavior.
"An escort.
Someone to be with you as you walk-"
"I know what
an escort is, Frederick! My question is why do you think I need
one?"
"Anne! It is
obvious!"
"Obvious to
you perhaps, sir!"
"Madam, there
are 256 men and boys aboard this ship! Must I be explicit?"
"Do not be
vulgar, Frederick. Are you saying you fear for my safety? Do
not you trust your men? Or is it something or someone else that
has earned your mistrust?"
Frederick's behavior
at dinner had not gone unnoticed by his wife. She recalled how
resentful he had been when William Elliot had paid attention
to her. She had been unable to make him understand that Elliot
was nothing to her, except a distrusted cousin, until her overheard
conversation with Captain Harville.
"I do not understand
your meaning," Fredrick returned.
"You were abominably
rude to Dr. Maturin this afternoon."
"I certainly
was not. I was particularly attentive to his inane conversation."
"Frederick,
are you jealous?"
"Jealous of
Dr. Maturin? Do not be absurd." He was not ready to admit
that deep in the secret reaches of his heart, he was.
"I think you
could show him a bit more kindness."
"The man is
a pompous bore!"
"You are certainly
entitled to your opinion, sir, no matter how offensively you
express it."
"Mrs. Wentworth!
This is not about Dr. Maturin. This is about propriety."
He could not understand why Anne was being so obstinate.
"So I now lack
respectability? It is a wonder you married me!" Anne was
shocked that Frederick would accuse her of not knowing how to
act. She was a baronet's daughter, for heaven's sake.
Wentworth's irritation
grew. "Anne, do not be foolish. Of course you are respectable
woman, however, you are putting me in an impossible position."
Angry and hurt Anne
lashed out. "It is unintentional, I assure you. I am always
happy to discuss whatever you deem important, but when you order
me about like a common sailor…"
Anne's interruption,
after the disquiet he had felt at dinner, caused Wentworth to
lose his temper. "Mrs. Wentworth, I am captain aboard this
ship and I am not inclined to discuss my orders. You will have
an escort, madam - do you hear me?"
It felt like a blow.
"Captain Wentworth! I will not be spoken to in such a manner!
Good night, sir!" Anne threw down her napkin and fled to
the sleeping room.
Frederick was still
fuming at the table when he heard a small sound at the bedroom
door. Crossing to it he found it locked. "Anne! Have you
locked this door?" He heard nothing but weeping. "Anne
- open this door this instant!"
"G…go
away, Frederick."
He rattled the doorknob.
"Open this door. Anne…"
"Or what? Shall…shall
you break it down like a brute?"
Her words struck
Frederick. "Anne…please…"
"Please go
away…"
An abashed Frederick
Wentworth the husband struggled with a righteous Captain Wentworth,
master of the Laconia. Finally, "Anne, please. Forgive
me…"
The longest minute
of Fredrick's life was the time between this tacit admission
and the unlocking of his bedroom door. Anne shattered face, tear-stained
and red-eyed, peered from within. "Have you any more orders
for me, Captain?"
Frederick hung his
head; he could stand to see no pain on his wife's face. "None,
Anne. Only a humble request that you have pity on your husband."
Angry as she was,
Anne could not resist his hangdog look. She held out her hand.
"Come in"
Pyke carefully made
his way down into the orlop towards the cable tier. This was
the first opportunity he had found to retrieve his hidden reward.
Looking about to ensure he had not been followed, he carefully
extracted one of the bottles of wine. He looked at the bottle
in the half-light and was disappointed to find port. He had expected
claret. A quick check showed that both bottles were port. Oh,
well…at least I shall drink like a gentleman…
Extracting the cork
with his penknife, he took a swig of the brownish-red liquid.
It was sweeter than he expected, but not unpleasant. Port is
a wine that is best enjoyed slowly, in small quantities; Pyke
neither knew nor cared. His sole concern was how much of his
reward he could consume before he was missed. He decided half
a bottle would suffice.
Wentworth, my
good man - here's to you, you bugger! As he drank he remembered another Wentworth
aboard ship. Yeah, nice package, that. Wonder if she's fucking
that doctor? I wouldn't mind getting my share o' that. Well,
I've had better than her before - and I will again. Too bad about
her, though. She'll never have better than me.
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