Harte was a little man, with a certain resemblance to Lord St Vincent, a resemblance that he did his best to increase by stooping, by being savagely rude to his subordinates and by the practice of Whiggery: whether he disliked Jack because Jack was tall and he was short, or whether he suspected him of carrying on an intrigue with his wife, it was all one – there was a strong antipathy between them, and it was of long standing. His first words were, ‘Well, Mr Aubrey, and where the devil have you been? I expected you yesterday afternoon – Allen expected you yesterday afternoon. I was astonished to learn that he had never seen you at all. I wish you joy, of course,’ he said without a smile, ‘but upon my word you have an odd notion of taking over a command. Allen must be twenty leagues away by now, and every real sailorman in the Sophie with him, no doubt, to say nothing of his officers. And as for all the books, vouchers, dockets, and so on, we have had to botch it up as best we could. Precious irregular. Uncommon irregular.’
‘Pallas has sailed, sir?’ cried Jack, aghast.
‘Sailed at midnight, sir,’ said Captain Harte, with a look of satisfaction. ‘The exigencies of the service do not wait upon our pleasure, Mr Aubrey. And I have been obliged to make a draft of what he left for harbour duty.’
‘I only heard last night – in fact this morning, between one and two.’
‘Indeed? You astonish me. I am amazed. The letter certainly went off in good time. It is the people at your inn who are at fault, no doubt. There is no relying on your foreigner. I give you joy of your command, I am sure, but how you will ever take her to sea with no people to work her out of the harbour I must confess I do not know. Allen took his lieutenant, and his surgeon, and all the promising midshipmen; and I certainly cannot give you a single man fit to set one foot in front of another.’
‘Well, sir,’ said Jack, ‘I suppose I must make the best of what I have.’ It was understandable, of course: any officer who could would get out of a small, slow, old brig into a lucky frigate like the Pallas. And by immemorial custom a captain changing ships might take his coxswain and boat’s crew as well as certain followers; and if he were not very closely watched he might commit enormities in stretching the definition of either class.
‘I can let you have a chaplain,’ said the commandant, turning the knife in the wound.
‘Can he hand, reef and steer?’ asked Jack, determined to show nothing. ‘If not, I had rather be excused.’
‘Good day to you, then, Mr Aubrey. I will send you your orders this afternoon.’
‘Good day, sir. I hope Mrs Harte is at home. I must pay my respects and congratulate her – must thank her for the pleasure she gave us last night.’
‘Was you at the Governor’s then?’ asked Captain Harte, who knew it perfectly well – whose dirty little trick had been based upon knowing it perfectly well. ‘If you had not gone a-caterwauling you might have been aboard your own sloop, in an officerlike manner. God strike me down, but it is a pretty state of affairs when a young fellow prefers the company of Italian fiddlers and eunuchs to taking possession of his own first command.’
The sun seemed a little less brilliant as Jack walked diagonally across the patio to pay his call on Mrs Harte; but it still struck precious warm through his coat, and he ran up the stairs with the charming unaccustomed weight jogging there on his left shoulder. A lieutenant he did not know and the stuffed midshipman of yesterday evening were there before him, for at Port Mahon it was very much the thing to pay a morning call on Mrs Harte; she was sitting by her harp, looking decorative and talking to the lieutenant, but when he came in she jumped up, gave him both hands and cried, ‘Captain Aubrey, how happy I am to see you! Many, many congratulations. Come, we must wet the swab. Mr Parker, pray touch the bell.’
‘I wish you joy, sir,’ said the lieutenant, pleased at the mere sight of what he longed for so. The midshipman hovered, wondering whether he might speak in such august company and then, just as Mrs Harte was beginning the introductions, he roared out, ‘Wish you joy, sir,’ in a wavering bellow, and blushed.
‘Mr Stapleton, third of the Guerrier,’ said Mrs Harte, with a wave of her hand. ‘And Mr Burnet, of the Isis. Carmen, bring some Madeira.’ She was a fine dashing woman, and without being either pretty or beautiful she gave the impression of being both, mostly from the splendid way she carried her head. She despised her scrub of a husband, who truckled to her; and she had taken to music as a relief from him. But it did not seem that music was enough, for now she poured out a bumper and drank it off with a very practised air.
A little later Mr Stapleton took his leave, and then after five minutes of the weather – delightful, not too hot even at midday – heat tempered by the breeze – north wind a little trying – healthy, however – summer already – preferable to the cold and rain of an English April – warmth in general more agreeable than cold – she said, ‘Mr Burnet, I wonder whether I might beg you to be very kind? I left my reticule at the Governor’s.’
‘How charmingly you played, Molly,’ said Jack, when the door had closed.
‘Jack, I am so happy you have a ship at last.’
‘So am I. I don’t think I have ever been so happy in my life. Yesterday I was so peevish and low in my spirits I could have hanged myself, and then I went back to the Crown and there was this letter. Ain’t it charming?’ They read it together in respectful silence.
‘Answer the contrary at your peril,’ repeated Mrs Harte. ‘Jack, I do beg and pray you will not attempt to make prize of neutrals. That Ragusan bark poor Willoughby sent in has not been condemned, and the owners are to sue him.’
‘Never fret, dear Molly,’ said Jack. ‘I shall not be taking any prizes for a great while, I do assure you. This letter was delayed – damned curious delay – and Allen has gone off with all my prime hands; ordered to sea in a tearing hurry before I could see him. And the commandant has made hay of what was left for harbour duty: not a man to spare. We can’t work out of harbour, it seems; so I dare say we shall ground upon our own beef-bones before ever we see so much as the smell of a prize.’
‘Oh, indeed?’ cried Mrs Harte, her colour rising: and at that moment in walked Lady Warren and her brother, a captain in the Marines. ‘Dearest Anne,’ cried Molly Harte, ‘come here at once and help me remedy a very shocking injustice. Here is Captain Aubrey – you know one another?’
‘Servant, ma’am,’ said Jack, making a particularly deferential leg, for this was an admiral’s wife, no less.
‘ – a most gallant, deserving officer, a thorough-paced Tory, General Aubrey’s son, and he is being most abominably used…’
The heat had increased while he was in the house, and when he came out into the street the air was hot on his face, almost like another element; yet it was not at all choking, not at all sultry, and there was a brilliance in it that took away all oppression. After a couple of turns he reached the tree-lined street that carried the Ciudadela road down to the high-perched square, or rather terrace, that overlooked the quays. He crossed to the shady side, where English houses with sash windows, fanlights and cobbled forecourts stood on unexpectedly good terms with their neighbours, the baroque Jesuit church and the withdrawn Spanish mansions with great stone coats of arms over their doorways.
A party of seamen went by on the other side, some wearing broad striped trousers, some plain sailcloth; some had fine red waistcoats and some ordinary blue jackets; some wore tarpaulin hats, in spite of the heat, some broad straws, and some spotted handkerchiefs tied over their heads; but they all of them had long swinging
