Patrick O'Brian - The Hundred Days

‘Very well. Tell me, how early do you think we may start? By the way, I no longer hear the wind.’

‘It stopped at half-past four. Obviously we cannot start before the morning prayer: it would not only be very rude but it would also look suspicious. Yet at first light I shall cause the Turkish guards to make ready.’

‘How I hope this vile wind has not plucked Ringle from her moorings or blown Surprise to some leeward shore beyond Sardinia.’

The period between his getting up, washing, shaving and waiting for the Vizier to appear for the formalities of leavetaking, would have seemed intolerably long but for the fact that Stephen, walking out into what might almost be called the wooded part of the oasis, once more caught sight of his anomalous nuthatch: it was not a particularly shy bird and it allowed him to follow, discreetly taking notes, until Jacob came hurrying through the trees to tell him that the Vizier was in motion but that the Dey’s present was nowhere to be found in their baggage: the Turkish guards were distraught - they begged to be told what they should do.

‘I do not think that any of our escort would have dared to steal it: but it may be the resumption of a regretted ‘gift - I know that Omar Pasha thought the world of the pair,’ said Stephen. ‘I am sorry for it, because I valued the rifle for its associations and for the manner of its giving. Though there are other possibilities, of course. I shall not mention the loss.’

Nor did he mention it; but a man far less subtle than the Vizier could have told from his short though civil answers that he was not quite pleased. His first voluntary remark was, ‘I am afraid, sir, that we must tear ourselves from your presence at the end of this excellent cup.’

‘I very much regret that I was not told of your arrival,’ said the Vizier. ‘I should have enjoyed several more hours of your company. But I trust you were satisfied by your conversation with the Dey?’

‘Perfectly satisfied, I thank you, sir,’ said Stephen, finishing his coffee and standing up. ‘But now, if you will forgive me, a very long road lies ahead. Let me first make the fullest acknowledgement of your remarkable hospitality, and then allow me to beg that you will transmit all my due respects to His Highness and my thanks for his kindness.’

Chapter Eight

A long road it was and a weary, deep in fine sand wherever there was shelter, while the gardens on the outskirts of Algiers, when at last they reached them, were desolation itself, with greenery all hanging limp, shattered and seared, but for the most part blown right off to lie in withering heaps. And from an outward turn on the mountain road which gave them a clear view of the port and both harbours, it was clear to Stephen’s searching telescope that Ringle was not there, snug against the mole. Nor was she in the offing: he barely had the heart to search the horizon for the larger, more conspicuous sails of Surprise, yet he did so for a full minute before clapping his glass to with disappointment.

‘My dear Amos,’ he said some time later, ‘may I beg you to settle accounts with our guide and these good Turks, to give them a farewell feast at whatever place you judge most fit, together with a present, and then to join me at the consulate. I can see the roof and flagstaff from here.’

Jacob looked doubtful, but he agreed and they parted at the next forking of the road. Stephen could hardly have missed his way, in spite of the anxiety, reasonable and unreasonable, that kept welling up in his heart, for this was the mare’s own ground and she increased her pace to a pleasant amble, threading her way through the increasing number of asses, camels, oxen and horses until she brought him to the gate, gave him time to dismount, and then walked off to her own stable.

In spite of his anxiety Stephen had noticed an air of excitement in the city as he rode well into it: groups of people, talking louder than usual, gazing about, making gestures whose meaning escaped him - so many people that sometimes they almost blocked the way, and the placid mare had to push through: no harsh words, however, excitement overcoming all other emotions. It is true that Stephen, who had retained his sirocco headgear, did not look at all out of the way.

He was, however, at once recognized by the unfortunate young man in the outer office, who begged him to sit down- he would tell Lady Clifford at once.

‘ Dear Dr Maturin ,’ she cried, ‘how very glad I am to see you. Did you have an unspeakably horrid ride? I am afraid so. A really shocking sirocco like that makes you long for the Yorkshire moors.’

‘Certainly: but may I ask how Sir Peter does?’

‘Oh, very well indeed, I thank you - I have never seen such a change in him - no, nor known a better pill. I take two myself, one in the morning and one before bed. But will you not come and see him? He keeps his room, because he has a great deal of work and people are such a bore: besides, his chief secretary is sick.’

The consul sprang up, not indeed quite like a lion, but very much more briskly than might have been expected in a man so recently crippled by what looked very like an exacerbated sciatica. ‘Dr Maturin,’ he cried, taking both Stephen’s hands, ‘how very much obliged I am to you and your colleague for your precious remedies. I have scarcely thought about that shocking pain these last three days; and - forgive me, my dear - such a benign and healing purgation. Sit down, sit down, I beg. You must have had a cruel hard ride of it. Did you meet two or three squadrons of horse on your way back?’

‘No, sir.’

‘They must have taken the lower road. But tell me, how did your journey go? My dear’ - to Lady Clifford - ‘you will excuse us, will you not?’

‘Of course, of course; and if either of you could do with a pot of tea, pray touch the bell.’

‘First,’ said Stephen, having opened the door for her, ‘may I ask what has become of the schooner Ringle? I have news of the very first consequence that I must communicate to Commodore Aubrey.’

‘Alas: in the last stages of that frightful blow, the Commodore, signalling from an immense distance, called the schooner to him. I gathered from those who had been talking to the corsairs who had managed to get in that a ship of the Royal Navy was dismasted and badly damaged, and Aubrey needed the schooner to help save her and tow her - presumably to Mahon. I am very sorry to give you what is, I fear, very bad news.’

‘It is bad news, about as bad as can be, without some special dispensation. Let me tell you about my mission, and you shall judge. Dr Jacob and I reached the hunting-lodge in the oasis: as you had told me, the Dey was not there but pursuing lions farther on in the Atlas. But as you had foretold, the Vizier was there: I therefore showed him your letter and explained my errand - he is perfectly fluent in French, by the way. He said that the rumour was completely unfounded, putting forward the religious differences and the Dey’s hatred of Bonaparte: finally he suggested that I should speak to Omar Pasha himself and hear his even more convincing denial. This I did, now speaking through Jacob, and the Dey too said it was great nonsense - he reviled Bonaparte and spoke of his necessary downfall. He also spoke of his admiration for Sir Sidney Smith and the Royal Navy; and he invited me to lie in wait with him for a lion the next evening, using one of a very beautiful pair of rifles that he had recently acquired. Nothing of political consequence occurred until the next day when he did indeed kill the lion, but only with his second barrel, so that when the wholly unexpected lioness charged he was unarmed: I shot her dead, at very short range. He was kind enough to say many flattering things, and he said that he should send the Vizier a direct order that no gold should pass through Algiers; and on the return journey to the hunting-lodge, looking by chance in my baggage I found the rifle I had used concealed under my spare shirt. A little later the sirocco began to blow. It rapidly increased in strength and we only reached the hunting-lodge very late: the Vizier was already in bed. Dr Jacob was lodged with a former acquaintance and, I think, fellow-Cainite who showed him the copy of a letter from the Vizier to Sheikh Ibn Hazm -,