Patrick O'Brian - Post captain

When he went below this impression was confirmed. His assistant, Mr Thompson, was not perhaps very wise nor very skilful - his attempt at a Cheseldon’s lithotomy had an ominous smell of gangrene - but he did not seem at all brutal or even unkind; yet as they went round their patients there was not a smile - proper answers, but no sort of interchange, no friendliness whatsoever, except from one old Sophie, a Pole by the name of Jackruckie, whose hernia was troubling him again. And even his strange jargon (he spoke very little English) was uneasy, conscious, and inhibited. In the next cot lay a man with a bandaged head. Gummata, the sequelae of an old depressed fracture, malingering? In an eager attempt to justify his diagnosis, Thompson darted a pointing finger at the man’s head, and instantly the crooked protective arm shot up.

By the time he had finished his rounds and settled in his cabin, the Polychrest was moored. Jack had gone off to make his report, and something nearer to peace had come down on the ship. There was only the steady grind of the pumps and the now almost voiceless bark of the first lieutenant getting the courses, the square courses, and topsails furled in a body, smooth enough for a royal review.

He walked into the gun-​room, which was empty but for the Marine officer. He was reclining upon two chairs with his feet on the table; and craning up his neck he cried, ‘Why, you must be the sawbones back again. I’m glad to see you. My name is Smithers. Forgive me if I do not get up; I am quite fagged out with mooring the ship.’

‘I noticed that you were very active.’

‘Pretty brisk, pretty brisk. I like my men to know who’s who and what’s what and to move smart - they’ll smart else, you catch my meaning, ha, ha. They tell me you are quite a hand with a cello. We must have a bout some night. I play the German flute.’

‘I dare say you are a remarkable performer.’

‘Pretty brisk, pretty brisk. I don’t like to boast, but I fancy I was the best player at Eton in my time. If I chose to do it professionally, I should make twice what they give me for fighting His Majesty’s wars for him - not that the pewter matters to me, of course. It’s precious slow in this ship, don’t you find? Nobody to talk to; nothing but ha’penny whist and convoy-​duty and looking out for the French prams. What do you say to a hand of cards?’

‘Is the captain returned, do you know?’

‘No. He won’t be back for hours and hours. You have plenty of time. Come let us have a hand of piquet.’

‘I play very little.’

‘You need not be afraid of him. He’ll be pulling down to Dover against the tide - he’s got a luscious piece there- won’t be back for hours and hours. A luscious piece, by God: I could wear it. I’d have a mind to cut him out, if he weren’t my captain: it’s a wonder what a red coat will do, believe you me. I dare say I could, too; she invited all the officers last week, and she looked at me. .

‘You cannot be speaking of Mrs Villiers, sir?’

‘A pretty young widow - yes, that’s right. Do you know her?’

‘Yes, sir: and I should be sorry to hear her spoken of with disrespect.’

‘Oh, well, if she’s a friend of yours,’ cried Smithers, with a knowing leer, ‘that’s different. I have said nothing. Mum’s the word. Now what about our game?’

‘Do you play well?’

‘I was born with a pack of cards in my hand.’

‘I must warn you I never play for small stakes: it bores me.’

‘Oh, I’m not afraid of you. I’ve played at White’s -I played at Almack’s with my friend Lord Craven till daylight put the candles out! What do you think of that?’

The other officers came down one by one and watched them play; watched them in silence until the end of the sixth panic, when Stephen laid down a point of eight followed by a quart major, and Pullings, who had been sitting behind him, straining his stomach to the

groaning-​point to make him win, burst out with ‘Ha, ha, you picked a wrong ‘un when you tackled the Doctor.’

‘Do be quiet, can’t you, when gentlemen are playing cards. And smoking that vile stinking pipe in the gun-​room - it is turning the place into one of your low pot-​houses. How can a man concentrate his mind with all this noise? Now you have made me lose my score. What do you make it, Doctor?’

‘With repique and capot, that is a hundred and thirty; and since I believe you are two short of your hundred, I must add your score to mine.’

‘You will take my note of hand, I suppose?’

‘We agreed to play for cash, you remember.’

‘Then I shall have to fetch it. It will leave me short. But you will have to give me my revenge.’

‘Captain’s coming aboard, gentlemen,’ said a quartermaster. Then reappearing a moment later, ‘Port side, gents.’ They relaxed: he was returning with no ceremony. ‘I must leave you,’ said Stephen. ‘Thank you for the game.’

‘But you can’t go away just when you have won all that money,’ cried Smithers.

‘On the contrary,’ said Stephen. ‘It is the very best moment to leave.’

‘Well, it ain’t very sporting. That’s all I say. It ain’t very sporting.’

‘You think not? Then when you have laid down the gold you may cut double or quits. Sans revanche, eh?’

Smithers came back with two rouleaux of guineas and part of a third. ‘It’s not the money,’ he said. ‘It’s the principle of the thing.’

‘Aces high,’ said Stephen, looking impatiently at his watch. ‘Please to cut.’

A low heart: knave of diamonds. ‘Now you will have to take my note for the rest,’ said Smithers.

‘Jack,’ said Stephen, ‘may I come in?’

‘Come in, come in, my dear fellow, come in,’ cried Jack, springing forward and guiding him to a chair. ‘I have scarcely seen you how very pleasant this is! I cannot tell you how dreary the ship has been without you. How brown you are!’

In spite of an animal revulsion at the catch of the scent that hung about Jack’s coat - never was there a more unlucky present - Stephen felt a warmth in his heart. His face displayed no more than a severe questioning, professional look, however, and he said, ‘Jack, what have you been doing to yourself? You are thin, grey - costive, no doubt. You have lost another couple of stone: the skin under your eyes is a disagreeable yellow. Has the bullet-​wound been giving trouble? Come, take off your shirt. I was never happy that I had extracted all the lead; my probe still seemed to grate on something.’

‘No, no. It has quite healed over again. I am very well. It is only that I don’t sleep. Toss, turn, can’t get off, then ill dreams and I wake up some time in the middle watch - never get off again, and I am stupid all the rest of the day. And damned ill-​tempered, Stephen; I sway away on all top-​ropes for a nothing, and then I am sorry afterwards. Is it my liver, do you think? Not yesterday, but the day before I had a damned unpleasant surprise: I was shaving, and thinking of something else; and Killick had hung the glass aft the scuttle instead of its usual place. So just for a moment I caught sight of my face as though it was a stranger looking in. When I understood it was me, I said, “Where did I get that damned forbidding ship’s corporal’s face?” and determined not to look like that again - it reminded me of that unhappy fellow Pigot, of the Hermione. And this morning there it was again, glaring back at me out of the glass. That is another reason why I am so glad to see you: you will give me one of your treble shotted slime-​draughts to get me to sleep. It’s the devil, you know, not sleeping: no wonder a man looks like a ship’s corporal. And these dreams - do you dream, Stephen?’

‘No, sir.’