Patrick O'Brian - Post captain

‘So you are truly satisfied with all your officers? With Mr Parker?’

‘More than satisfied with them all, my lord.’

Lord Melville felt the hint of evasion, and said, ‘Is he fit to command?’ looking straight into Jack’s eye.

‘Yes, my lord.’

Turmoil of conscience: immediate loyalty and fellow-​feeling overcoming good sense, responsibility, love of truth, love of the service, all other considerations.

‘I am glad to hear it. Prince William has been pressing us for some time on the, subject of his old shipmate.’ He touched his bell, and a clerk came in with an envelope; at the sight of it Jack’s heart began to beat wildly, his thin sparse blood to race about his body; yet his face turned extremely pale. ‘This is an interesting occasion, Captain Aubrey: you must allow me the pleasure of being the first to congratulate you on your promotion. I have stretched a point, and you are made post with seniority from May 23rd.’

‘Thank you, my lord, thank you very much indeed,’ cried Jack, flushing scarlet now. ‘It gives me - it gives me very great pleasure to receive it from your hands -even greater pleasure from the handsome way in which it is given. I am very deeply obliged to you, my lord.’

‘Weel, weel, there we are,’ said Lord Melville, quite touched. ‘Sit down, sit down, Captain Aubrey. You are looking far from well. What are your plans? I dare say your health requires you to take some months of sick-​leave?’

‘Oh no, my lord! Oh, very far from it. It was only a passing weakness - quite gone now - and Dr Maturin assures me that my particular constitution calls for sea air, nothing but sea air, as far from land as possible.’

‘Well, you cannot have the Fanciulla, of course, since she will not be rated a post-​ship - what the gods give with one hand they take away with the other. And seeing that you cannot have her, then in compliment to you, it seems but just that she should be given to your first lieutenant.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Jack, with a face so dashed and glum that the other looked at him with surprise.

‘However,’ he said, ‘I think we may hold out some hope of a frigate. The Blackwater: she is on the stocks, and all being well she may be launched in six months. That will give you time to recover your strength, to see your friends, and to watch over her fitting-​out from the very beginning.’

‘My lord,’ cried Jack, ‘I do not know how to thank you for your goodness to me, and indeed I am ashamed to ask for more, having had so much. But to be quite frank with you, my affairs were thrown into such a state of confusion by the breaking of my prize-​agent, that something is quite necessary to me. A temporary command, or anything.’

‘You were with that villain Jackson?’ asked Lord Melville, looking at him from under his bushy eyebrows. ‘So was poor Robert. He lost better than two thousand pound, a ca’hoopit sum. Weel, weel. So you would accept an acting-​command, however short?’

‘Most willingly, my lord. However short or however inconvenient. With both hands.’

‘There may be some slight fleeting remote possibility - I do not commit myself, mind. The Ethalion’s commander is sick. There is Captain Hamond’s Lively, and Lord Carlow’s Immortalite; they both wish to attend parliament, I know. There are other service members too, but I have not the details in my head. I will desire Mr Bainton to look into it when he has a moment. There is no certainty in these matters, you understand. Where are you staying, since you will not be rejoining the Fanciulla?’

‘At the Grapes, in the Savoy, my lord.’

‘In the Savoy?’ said Lord Melville, writing it down. ‘Och aye. Just so. Now have we any more official business?’

‘If I might be permitted an observation, my lord. The Polychrest’s people behaved exceedingly well; they could not have done better. But if they were left together in a body, there might be unpleasant consequences. It seems to me they would be far better drafted in small parties to ships of the line.’

‘Is this a general impression, Captain Aubrey, or can you bring forward any names, however tentatively?’

‘A general impression, my lord.’

‘It shall be attended to. So much for business. If you are not bespoke, it would give Lady Melville and me great pleasure if you would dine with us on Sunday. Robert will be there, and Heneage.’

‘Thank you, my lord; I shall be very happy indeed to wait upon Lady Melville.’

‘Then let me wish you joy once more, and bid you a very good day.’

Joy. As he walked heavily, solemnly down the stairs, it mounted in him, a great calm flood-​tide of joy. His momentary disappointment about the Fanciulla (he had counted on her - such a quick, stiff, sweet-​handling, weatherly pet) entirely vanished by the third step - forgotten, overwhelmed - and by the landing he had realized his happiness almost to the full. He had been made post. He was a post-​captain; and he would die an admiral at last.

He gazed with quiet benevolence at the hall-​porter in his red waistcoat, smiling and bobbing at the foot of the stairs.

‘Give you joy, sir,’ said Tom. ‘But oh dear me, sir, you’re improperly dressed.’

‘Thankee, Tom,’ said Jack, rising a little way out of his beatitude. ‘Eh?’ He cast a quick glance down his front.

‘No, no, sir,’ said Tom, guiding him into the shelter of the hooded leather porter’s chair and unfastening the epaulette on his left shoulder to transfer it to his right. ‘There. You had your swab shipped like a mere commander. There: that’s better. Why, bless you, I did that for Lord Viscount Nelson, when he come down them stairs, made post.’

‘Did you indeed, Tom?’ said Jack, intensely pleased. The thing was materially impossible, but it delighted him and he emitted a stream of gold - a moderate stream, but enough to make Tom very affable, affectionate, and brisk in hailing the chaise and bringing it into the court.

He woke slowly, in a state of wholly relaxed comfort, blinking with ease; he had gone to bed at nine, as soon as he had swallowed his bolus and his tankard of porter, and be had slept the clock round, a sleep full of diffused happiness and a longing to impart it - a longing too oppressed by languor to have any effect. Some exquisite dreams: the Magdalene in Queenie’s picture saying, ‘Why do not you tune your fiddle to orange-​tawny, yellow, green and this blue, instead of those old common notes?’ It was so obvious: he and Stephen set to their tuning, the ‘cello brown and full crimson, and they dashed away in colour alone - such colour! But he could not seize it again; it was fading into no more than words; it no longer made evident, luminous good sense. His bandaged head, mulling about dreams, how they sometimes made sense and how sometimes they did not, suddenly shot from the pillow, all the pink happiness wiped off it. His coat, which had slipped from the back of the chair, looked exactly like the coat of yesterday. But there, exactly squared and trimmed on the chimney-​piece, stood that material sail-​cloth envelope, that valuable envelope or wrapper. He sprang out of bed, fetched it, returned, poised it on his chest above the sheets, and went to sleep again.

Killick was moving about the room, making an unnecessary noise, kicking things not altogether by accident, cursing steadily. He was in a vile temper: he could be smelt from the pillow. Jack had given him a guinea to drink to his swab, and he had done so conscientiously, down to the last penny, being brought home on a shutter. ‘Now sir,’ he said, coughing artificially. ‘Time for this ere bolus.’ Jack slept on. ‘It’s no good coming it the Abraham, sir. I seen you twitch. Down it must go. Post-​captain or no post-​captain,’ he added, possibly to himself, ‘you’ll post it down, my lord, or I’ll know the reason why. And your nice porter, too.’