The Reverse of the Medal. Patrick O’Brian
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do not believe my wife quite caught your name either, sir,’ said Jack. ‘At all events I cannot make out what she writes.’
‘My name is Panda, sir, Samuel Panda, and my mother was Sally Mputa. Since I was going to England with the Fathers she desired me to give you these,’ – holding out a package – ‘and that is how I came to go to Ashgrove Cottage, hoping to find you there.’
‘God’s my life,’ said Jack, and after a moment he slowly began to open the package. It contained a sperm-whale’s tooth upon which he had laboriously engraved HMS Resolution under close-reefed topsails when he was a very young man, younger even than the tall youth facing him; it also contained a small bundle of feathers and elephant’s hair bound together with a strip of leopard’s skin.
‘That is a charm to keep you from drowning,’ observed Samuel Panda.
‘How kind,’ said Jack automatically. They looked at one another with a naked searching, eager on the one side, astonished on the other. There were few mirrors hanging in Jack’s part of the ship – only a little shaving-glass in his sleeping-cabin – but the extraordinarily elaborate and ingenious piece of furniture that Stephen’s wife Diana had given him and that was chiefly used as a music-stand had a large one inside the lid. Jack opened it and they stood there side by side, each comparing, each silently, intently, looking for himself in the other.
‘I am astonished,’ said Jack at last. ‘I had no idea, no idea in the world...’ He sat down again. ‘I hope your mother is well?’
‘Very well indeed, sir, I thank you. She prepares African medicines in the hospital at Lourenço Marques, which some patients prefer.’
Neither spoke until Jack said ‘God’s my life’ again, turning the whale tooth in his hand. Few things at sea could amaze him and he had suffered some shrewd blows without discomposure, but now his youth coming so vividly to life took him wholly aback.
‘Will I tell you how I come to be here, sir?’ asked the young man out of the silence, in his deep, gentle voice.
‘Do, by all means. Yes, pray do,’ said Jack.
‘We removed to Lourenço Marques about the time I was born – my mother came from Nwandwe, no great way off – and there it was that the Fathers took me in when I was a little small boy, and very sickly, it appears. My mother was married to an ancient Zulu witch-doctor at the time – a heathen, of course – so they brought me up and educated me.’
‘Bless them,’ said Jack. ‘But is not Lourenço Marques on Delagoa Bay – is it not Portuguese?’
‘It is Portuguese, sir, but Irish entirely. That is to say, the Mission came from the County Roscommon itself; and it was Father Power and Father Birmingham took me to England with them, where I hoped I should find you, and so on to the Indies.’
‘Well, Sam,’ said Jack, ‘you are very welcome, I am sure. And now you have found me, what can I do for you? Had it been earlier, as I could have wished, it would have been easier; but as I said, I had not the least notion . . . It is too late for the Navy, of course, and in any event . . . yet stay, have you ever thought of being a captain’s clerk? It can lead to a purser’s berth, and the life itself is very agreeable; I have known many a captain’s clerk take charge of a boat in a cutting-out expedition...’
He spoke at some length, and with considerable warmth, of the pleasures of a life at sea; but after a while he thought he detected a look of affectionate amusement in Sam’s eye, a discreet and perfectly respectful look, but enough to cut off his flow.
‘You are very kind, sir,’ said Sam, ‘and truly benevolent; but I am not come to ask for anything at all, apart from your good word and the blessing.’
‘Of course that you have – bless you, Sam – but I should like something more substantial, to help you to live. Yet perhaps I mistake – perhaps you have a capital place, perhaps these gentlemen employ you?’
‘They do not, sir. Sure, I attend them, in duty bound too, particularly Father Power and he lame of a foot; but it is the Mission sustains me.’
‘Sam, do not tell me you are a Papist,’ cried Jack.
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, sir,’ said Sam, smiling, ‘but a Papist I am, and so much so that I hope in time to be a priest if ever I can have a dispensation. At present I am only in minor orders.’
‘Well,’ said Jack, recollecting himself, ‘one of my best friends is a Catholic. Dr Maturin – you met him.’
‘The learned man of the world he is, I am sure,’ said Sam, with a bow.
‘But tell me, Sam,’ said Jack, ‘what are you doing at present? What are your plans?’
‘Why, sir, as soon as the ship comes, the Fathers sail for the Mission’s house in the Brazils. They take me with them, although I am not ordained, because I speak the Portuguese and because I am black; it is thought I will be more acceptable to the Negro slaves.’
‘I am sure you will,’ said Jack. ‘That is . . . I am sure I shall be able to say that one of my best friends is not only Catholic but black into the bargain – why, Stephen, what’s amiss?’
‘I am sorry to burst in upon you, but your signal is flying aboard the Admiral. Mowett is deeply disturbed at the possibility of lateness. The gig is alongside and my ’cello is already in it. I say my ’cello is already in the gig.’
Jack checked a blasphemous cry, caught up his violin and said, ‘Come along with us, Sam. The gig will pull you ashore and take you off again tomorrow, if you choose to see the ship and dine with me and Dr Maturin.’
Chapter Two
The caravel Nossa Senhora das Necessidades, a very old-fashioned square-sterned vessel, was taking advantage of the inshore breeze to approach Needham’s Point; but unhappily she was doing so on the starboard tack and the moment she crossed the line of white water separating the local breeze from the trade-wind she was brought by the lee – the northeaster laid her right over and the Caribbean sea gushed in through her scuppers.
‘Let all go with a run, you infernal lubbers,’ cried Jack.
‘There is Sam pulling on a rope,’ said Stephen, who had the telescope.
‘It is the wrong one,’ said Jack, wringing his powerful hands.
But right or wrong the caravel somehow recovered, somehow heaved herself up, all her sails flapping wildly, and the mariners could be seen running about embracing and congratulating one another and the good Fathers before they cautiously paid off, brought the steady trade a little abaft the larboard beam, and vanished behind the headland.
‘Thank God,’ said Jack. ‘Now they will not have to rise sheet or tack until they reach Para: they may even arrive without the loss of a soul. Lord, Stephen, I have never seen such a piece of seamanship nor such an example of divine intervention. That horrible old tub should never have reached Bridgetown in the first place; and she would certainly have foundered with all hands just now but for the grace of God. Only an uninterrupted series of miracles can have kept her afloat these last sixty or seventy years. Yet even so I could wish he had sailed in something that did not call for guardian angels working double tides, watch and watch.’
‘He is a fine young man,’ observed Stephen.
‘Ain’t he?’ said Jack. ‘How I hope young George will be such another. It did my heart good to hear you and him prattling away in Latin, fourteen to the dozen: though I noticed that Parson Martin did not seem to follow him quite so well.’
‘That was because poor Martin uses the English pronunciation.’
‘What is wrong with the English pronunciation?’ asked Jack, displeased.
‘Nothing at all, I am sure, except that no other nation understands it.’
‘I should think not,’ said Jack. And then, ‘Do