THE SURGEON’S MATE — CHAPTER THREE

The Diligence is a packet ship — a single ship sailing back and forth between ports on a regular schedule, at first chartered by the government to carry mail, and later to carry passengers and various cargoes. https://pennyhampson.co.uk/blog/places/falmouth-and-the-packet-ships/ This is before the rise of the packet lines like Black Ball, so Mr. Dalgleish is the actual owner of the ship. There’s a bit of a disturbance in the force on page one — “…a vessel dark against the light…”, and then another one which is later identified as an American privateer called the Liberty.

Dalgleish is familiar with this ship — knew that she’d be most likely waiting on him, but isn’t too concerned about either him nor his possible partner. Privateers don’t hunt in pairs unless it’s for something of immense value — and a packet isn’t any sort of prize. Dalgleish is confident in his ship’s ability to shake off pursuit — plus he’s armed with ten carronades — 12 pounders. But the Liberty is definitely on their tail — and Jack has a momentary flash of inspiration: Why not lure her down and capture her? But the Diligence is a contract ship, and her owner is a businessman, so Jack’s dreams of “…an action, laid on with cunning, ending with extreme violence…” are put in their place, although he can’t help but like Dalgleish, after all.

Side note: I have an ancestor — a gr gr gr grand-uncle — that was a privateer during this time: https://blogs.lib.unc.edu/ncm/2010/07/01/this_month_july_1813/

He’s buried in Beaufort, NC, and one of the cannons from his ship, the Snapdragon, is mounted on his tomb:

All this vague unease flies past Stephen — he’s still tending to Diana, possibly the worst sailor he has ever known, but the tension slowly increases as the day wears on — Dalgleish has never known Mr. Henry of the Liberty to crack on like this, setting more and more canvas so that you’d think the Diligence was some incredibly valuable Spanish galleon. Taking a packet would be “…a feather in their caps, to be sure, and one in the eye for King George…” But Stephen is watching diving gannets and right whales….

…and so the technical discussions regarding a better, faster arrangement of sails and the chances of shaking off this strange pursuit, though he understands it, are easily thrust into the background, for now.

Below, Diana is still prostrate — drugged with laudanum, she’s exhausted, but no longer actively throwing up and not completely conscious. Nevertheless, he talks to her — tells her about the whales and the pursuing privateers, tells her of the unlikely chance that they may catch up, all in a low voice designed to sooth, rather than alarm. And then Diana, speaking clearly from the depths of her drugged state: “Johnson would do anything, spend anything, to get us back.”

Stephen realizes that she’s probably right — and the strange nature of the pursuit suddenly has a cause — Johnson has hired a pair of privateers to waylay them, reclaim Diana and her stolen jewels, reclaim Stephen for the torturers of the American and French intelligence services, and get payback for the murders of his French associates and theft of intelligence information. This chapter, like the weather as the packet heads more and more to the North, suddenly gets much, much colder.

At dinner they’re not in immediate danger, and Jack has been fiddling with the Diligence’s rigging and sail plan, trying to squeeze every ounce of speed out of her. By evening they’re amongst the boats from Portugal — bankers, also called terranovas. This is one of their dories, plus a link to the Portugese influence:

https://epe.lac-bac.gc.ca/100/205/301/ic/cdc/seeds/seeds/episodes/episode-0503/sidebar.html

There’s quite a long discussion about the Banks — the weather, the Portugese presence there, cod, squid, and caplin, Blue-Noses and Newfoundlanders. For those in need of a spectacularly large rabbit hole in which to dive, try this: https://rgs-ibg.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/geo2.85

Once birds are mentioned, though Stephen is hooked — by the time the packet manages to gain the cover of the ever-present Grand Banks mist, he’s seen not only murres and dovekies (also known as the lesser Auk), he’s seen a Great Auk — the arctic ‘penguin’ mentioned as being extremely easy to kill by the second mate of the Diligence. I’m glad Stephen got to see a Great Auk — we never shall, because they went extinct in 1844. They’re in order below — a Murre, a Dovekie, and a stuffed Great Auk

• 

• 

• 

They glide through the mist, avoiding the fishermen, acquiring a dish of the best codfish in the world, and Stephen acquires a dead specimen of an Auk, which had been destined to be cut up for bait. Once out of the mist, the schooners are still on their tail — and Mr. Dalgleish is again astounded at their persistence.

They run on — North and East, with the schooners steadily gaining on them all the while. There’s a chance of a storm, they meet up with a fat merchantman seemingly oblivious to the danger — but even though Jack fires a couple of warning shots, he and Dalgleish know that the schooners are only after one prize — them.

The merchantman, still oblivious, passes them by, and the schooners pass her by as well. The only chance Dalgleish sees is to wait until the pair of schooners is within firing range, and then bear up and dart between them, trying for a chance to disable at least one of them. And they do — amid a flurry of carronade and cannon fire, the Liberty loses her foremast and main topmast — and the Diligence is free to proceed unmolested.

After the fight, Stephen goes down to check on Diana and finds her — not green and prostrate — but sitting straight up on the locker, dressed, with a loaded and cocked pistol in each hand, pointed straight at him. She’d heard him speaking of the schooners. She’d known what they were there to do. And she was prepared.

His answer is one reason why I love O’Brien so much — the ferociousness of the moment is completely disarmed with comedy: Stephen admonishes her — “Put those pistols down at once … Do not you know it is very rude to point a pistol at a person you do not mean to kill? For shame, Villiers. Where were you brought up?”

THE SURGEON’S MATE — CHAPTER TWO

This chapter begins with Stephen’s ruminations about the diversity among sea officers – the peers and the ones that came in through the hawsehole (like Pullings, for instance) – the purely ignorant and the classical scholars – the fabulously wealthy and those subsisting on half-pay — as well as a recognition of the common trait that bound them all together: they were all physically marked by their service, either with scars or the marks of strain found among those who had spent much of their youth vacillating between endless hours in the vastness of the ocean, or fraught minutes under fire. 

Stephen also thinks about their wives — how very far outside their class they found themselves once they’d married into the service. I was reminded of poor Hornblower’s first wife, Maria, who had met him while he was living on half-pay and playing whist for supper-money. Her mother rented out rooms, and Maria herself taught the local kids basic math and reading for a penny a lesson. Stephen ends his thoughts with something once expressed less elegantly by a member of the Jackson Gang, Tector Crites, in the movie ‘The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean’: There is nothing worse than a harlot turned respectable. And there are plenty of that ilk there now wearing pink muslin and wedding rings.

We’re at the Admiral’s ball, of course — packed full of sea officers and their wives. And Diana, who graces the ball with her elegant presence, gowned in blue lute-string and sporting her extremely respectable riviere of diamonds. Stephen’s complement ”…the black band about your thorax is a stroke of genius” is hilarious, and even more so because Diana accepts it as a genuine compliment. 

From his position among the potted plants 

Stephen observes the men, the women, and the jewels — I really love the diversity here, from a cheap garnet pendant to ‘thumping great’ emeralds and a set of rubies capable of building and provisioning a 32 gun frigate. 

The ball goes badly for Jack at first — he finds out that Sophie has been going to balls back home and dancing, too, and Diana notices him standing by a pillar “looking like the Last Judgement”. The ball swirls around him, until he overhears himself being referred to as ‘handsome’ by probably the least appropriate woman there, Miss Amanda Smith. Apparently, Diana knows of this young woman (though she’s thirty, at least) and disapproves of her. I view her as something of what my mother-in-law always referred to as a ‘heifer’ — brash, barely socially acceptable, sexually froward, and gauche. Diana doesn’t think much of her — “…seducing poor Aubrey is like taking pennies from a blind man’s hat…” – knew her back in India when “she came out with the fishing-fleet…”, meaning young women on the catch for a husband or a nabob. Apparently Amanda didn’t take, because the Army is pretty cautious when it comes down to actually marrying ones flirt. And now she’s focused on the Navy — and Jack in particular. And she gets him, too. She’s perfectly fine with hearing Jack rehash the adventures of the last two books, and we get a bit of a hint as to her unstability via an encounter with an unassuming toad. Jack should have known better, but he wakes up the next morning in her ‘predictable bed’, and the ensuing retreat is somewhere between comical and farce. Miss Smith references the romance between Nelson and Lady Hamilton more than once over the course of this chapter. Its was a famous scandal in its day: https://www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topics/emma-hamilton-lord-nelson 

Miss Smith is described as wearing red, and probably too much makeup. I immediately thought of this portrait

The next morning, the farce continues with Jack trying to sneak back into the room he shares with Stephen and making such a ruckus that Stephen could not realistically allow him to go undetected. But things are looking up — Jack has a message from the post office, and rushes (after a quick wash to remove Miss Smith’s rouge from his face) to get his expected letter from Sophie. He hasn’t heard from her in over a year. Sophie is full of news — George has been breeched, and the ‘turnip-headed’ twin girls are now learning deportment and French. And there is a note of warning — Kimber the ‘mining engineer’ who has contracts to convert Jack’s led dross into silver via a patented secret method, is demanding more and more money. And in between the news of Sophie at home and Kimber probably cheating Jack out of everything he owns, Stephen is admitting that “….often men do not see what they do not wish to see…” He speaks of evidence of a physical condition (very likely Diana’s pregnancy) that he has noticed, but not acknowledged until it had become too obvious to ignore. ”Gnosce teipsum (know thyself) is very well, but how to come to it? We are fallible creatures, Jack, and adept at self deception.”

We are left with these worries – Jack’s fortune being drained away by a fraudster, and his reputation clawed to pieces by a young woman without a discreet bone in her body. He’s already regretting his indiscretion at the ball. And finds himself wishing that Nelson had never met Lady Hamilton.

But events are moving along — The packet Diligence comes in from England and anchors next to HMS Nova Scotia, and both Jack and Stephen are eager to be aboard either one of them. They’re waiting for Captain Broke’s dispatch about the battle between the Chesapeake and the Shannon, which has hung fire between Broke’s injuries and the too-nice deference of his senior officer. However, Diana comes to visit and brings the double news that 1. Broke’s dispatches have been written up by Capten Capel and the Commissioner, and so the packet and HMS Nova Scotia will be bound for England within the next few days. and 2. Amanda Smith had overturned her dogcart and was sitting in a ditch with a torn petticoat and hysterics. 

Jack is overjoyed at the first news, and not too worried about the second. In fact, he makes immediate plans to secure berths on the packet. Stephen and Diana are left alone, and immediately Stephen broaches the idea of walking over to the presbytery and having Father Costello marry them. What follows is painful — Diana confesses that she believes herself to be pregnant, and will not marry any man while pregnant with another man’s child. Stephen declares his undying affection, but she gives him such a “…sad, disillusioned smile…” that he can’t bear it. He walks away, puts on the concealing blue spectacles, and lights a cigar. He hits her with the argument that it is simply awful to be an acknowledged bastard. Stephen should know — he’s one himself, and knows how cruel the world can be. She begs him for a chemical abortifacient. He reminds her that his oaths and personal convictions will not allow him to prescribe such a thing. He tells her that she must marry him. And she shakes her head ‘no’. And there they sit in misery, until a cheerful young officer brings them the news that the Diligence sails on the next tide but one, and they are directed him to proceed to the man-of-war’s hard with the utmost dispatch. 

HMS Diligence

THE SURGEON’S MATE — CHAPTER ONE

This first chapter is a nice precis of the more contemporary events of the previous novel — spies, escape, sea battles, the butcher’s bill, etc. As the Shannon and the captured Chesapeake glide into the harbor under topsails, helped by the tide, the damage becomes apparent. It reminds me strongly of section 36 of the Song of Myself which describes the aftermath of one of John Paul Jones’ battles —

“Stretch’d and still lies the midnight,

Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,

Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquer’d,

The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet,

Near by the corpse of the child that serv’d in the cabin,

The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curl’d whiskers,

The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below,

The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,

Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars,

Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves,

Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,

A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,

Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,

The hiss of the surgeon’s knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,

Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan,

These so, these irretrievable.”

The daylight is shining on this scene, the damage has been alleviated for the most part, and the ships accompanying them are resounding with cheers and applause, but “…any man who had seen action could imagine the slaughter-house look of the ships when the battle ended.” One of the most junior and also one of the few remaining lieutenants, Wallis, receives the Port Admiral, who immediately recognizes Jack, standing near the Marine officers. Their greeting is perfunctory, as is the interaction between the ship’s doctors, Mr. Fox, and the pale, overworked, bloodstained Maturin. There are several mentions of Stephen’s strange, pale eyes — I looked long and hard for a decent representation of them. The film, as much as too many people hate it, got Stephen’s eyes right — Paul Bettany does have strange, pale eyes. But he’s not dark nor ill-favoured. This guy below is dark and has the eyes, but he is too pretty to be Maturin:

And of course Stephen is rude to the Port Admiral. Diana makes an appearance — she has apparently been helping in the operating theatre below, and will be whisked off to stay with the Port Admiral’s wife once her tasks are done. Before she leaves, though, there is this rather noticeable conversation between her and Jack. Out of the blue, she asks if Sophie had a hard time with her last baby. Jack is at a loss — he was in Maritius when George was born, but tells Diana that he didn’t think the birth was too difficult. At least, Sophie never mentioned it. Hm.

Rowed across Halifax Harbor, O’Brien gives us a poignant description of the three — this group “…bound together by strong, intricate relationships…” Two once-rivals, and Diana, the ‘…great love of Stephen’s life…”, now engaged to be married to the man she’s abandoned more than once. They land and go their separate ways — Diana to the Admiral’s house and the company of “…short legged, good natured Lady Harriet Colpoys…”, Jack to check on his mail, hoping for some clarity regarding the scam artist he left in charge of allegedly extracting silver from the lead dross on his property, and Stephen, via a circuitous and circumspect route (for Halifax is uncomfortably close to New England, and Stephen did execute French operatives there, as well as stole away Johnson’s mistress and a riviere of diamonds worth untold thousands}, to visit with the head of British intelligence.

Halifax was, apparently, an ‘interesting’ place during the War of 1812. Go here for a more detailed view of this time period: https://dalspace.library.dal.ca/bitstream/handle/10222/63954/dalrev_vol23_iss3_pp289_304.pdf?sequence=1 . This page also has interesting tidbits: https://snr.org.uk/british-naval-problems-halifax-war-1812/

Stephen and Beck, the operative in charge of the Halifax office, are initially unimpressed with each other. Beck expected something more ‘heroic’ and not wearing blue spectacles to protect against the sun.

Stephen thinks Beck looks misshapen and distorted — a person with the “…settled look of a man who fitted nowhere.” But as Stephen’s report goes on, Beck undergoes a change of heart. Perhaps it has to do with Stephen’s nonchalant admission that he dealt with the Pontet-Canet by cutting his throat. Those expressionless, pale eyes work their magic on Beck — it’s doubtful that he’ll turn his back to Stephen ever again.

Their discussion ends satisfactorily; Stephen asks only for a passport certificate for Diana, an authorization for the paymaster to accept a draft on Stephen’s London bank, and the loan of a couple of burly bodyguards. Until Beck has dealt with the known agents in Halifax (thanks to Stephen’s gift of Johnson’s papers and payrolls), walking around Halifax alone may prove dangerous for now-known secret agent Maturin. Beck give him 3 men — one at least 6 feet tall — and Stephen finishes his business and then finds himself at a loss. He has no idea where he and Jack have their quarters.

Fortunately, he meets Jack coming back from the post office, where the guy has just told him that he has no letters. However, there are a couple of pieces of gossip which may prove to be problematic. Admiral Harte is back in charge at the admiralty. Yes, that’s the husband of Molly Harte, who ‘entertained’ Jack in Majorca with some sex and a dose of the clap. Also, ‘…that fellow Wray…” now has a position of power in the ministry. Wray is the guy who cheated Jack at cards back when he was in London, and whom Jack also publicly accused of malfeasance. At the time, Jack thought he might be challenged to a duel, but nothing came of it. However, now Wray is in a position to hurt Jack. Keep that in mind.

Despite sharing a room at The Goat with Jack, Stephen sleeps through his snores and wakes the next morning to a sombre Jack: the post office didn’t have a single letter for him, though there were a few for Stephen. He’s heard as well that his promised frigate, the Acasta, has been given to someone else. Jack is also wearing a black armband for the funeral of the American captain, Lawrence. https://trinitywallstreet.org/stories-news/war-and-remembrance-trinity-churchyard has some information on this burial, as well as the repatriation and reburial of this American hero. Unlike the other captains in attendance at the funeral, Jack knew and liked Lawrence. “….the rattle of earth on the coffin made him very grave indeed….”, and he finds the reviving good humor of the rest of the funeral party a little jarring. Yet Jack can never stay solemn for long — the general happiness of Halifax eventually seeps in.

Back to speak with Diana at Admiral Colpoy’s house. This link gives you more information than you wanted on this particular admiral: https://morethannelson.com/officer/sir-edward-griffith-colpoys/

Diana is happy — she’s helping Lady Harriet plan the ball for that night, but when Stephen asks her to save a dance for him, she replies that she will not be attending the ball, for she has nothing to wear. The local seamstresses are beyond hope — but Diana has seen a blue lutestring ballgown brought in by a very clever Frenchwoman who smuggles in the latest Parisian designs. Lady Harriet cannot wear the lutestring — it’s a bit too scanty for her — but she’s chosen “…a wicked merde d’oie muslin…” that at least covers her entirely. And yes. Merde d’oie translates directly as ‘goose shit’. It’s a darkish brown/green/grey color, and here is a link to a page that talks about the dyes used to make it: https://eshkolhakofer.blogspot.com/2014/05/an-unsung-henna-hero-herraouy-and-henna.html There’s also another page that explains ‘lutestring’: https://vanessariley.com/Research/Regency-Clothes/Regency%20Fashion%20Glossary.pdf

Diana wishes to buy the lutestring, and Stephen gives her the money to pay for it (the missive to the paymaster has come in handy). He’s a little hurt by her appropriation of the diamonds given to her by Johnson. She feels that she’s earned them — Stephen is pained to see her behave crassly. But he pays up for the dress and shares a letter sent him by the Institut de France — the French equivalent of the Royal Society — which invites him to give a lecture on the extinct avifauna of Rodrigues Island. He passes over a second packet, with accompanying ‘pin money’ (which she refuses), and then the passport certificate. She poo-poohs it a bit, and then asks if the intelligence papers he brought were of use. Maturin lies and tells her that maybe he should have chosen more wisely. Diana’s response make me happy — she’s less intimidating when I know far more about Stephen Maturin than does she. “To think of you as a spy — oh Lord!”, she exclaims. She’s happy — but less so once Stephen reminds her that they are to be married soon. She begins to backtrack — what’s the hurry, now that we’re safe? She leaves quickly, taking advantage of a pair of local ladies who have called. Though she’s in a strange rush, Stephen notes that she “…moved with the perfect, unconscious grace that had always touched him, and he felt a wave of tenderness, allied to his former passionate love; perhaps its ghost.” I really hate seeing Stephen believing that he no longer loves Diana, and am pleased to see that passion slowly returning.

Later, Stephen leaves Jack to the unpleasant task of trying to identify English deserters among the prisoners taken with the Chesapeake and goes to visit the former surgeon of the Chesapeake, an ‘unusually learned man’, who had learned his trade as an accoucheur, or man-midwife. Drinking spruce beer (a real thing, for all love: https://www.growforagecookferment.com/spruce-beer/) that may be, dubiously, a guard against scurvy, and probably mildly carminative (relieves flatulence), Stephen asks for the surgeon’s list of probable symptoms relating to early pregnancy. Hm. This is the second mention of this possibility in this chapter. Damn.

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — AFTERWORD

Timewise, this installation encompasses just a few months, and the last couple of chapters encapsulate a matter of days. It begins in Indonesia, with the horribly damaged Leopard wafting, barely afloat, into the bay at Pulo Prabang, and ends off the coast of New England, in a horribly damaged Shannon with a terribly wounded captain and a hard-fought victory over the American forces. In between, Jack and Steven have been sunk, near-starved, captured, courted by spies, and chased to the point where Steven has had to draw blood in order to save himself and others. By the end, I feel quite as exhausted as Phillip Broke.

Onward.

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER NINE

We wake up with Jack the morning after their escape — he echoes Diana’s final comment from the chapter before “Clear away: we have got clear away”, and we can enjoy his languid comfort in hammock swung in Broke’s cabin. Somewhere between waking and doze, he contemplates his luck — he forgives old Herapath for his lapses, blaming them on old age, rather than some sort of innate lack of character.

There’s an interesting bit about Broke and his rejection of prize money — 24 captures in a row, Broke had scuttled them rather than try to send them into Halifax, all for the sake of maintaining his ship’s readiness. There are numerous web pages that talk about the prize system — these have proved helpful:

Prizetaking

https://www.hmspsyche.ca/library/seamanship

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0014498306000143

As the morning progresses, we see Stephen, given cocoa, but longing for coffee, and hoping that Broke will be able to marry him and Diana ASAP. Eventually, Captain Broke’s intimidating clerk, Mr. Dunn, finds the requisite elements within the Printed Instructions and has the relevant areas marked in the Book of Common Prayer — but I myself could find nothing online about shipboard marriage except that the idea that ship’s captains could marry people is a pretty common myth. In fact, ships captains in both the American and British navies are expressly forbidden, these days, to do so. However, for this bit of the plot, Broke is all set to marry Stephen and Diana, but the ensuing battle intervenes.

I’m not going to go into detail about the battle that takes up most of this chapter. There are far, far better people than I to do this. I would like to just point out a couple of ‘behind the scenes’ sort of things: Jack’s farewell letter to Sophie is only 4 heartbreaking sentences long. Stephen, who had begun to believe that he no longer loved Diana, is forcibly reminded of her strength and beauty as he gifts her a small pistol with which to shoot rats during the battle (as a way of occupying her mind, for all love).

As for the battle itself, read the chapter slowly — it’s well worth the effort, highly visual, well researched, and extremely engrossing. If anything seems unclear, refer to these below for any extra background:

FOR A QUICK PRECIS:

https://historicalmaritime.com/blogs/historical-maritime/the-clash-of-titans-hms-shannon-and-uss-chesapeake

FROM THE BRITISH PERSPECTIVE:

https://www.rmg.co.uk/collections/objects/rmgc-object-12095

https://reviews.history.ac.uk/review/1215

https://www.historyextra.com/period/georgian/shannon-chesapeake-battle-boston-harbor/

FROM THE AMERICAN PERSPECTIVE:

https://www.history.navy.mil/our-collections/art/exhibits/conflicts-and-operations/the-war-of-1812/uss-chesapeake-vs-hms-shannon.html#:~:text=Chesapeake%20versus%20Shannon%20happened%20on,commanded%20by%20Captain%20Philip%20Broke.

https://www.history.navy.mil/browse-by-topic/wars-conflicts-and-operations/1812/capture-of-chesapeake.html

https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history-magazine/2007/august/explaining-defeat-loss-uss-chesapeake

https://ussconstitutionmuseum.org/2013/05/29/chesapeake-shannon-and-constitutions/

Below are portraits of Broke (on the left) and Lawrence, captain of the Chesapeake, on the right:

There were quite a few popular illustrations and/or woodcuts of the action. In England, the battle was viewed as a much-needed victory:

The final paragraph of this book is shockingly low-key, which makes it that much more effective. Broke, horribly wounded (he never really recovered), takes dazed stock of the situation, finally understands that he’s won, and then focuses his dazed eyes on Jack’s face and says, with a sweet smile “Thank you, Jack.”

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER EIGHT

Thank God we don’t have to wait an instant for the rescue to take immediate shape: Young Herapath is at the Asclepias in the very first sentence of this chapter, and Jack has the message by the 5th paragraph. “…looking larger and broader and more angry than ever…”, Jack is dressed and ready to go see old Herapath within minutes. There’s a small check at the bottom of the stairs — the Indian porter knows that Jack isn’t allowed out. I love that Jack has the wherewithal to compel his face to “…assume what amiability it could…” and lets the porter know that the Doctor is in some trouble. There’s no hesitation when the Indian opens the door.

Jack’s on a mission — punctuating their walk to old Herapath’s house with deep growls of blasphemy, he meets old Herapath, lets him know what is happening, and sketches out a plan which involves liberating Stephen and Diana both from Franchon’s hotel and hiding them in one of old Herapath’s merchant ships until Jack can take a boat across the harbor and, hopefully, into the waiting arms of the Shannon, currently lurking about in hopes of a battle with the Chesapeake. Herapath is immediately on board with this, knowing that once Diana is gone, Louisa Wogan will step into her place as Johnson’s mistress, leaving Michael free of her and old Herapath in possession of the much beloved grand-daughter. He’s eager to help. Comically eager.

As Jack gets young Herapath to report on the layout of the hotel, along with the possible problems from the resident Frenchmen, old Herapath has been blinded by a brilliant idea right out of a stage play — Jack will masquerade as a black servant carrying a huge basket and sneak Stephen out of the hotel secreted inside. It’s from the Merry Wives of Windsor, where Falstaff is coaxed to hide in a basket of dirty laundry and then chucked in a river.

Is Jack up for chopping off his hair, wearing somebody’s old coat and dying his skin dark with walnut juice? We’re talking about a guy who walked across the Pyrenees dressed IN A BEAR. Not a bear suit, but a bear SKIN, whole. A little walnut juice doesn’t phase him a bit.

The plan begins to take shape — Herapath wants the basket, the coach, burnt cork, and Jack wouldn’t say no to a grapnel and several fathoms of strong line. The old man loads a blunderbuss and a couple of horse pistols, and intends on driving the coach himself, although the thought of being recognized suddenly makes him rethink his intention to go with them into the hotel. Jack begins to have qualms as to Herapath’s real usefulness. He is, after all, quite an old man.

Jack isn’t sure how old Herapath is going to behave “….when the expedition turned from something like play to earnest, perhaps very bloody earnest…” When young Herapath returns, everything is ready — the ship-keeper of Herapath’s merchant ship, Arcturus, has been sent away and the coach is ready to go.

It’s an interesting ride down to the quay — apparently, old Herapath is no coachman. The hiding hole in the Arcturus’ breadroom would be painfully obvious to any British search party — but Jack figures that the landlubbers employed by American or French intelligence might be baffled. It’s better than nothing, they stow away a dark lantern and a basket of food, and head out to Franchon’s hotel to have a look at the situation there.

prehistoric flashlight – a dark lantern…

It’s what — 3 in the morning? Some Frenchmen are still awake, singing Marlbrouk s’en va-t-en guerre in the bar with a modicum of enthusiasm. This song was, apparently, popular: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HnXylHmAzg 

Young Herapath goes in to Stephen and Diana. Old Herapath begins to let his paranoia get the better of him, and is left on his own while Jack has a look around the corner. The street isn’t completely empty — an officer from the Constitution, a woman with a flat basket on her head:

Jack isn’t worried — he feels in control, for the first time in weeks, “…that fine contained feeling of going into action, heart beating high but well in hand…” He keeps his fingers crossed, but he’s hopeful.

Up in Diana’s room, she and Stephen experience momentary panic when the porter knocks on the door. It’s Michael, though, who had waited until the last of the French officers vacated the bar before coming upstairs. Captain Aubrey and a coach are waiting — time to leave. Stephen takes a judicious selection of Johnson’s intelligence information. Diana walks through blood to get her diamond riviere from Johnson’s desk, right next to the pair of corpses stuffed into the hip bath.

A riviere is one helluva chunk of diamonds. I can imagine Diana walking through blood for it, even though she makes the mistake of telling Stephen that the diamonds are hers because ‘..I earned them.”

As they’re going down the stairs, however, old Herapath at last loses his last nerve, and whips up the horses to drive away in a panic because the Frenchmen leaving the hotel were a tad rambunctious. They have to walk down to the harbor from Franchon’s — as casually as possible. The streets are empty, the fog gives way to a clear moon and, after a short stop at young Herapath’s house, they board the ship. Stephen and Diana go into the hidey-hole and Jack walks Michael to the gangplank to say goodbye. For it is goodbye — he’s pretty sure that old Herapath isn’t going to be very discreet if anybody chose to question him, so there will be no waiting until the next day or so. Jack intends to leave this very night on the ebbing tide, in whatever boat may be available. Alongside there’s an ugly, slab-sided craft — a cut-down scow rigged with a single mast and sail for fishing.

Both of these boats were labelled as scows. The one on the left has a daggerboard, but I’m pretty sure that the boat in the chapter didn’t have such a luxury. Waiting for the tide to crest, Jack weighs out his chances in terms of good and bad luck. The bright star overhead is Arcturus (also the name of the boat they’re hiding in), and that is a traditionally lucky star: https://foreverconscious.com/intuitive-astrology-arcturus-gateway#:~:text=In%20western%20astrology%2C%20Arcturus%20is,which%20means%20%E2%80%9Cvery%20beneficient.%E2%80%9D

Diana is bad luck, Jack feels, but he knows how much Stephen has sacrificed for her. Perhaps, he thinks, “….it was right that he should have her at last.”. The moon sets as the tide reaches full, and Jack goes to get them. Stephen’s half asleep, Diana jumps into the scow, damning her petticoats. And they’re off. After some delay because, apparently, Stephen can’t tell a halliard from a sheet, and is ignorant of how to use a kevel. Mild comedy — I love Stephen’s retort where he tells Jack that the moment he’s afloat he becomes “….pragmatical and absolute, a bashaw — do this, do that, gluppit the prawling stranges, there — no longer a social being at all.” All the laughter there has a strong tinge of relief — we are back with a recognizable Stephen. The head-bashing, throat-slitting, pistol-firing secret agent is again concealed. And as the journey across Boston harbour continues and the waves begin to act on the little boat, there is another transformation: competent, brave Diana turns green and begins to puke, hopefully over the leeward side.

There’s a little anxious turn when they encounter a “…cutter, pulling double-banked, pulling hard and fast into the eye of the wind.” There’s a momentary fear that Jack and Stephen are caught — but it’s only one of the Chesapeake’s boats conducting boarding exercises.

Heaving a small sigh of relief, we turn to see Diana “…green, hair draggling over her clammy face, eyes closed, mouth clenched tight, a look of mingled death and stubborn resistance.” Stephen wipes her cheek and Jack sails on. Until they hit the beginnings of open sea and there is the Shannon, standing in for her morning look at the Chesapeake. They’re rescued — Jack clambers up the Shannon’s tumblehome, Stephen and Diana are brought in via bosun’s chair. There is warmth and food, conversation, discussion of tactics and steam vessels, a song from Jack, which reminds Broke of a tuneful Lesbian poet “…who, though fierce in war, when under arms or when at the water’s edge he moored his sea-tossed ship on the shore,”. It’s a neat little allusion, though Stephen ruins it with recalling that a few lines further, it becomes clear that the poet has something of a passion for “…and Lycus, so handsome with his dark eyes and dark hair.” The background on this poem is as follows: https://www.pantheonpoets.com/poems/poscimur/

As Jack, Stephen and Diana settle in (actually, Diana is still puking her guts up), the rhythm of the war ship takes over — technological modifications, the readiness of the ship’s company, Broke’s eagerness for battle, Jack’s willingness to lend a hand with the gun crews if the battle ever comes. And there is gun practice, with live ammo, of course. The gun crews of the Shannon are amazingly quick. And even Diana responds to the clamor. She’s still prostrate, still sick as a dog, still apologetic about her condition. But when the 4 pounder over her head goes off a second time during practice, Stephen sees her smiling. “Lord, Stephen dear, I am just beginning to realize it. We have escaped — we have run clean away!”. Things are looking up for the British navy.

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m not sure why I took so long to come to this chapter. Perhaps because it’s so shocking — you find out several things about Stephen in this chapter that are quite the revelation. But we must first begin with certainties — Stephen is very aware of Johnson’s attempts to manipulate events, and his motives. He is also very aware that Jack is going to be an open book to Johnson. Case in point — the ‘Admiral Crichton remark’ from the last chapter. That gentleman was killed by a jealous lover when he was only 22 — accosted on the street by a gang of thugs lead by the jealous lover in person. This realization makes Stephen feel the chill — he is wary of being attacked on his way back to the Asclepias.

Talking with Jack, he gets the distinct impression that Johnson now knows far too much about the very talented Dr. Maturin. “Brother’, said Stephen to himself, ‘you may have dished me with your kindness.” There’s still a chance that his cover won’t be blown — the only Frenchman that could definitely identify him is 6 feet under. But Stephen reminds Jack to keep quiet about anything that might mark the doctor as ‘intelligent — even over-intelligent.’

There have been other visitors besides Johnson — two American naval officers, Evans and Lawrence, bringing messages from Mowett, of poetic fame. Also the elder Mr. Herapath has been by. But that account is interrupted by the appearance of Phillip Broke’s Shannon, lurking just within sight of shore, hoping for the Chesapeake to come out and fight. Phillip Broke and the Shannon are infamous in American naval history — for they broke the American winning streak in early June of 1813:   http://www.biographi.ca/en/bio/broke_philip_bowes_vere_7E.html

Jack gives a pretty complete picture of Broke — their relationship (cousins), Broke’s regrettable naval education at the Naval Academy in Portsmouth. What did Jack call the boys who came into service from the Academy? ‘Wicked Academites?’ “A miserable crew of sneaking upstart lubbers, learning seamanship and gunnery from books and pretending to set themselves on a level with us, who had learnt them at sea.” There was a very real prejudice against academy-trained midshipmen — William IV himself said “…there was no place superior to the quarterdeck of a British man of war for the education of a gentleman”. Most officers in the Royal Navy got their places via family ties and patronage, including Jack. Phillip, though, was pretty gifted — even if his wife was, since her childhood, “…sorry for herself then, gasping and turning up her eyes.” The vapours. Jack’s final assessment of Broke — a deeply religious man, but a tartar on moral, rather than functional grounds. Jack’s discipline is in the interests of maintaining a tight, well-functioning ship. Broke keeps his officers in check as a moral duty. It’s an interesting contrast.

Later, we begin to feel more chills as Stephen finds that his room has been searched by a ‘foreign gentleman’, probably Pontet-Canet. The situation may turn ugly, even though — as Jack notes — this is America, not Spain (where Stephen had been previously tortured by French agents). Stephen has armed himself with a catling, and suggests that Jack ask Herapath to bring him a pistol. Worrying.

And not for the first time, we are given a glimpse of a ruthless Stephen. The next morning, we get a full-on display of how far Stephen’s drive for self-preservation is willing to go. Walking to meet Johnson, he is damn near kidnapped in broad daylight. I never expected Stephen to throw himself “…to the ground, roaring and bawling, ‘Stop thief, stop thief!’. There are a pair of Royal Navy lieutenants nearby — he yells their names, makes a hell of a hullabaloo, thrashes around, punching, kicking and biting. The Frenchmen jump in their coach and hightail it out of there, and Stephen goes on to his meeting with Johnson, playing his ‘outraged citizen’ card to the max. Johnson expresses spurious concern, and then proceeds to make an offer for Stephen to ‘consult’ with American intelligence regarding Catalan matters, etc etc. The deal is plain — work for me, or I can’t be responsible for your safety. There’s a neat book about this age in American Intelligence: https://www.cia.gov/static/secret-confidential-nelson.pdf

Stephen returns with Herapath, who has come to do some messenger work for Johnson. Does Herapath know anything about American intelligence? Nah. But he still knows Chinese poetry, and is proofing a book about it. He offers Stephen a poem which I immediately googled: It’s attributed to Bai Juyi aka Po Chu-I, yet another late Tang period poet. https://allpoetry.com/poem/14370823-Flower-No-Flower-by-Bai-JuYi

Back at the Asclepias, he finds Jack fiddling with a pair of pistols similar to the picture above. Manton’s best, of course, brought via old Herapath. While Jack sews up Stephen’s torn coat, Johnson’s plan is revealed, as well as Stephen’s intent to rescue Diana and marry her in order to give her the protection of British citizenship. Sunday dawns behind the cover of clouds — Stephen has gone to mass — armed with the catling and one of Jack’s pistols in his pocket, and then stayed behind to talk to the priest about his proposed marriage. When he emerges from the church into the street, he finally decides to go see Andrews, the British agent for prisoners of war. And of course he gets lost in the fog. He doesn’t find Andrews, but eventually finds a familiar tavern and then later walks to the hotel where Diana and Johnson are staying. Where he is spotted — pursued, fired upon, chased around and around Boston streets and alleyways, and ultimately back to the street where the Frenchmen’s coach is still waiting. Stephen highjacks it — grinds the pistol into the coachman’s neck and tells him ‘Fouette toujours’ (keep whipping, ie drive fast). He gains a bit, but is then thrown from the coach during a sharp right and bashes his head against the kerb. For the first time, we see a ferocious, relentless, dynamic Stephen — a “…lithe dangerous wild beast trying one last ruse before turning on its equally dangerous and more numerous enemies…”, going hand over hand up a rope to the balcony outside Diana’s room. He uses the catling to jimmy open the shutter, taps on the glass, gets Diana to open the window and then hurls himself inside — the Frenchmen are climbing the rope right after him. He closes window and shutter, then leaps into her bed down at the foot and tells her to get in on top of him and ruffle the clothes upon its foot. And for the first time, Diana is quick on the uptake.

Imagine a lot more pillows. And some gauzy things thrown over it. And a stifling, desperate, dangerous man huddled down at the foot.

He’s in luck — Johnson is in the country with Wogan, and Diana is perfectly willing to take young Herapath as an escort to deliver a message to Andrews in order to effect a rescue. She leaves, and Stephen assesses his situation: Probably concussed, cracked ribs, surrounded, smack in the heart of Johnson’s den. He looks around, finds evidence that Johnson indeed knows exactly the nature of Stephen’s relationship with Diana, which means that now both their lives are in danger. While looking around further for intelligence information, he is interrupted first by Pontet-Canet, and then by Dubreuil.

And now we are introduced to Stephen Maturin, secret agent. Pontet-Canet is bludgeoned, and then Stephen cuts his throat. He has no time to deal quietly with Dubreuil — face to face, he puts a pistol ball into his heart when he comes through the door. Both men are summarily dumped into the hip-bath:

And here we are, face to face with an unrecognizable ferocity. This is the Maturin who can’t seem to come aboard a ship without falling in. This is the Maturin who experiments with bees, sloths, and wombats. And he just cut one man’s throat and pistoled another without so much as a sob. Stephen himself is appalled by “…the squalor of his own conduct and of his enemies, all for the best of motives.” This is one area which the film completely fails to address. Stephen is a dangerous, deep old file. And still he is completely helpless where Diana is concerned. But for once, she is helpless, too. She knows she has to leave. They send a message to Jack via Herapath, and can do nothing but wait. Stephen cannot think incisively about their problem, but Diana does not care. She is fine, so long as Stephen is there — and we have not seen this sort of tractability in her previous relationship with him.. I’m beginning to like her. Or maybe I just dislike her a little less.

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER SIX

This is a chapter that begins with Stephen’s dread of meeting Diana again after all that has happened, and ends with quite another, more deadly, kind of dread. But first, Stephen follows Mrs. Wogan into Franchon’s Hotel to meet with Johnson. He has dressed to the nines for the occasion, and sports a double-shaved, glowing pink face. Johnson immediately hails him as a natural historian of some note — apparently the American has read Stephen’s monogram on boobies.

I found this early 19th century painting of a tall, capable-looking handsome man — very much in Johnson’s style

And they’re off — into a discussion of the birds of America, the Antarctic, and the East Indies which leaves Mrs. Wogan in their wake. She doesn’t mind, apparently. Johnson offers Stephen a lovely illustration of an American bird that Stephen had mentioned, acquired, he says, from a touchy young Creole Frenchman he’d met on the Ohio river. Of course it’s John James Audubon. This link: https://www.caribbean-beat.com/issue-23/bird-man-jean-jacques-fougere-audubon#axzz85aT34Pip contains a nice little summary of the famous naturalist’s career. In addition, for an interesting sidenote to his life, try here: https://www.audubon.org/news/birder-painter-troll-and-trickster-secret-life-john-james-audubon The official biography may be found here: https://www.audubon.org/content/john-james-audubon. I was pleased to see him included in the Aubrey-Maturin canon. Below is the very anhinga illustration, plus a painting of the young Audubon himself:

My mother-in-law, a cattlewoman, referred to anhingas as water turkeys, and insisted that they were responsible for raiding her carefully stocked cattle tank. Audubon, of course, lends his name to a famous conservation society, even though he probably killed his own weight in birds every week, in search of the perfect specimen.

Eventually, Johnson is drawn away by some visiting Frenchmen and Stephen is free to finally visit Diana alone. He puts on his “…civil, unassuming, old acquaintance look…”, and is first shaken by the size and style of the female slave who opens the door, and then once more by the presence of Diana, who runs in, crying his name. It’s a blow on the heart, but Stephen bears it, kisses her hand, recovers his composure, and sits down for coffee.

I like the expression on this woman’s face — it’s Diana at her most charming

She seems overjoyed to see him — chatty, welcoming, desperately glad to talk at him with all her might. He mulls over the subtle differences in her that he can find, and sees himself in the mirror, “…a squat figure in the small gilt chair, looking crushed.” She speaks to him in French, using the familiar pronouns, until Johnson and Wogan enter — at which point she warns Stephen “In English, now, my dear.” There are subcurrents throughout the room. Johnson’s servants are clearly terrified of him, Diana and Wogan vie for attention, and the room fills with various political types. The outcome is an invite to a dinner party the next day, and then Stephen takes his leave, lost in a whirl of conflicting emotions and excruciatingly aware of a cold void within him. Has he ceased to love Diana? That thought is unbearable.

Back at the Asclepias, Jack and the elder Mr. Herapath watch as the American warships President and Congress slip out of the harbor and, in the fog, evade the British blockade that lies, unseen, somewhere beyond. Once Herapath leaves, Jack begins his exercises — twirling a heavy chair above his head, jumping around, sparring with some of his fellow inmates and scaring them into thinking that maybe he’s a bit crazy. But young Maurya Joyce brings him to order, putting him back into bed, setting his nightcap on his head, and suggesting a bathroom break before another group of visitors enters. Jack was expecting some of the American naval officers. What he gets, however, is yet another set of American intelligence men — Jahleel Brenton once more, plus his secretary and some sort of constable. There are apologies offered for the previous mixup, and then Brenton presents Jack with a page covered with numbers — victualling notes for the Leopard, dredged up from lord knows where. Brenton expresses disbelief in some of the sums, and Jack is understandably offended. As he should have been, as the British were precise to a fault when it came to record keeping: https://sites.rootsweb.com/~pbtyc/Cond_of_Serv/Food.html

Jack, however, becomes distracted by a sound in the distance — gunnery, perhaps? The Americans uneasily decide to move on from the question of the victualling notes and introduce another insult — a private letter from Admiral Drury to an unnamed lady. Jack fills with rage, but before he can explode, Stephen arrives and insists that the unwelcome visitors leave immediately. When the very large, very intimidating Indian porter arrives to toss them, they beat a hasty retreat.

At this point, we get a bit of background on the hitherto silent Indian porter mentioned several times before. Stephen has been saying ‘Ugh’ to him as a sort of greeting, and is finally educated as to the offensive nature of that greeting. The Indian is as articulate as Stephen himself, and expresses sympathy for the two captives. And then we learn about his grandfathers who attended the Indian School at Harvard. Well, either this is a very old Indian, born of a father who started a family late, who was also born of a father who started very late — or (more likely), O’Brian is stretching the time frame a bit here. There was an Indian School at Harvard — but it had ceased to exist by the 1690s. Here are a couple of links that expand on it:

https://www.americanantiquarian.org/EnglishtoAlgonquian/indiancollege

https://www.reed.edu/indianconverts/studyguides/children_education/harvard_indian_college.html

Harvard put up a plaque to commemorate the school and its first graduate, Caleb Cheeshahteaumuck.

Leaving Jack to supper and bed, Stephen welcomes the distraction found in an urgent cystotomy – the surgical removal of a kidney stone in the bladder. He brings back more distraction — a phial of laudanum — and prefaces this with a half glass of neat whiskey. Jack is asleep, though not blissful, as his face wears the “set look of physical suffering and moral shock.”. Stephen seeks his own room and we are in for an uncomfortable few paragraphs detailing the depth of his despair. He puts it into writing — perhaps he’s just in shock, perhaps she hasn’t changed at all, perhaps his system is disordered, his hormones out of phase. He writes it all down, and then puts all the pages into the grate, committing his doubts and fears to the flames. As the laudanum puts him under, he hears someone in the street singing ‘oh oh the mourning dove’ as if his heart would break. I couldn’t find anything about this particular folk song, but there’s a modern one that fits pretty well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNJwuWRzrBU

The next day, Stephen sleeps the morning and part of the afternoon away while Jack visits with American naval officers and hears cheerful news about one of his former lieutenants. Stephen makes plans to attend the dinner party, and only succeeds after Jack convinces him to shave and spruce himself up a bit. He arrives early enough to hear a fight between Diana and Johnson. The uneasy undercurrents are running strong tonight. And they just increase — we learn that Johnson is making a play at Mrs. Wogan, The dinner proceeds with all kinds of hanky panky going on under the table as they start with the soup, something called Bisque de Homard. I looked it up. It sounds delicious:

Bisque de homard

The dinner party continues with more conversation, hanky panky, Tang poetry recitations, etc. Herapath is clueless. Moreover, Diana knows she’s being supplanted, has become afraid of Johnson, and is desperate to escape. The dinner party ends with some catty remarks, the departure of Herapath and Wogan, and then Johnson’s absence — first occupied by French intelligence officers and then later gone off to visit with Jack, Diana and Stephen are free to speak candidly to each other. It is a relief for Diana to be able to “…have somebody you can really trust and rely upon.” Stephen, despite feeling “…this cold vacancy within.”, knows that her position is truly desperate, and offers her a way out. Marriage. With him. Her instantaneous gratitude, trust, and affection fills his heart with guilt and remorse — I love the horrid contrast here, with him tightening his embrace as a way to conceal his lack of emotion.

There is a problem, though. Diana tells Stephen that Johnson has no intention of letting Jack and Stephen exchange. When he returns, Diana exits the room carrying the diamonds Johnson used to buy her back in London.

Small side note — apparently Johnson has had quite the conversation with Jack — enough to convince him that Jack is in no way connected with British intelligence. And there is this weird little detail from their discussions which caught my attention. Who the heck was the Admirable Crichton, besides the J.M. Barrie play satirizing British social castes? Voila — a rather interesting character not very well known: https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofScotland/Admirable-Crichton/

Eventually, it becomes clear that Johnson is well aware of Stephen’s capabilities. He hints at a consulting or advisory position. He tells Stephen that he will not accept a refusal. And then he hints at something entirely unpleasant — the two French intelligence agents (Stephen knows them both) are quite ruthless (he says). Dubreuil in particular is devilishly dangerous — Johnson dwells a bit on the brutal death of another unfortunate agent who had tried to play both sides. His menace is unmistakeable.

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER FIVE

With her gurgling, sustained laughter, Louisa Wogan makes her entrance for Stephen (not for Jack, as he’s too upset by the weirdness of the American naval visitation). She’s in fine health, wearing the sea otter furs gifted her by Maturin way back on Desolation Island. I found that sea otter fur is one of the densest of all the mammals — super soft, more than a million spiky hairs per square inch, designed to trap air next to the skin. It’s pretty stuff. And highly regulated. In the US, only native Alaskan indigenous people may harvest the pelts, and they can’t be sold to non-natives unless they’ve been significantly altered to create a distinctive native handicraft. Like a coat. Or a capelet (see below)

She’s there, as we soon learn, to ‘recruit’ Stephen — not knowing that he was the purveyor of the poisoned information she took back home from Desolation Island. She thinks it was Jack. Which says something about her innate lack of intelligence (quite a fault in someone who’s supposed to be an intelligence officer). They walk across Boston Common

through an icy spring wind, sharing reminiscences about Desolation, the birth of her baby (a girl with dark curling hair), her escape, her mastery over young Herapath, her friendship with Diana. Eventually, we meet up with the realities of Wogan’s existence — a small brick house on a muddy street, poorly furnished rooms filled with smoke and a squalling baby who, apparently, hadn’t been fed on time. Stephen notices that Herapath is more handy with the baby than Louisa, and that the tea served up along with spoon bread is possibly the worst beverage he’s experienced since the boiled sea gull shit that sustained him once when he was marooned in the south Atlantic. Tar, molasses, and possibly verdigris — he can still taste it the next morning when Herapath comes to fetch Stephen to have dinner with the elder Mr. Herapath.

This chapter is something of a pas de deux regarding this time as observed by Stephen and the same timeline observed by Jack. We have Stephen digging into the possibilities of espionage on American soil, meantime Jack is sinking further into dismay with each daily reconnaissance of the harbor. Stephen is worried about his health — suggesting more ‘steel and bark’. I’ve probably posted this link before, but it never hurts to have it twice. Or even more than thrice: http://grapevine.com.au/~kwebb/MM.html is an excellent dictionary of all things Maturin medical.

Jack watches American ships being readied for war. He can just make out the blockading British ships on the horizon. And he sits there until his dinner is dead cold. I love how Mary Sullivan, one of the Irish attendants, fusses gently at him – “Do you wish it cold, for all love, the good codfish?”

Stephen’s dinner with the Herapaths is a “…long, slow, massive affair…”, conducted in a comfortable, elegant room lit “…by a great expanse of Turkey carpet, red and blue…” I’m fond of antique carpets, and can imagine this one adorned with gleaming brass and polished mahogany dining room furniture.

Stephen notices Herapath stealing one of his father’s silver spoons. Apparently, Michael has gone back on opium, because his father is paying for the house and its upkeep. There should be no reason for thievery. Once the younger Herapath goes home, Stephen finds that there is trouble in the young household — Johnson has been casting lures to Louisa, who is perhaps not the best mother in the world, and the elder Herapath is worried that she might run off with him and take the baby with her. He does dote on the baby, Caroline. He’s hoping that Johnson takes Louisa. But he wants to keep the baby.

The upshot of the dinner is that Stephen reclaims the 7 pounds owed him, recognizes the perilous nature if any plans made with Herapath senior, and finally manages to convince the old man to send the son to medical school. After the dinner, Herapath walks Stephen back to the Asclepias and the two separate dances finally become a single scene — Jack and the elder Herapath talking companionably about ships and the sea while Stephen sits thinking of Diana. He’s learned that she and Johnson are supposed to be in Boston on Wednesday, and he later confesses this to Jack. I’m more than a little shocked at how much he tells Jack regarding Diana and his feelings for her. All he can think of to say is “Lord, Stephen.”. And then gives him a note from Louisa, setting up a meeting with Stephen for the next day.

She meets him alone — Michael has taken Caroline to see her grandfather, and Louisa doesn’t count her slaves. He notices she’s dressed up for the occasion. She’s also wearing a fine emerald ring (has Johnson already bought her? Probably.) Her recruitment pitch is pretty comprehensive and, had Stephen wanted to, he could have infiltrated both American and French intelligence communities pretty thoroughly. However, Stephen doesn’t want it. He’s just plain sick of the dissimulation. He genuinely likes Louisa Wogan — even sort of lusts after her. He’ll meet with Johnson. But this is not a game he wishes to play — he still remembers the torture he endured the last time the French had him in their power, and he’s worried that Jack may be destined for something similar, since Wogan has told the Americans that Jack is the espionage mastermind who damaged their assets in Britain.

Walking back from his meeting with Louisa, Stephen finds the hotel she’s staying at. O’Brian calls it Franchon’s Hotel, but there is no such place in Boston’s history. The closest thing to it was a place called Julien’s Restorator. It seemed to be a cross between a rest home and a restaurant and was run by a Frenchman. Here’s an interesting article about it: https://restaurant-ingthroughhistory.com/tag/juliens-restorator/ . However, I could uncover no mention of a Franchon’s or even an O’Reilly’s.

The one picture of something like a hotel in Boston in 1810, the Eschange Coffee House, located on Congress Square and opened in 1809.

Stephen finds his way to Franchon’s, though, with the help of an obliging Quaker. And what does he see? Pontet-Canet. Definitely French intelligence.

When he returns, Jack tells him that he’s just seen Andrews, the new agent for prisoners of war, who had arrived to deliver a protest about the delay in Jack and Stephen’s exchange. Jack hasn’t spent the last week or so just idly watching the harbor. He’s been compiling observations, but when he suggests that he should write them down so that he will have a more complete report for Andrews the next time he comes, Stephen puts on the brakes. Don’t write anything down. The French and Americans are convinced that you are concerned with intelligence. Keep to your bed, exaggerate your weakness, don’t talk to anyone from the American Navy Office.

Jack’s response? He laughs heartily, for the first time since they were captured by the Americans. “…If they suspect me of intelligence, I am sure it will soon blow over, ha, ha, ha!”

THE FORTUNE OF WAR — CHAPTER FOUR

We begin with Stephen, aboard the Constitution sailing northwards with no obstructions in sight. He’s at the taffrail, “…staring at the wake, white in the indigo blue.” Sometimes O’Brian is blatantly poetic, and the beginning of this chapter is one of those times. The second paragraph recalls images of events in the recent past, some blurry, some “…as sharp as an image in a camera obscura.” For more than you’d ever want to know about this optical device, see: https://petapixel.com/2014/05/12/diy-tutorial-convert-room-camera-obscura/ 

A correcting camera obscura

Upside down image, but amazingly sharp and clear

However, the succession of imagery that crowds this paragraph reminds me strongly of section 36 of Whitman’s Song of Myself —

The hiss of the surgeon’s knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,

Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan,

These so, these irretrievable.

See this https://iwp.uiowa.edu/whitmanweb/en/writings/song-of-myself/section-36 for the entire section, or better yet, pick up Galbraith’s edition of the essential Whitman and read it for yourself. If America could ever be distilled into a single poem, Song of Myself is that poem.

The Constitution vs the Java.

Stephen mentions Dr. Evans, the Constitution’s surgeon, an estimable man well worthy of further research: https://ussconstitutionmuseum.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Sailors-Stories-Evans-Meet-the-Crew-Cockpit-after-Battle-Sickbay.pdf or for more detail: https://ussconstitutionmuseum.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/A-Healthy-Constitution.pdf . They had swung by San Salvador to offload the wounded, although Jack was too near death to be moved at all, and Lambert died, probably of pure misery, Stephen thinks. He likes the American crew, if only they wouldn’t be so damnably jolly, or so inquisitive about his diary. That book jags at Stephen’s subconscious, and although he does manage to explain it away in terms of personal, medical, and natural history secrecy, you know he’s kicking himself for not dropping it into the sea wrapped in lead, like the Java’s signal-book. More importantly, he is very unwilling to have some of the private entries involving Diana decoded — there, he’s “…a helpless, tormented lover…”, and his attempts at verse are, at the best, “…Catullus and water…” Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior — https://ancient-literature.com/catullus-85-translation/ — Stephen is still very much in torment where Diana is concerned.

O’Brian is tweaking us, of course. Stephen cannot gig the Americans and the French like he did in the last volume without having to pay for it when he finds himself in French and American hands. There are passengers picked up in San Salvador — one insignificant consular official, and two Frenchman, one of whom seems unpleasantly familiar to Stephen. He is suspicious of Pontet-Canet — spins him some misleading tale about thinking about retiring to America– and eventually he remembers where he’s seen the man — above Toulon, at dinner with Jack and Christy-Palliere. Yes, that is a faint gong in the distance, signaling events yet to occur.

Onward towards Boston, the home port of the Constitution, and enroute there’s a hilarious discussion of the Americanism “…that cuts no ice with me…” Ok, I confess. I googled it — and here’s what I found:

https://english.stackexchange.com/questions/586774/is-iroquoi-the-origin-of-american-idiom-cuts-no-ice-with-me

https://www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin_board/8/messages/815.html

Make of this what you will.

Further on, Stephen receives a bit of warning that he and Jack might not be exchanged via parole to Hallifax, Evans suggests he and Jack obtain more flannel shirts and woolen drawers on board the ship, rather than have to be beholden to whatever prison they might be remanded into at Boston. Yes. Slightly less distant gong of foreshadowing. As they stand on, close-hauled, for Nantucket Island, we see that Jack is horribly miserable — he stands by the rail, chilled through and through, in grey hopeless longing for the sight of a British warship. By the time they reach Boston, Jack is laid low with pneumonia.

A panorama of Boston Harbor

And Stephen finds that exchange for Jack is not in question at all — mostly because he was the erstwhile commander of the Leopard, the ship which had fired upon the American’s ship Chesapeake and killed a score or so of Americans — all for the sake of some probable British deserters. Jack wasn’t that captain during that event, but they blame him, all the same.

Evans recommends a small private hospital near Beacon Hill called The Asclepias, staffed mostly by Irishwomen (Evans speaks slightingly of them, but Stephen refrains from correcting him with a swift kick in the butt) and whose patients are mostly mental cases. There’s a bit of comedy when Jack rouses to semi-lucidity to inform Evans that Stephen is “…an Irish Papist himself, ha, ha, ha! Drunk as a lord every morning by nine o’clock and never a shoe to his name.” Before leaving the ship, Stephen reassures Evans that he was no more than moderately offended by his blunder about the Irish, accepts packets of money from both the Commodore and Evans himself, and finds that the Herapath (remember Mrs. Wogan’s unfortunate lover aboard the Leopard?) name is respected in Boston — the old man is a well-known old Tory (now joined with the Federalists) and the younger also well known as a disappointment to his family. Their future abode is set — Boston, near Beacon Hill, amid a host of psychological ailments, a kind, musical Doctor Choate, an airy, cheerful room overlooking the town and harbor, and sure knowledge that the town might have a set of useful allies.

http://joekinsella.me/2021/10/historic-boston-beacon-hill-podcast/ — go here for some enlightenment on Beacon Hill, and here: https://familypedia.fandom.com/wiki/Choate_family_of_New_England#Doctors for info on the rather well-known family of Boston doctors with the name of Choate, none of which happened to run a small sanitorium called the Asclepias.

As we approach the end of the chapter, we can get comfortable once more with Jack on the mend, writing to Sophie about the battle, the delay on the exchange, his health, and the types of madmen he’s been consorting with in the hospital — one’s the Emperor of Mexico — who are all persuaded that Jack is one of them, and only playing at being a post-captain in the Royal Navy.

This letter is interrupted by a visit from three American government officials, one of which introduces himself as Jahleel Brenton, a man well known by Jack.

The Jahleel Brenton known by Jack — a perfectly ordinary Royal Navy captain.

This American is certainly not the man Jack knows, so he simply assumes that these are three new madmen recently arrived, and hilariously plays along with them. He’s the grandson to the Pope. And so it begins — a comedy of cross-talk, with the American officials becoming more and more exasperated, and Jack eventually throwing himself on the mercy of the court for blasting the Alice B. Sawyer out of the water. Until they show him his commission and packets of documents that Admiral
Drury had given him to deliver to London. Before things can heat up, though, Mr Bulwer of the Royal Navy pays a visit, enabling Jack to fob off the unwelcome Americans onto the murderer Zeke Bates, who shows them the door. We hope.

Later, when Stephen arrives with a set of woolen undergarments and caps with flaps for them both, Jack tells him about the visitation. There were questions — about the Leopard, about the packets — and Jack reminds Stephen about the possibility that the Americans might bring him up before a judge on charges of firing on an American ship or something equally concocted that might put him in a noose. They discuss things together until Bridey Donohue enters, fusses as them for sitting in the dark, and telling them that there’s a lady to see them both. Through the open door they hear “…the sound of a laugh, a gurgling laugh, intensely amused, that went on and on.”, and they both smile. It’s Louisa Wogan. Jack doesn’t want to see her just now, but I’ll bet any amount that Stephen is thrilled to see her again.