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Authors: Patrick O’Brian
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for someone, and then walked away: in spite of his preoccupation and state of dismal worry, Jack looked with the closest attention at his commanding officer, a tall man, upright, with the head of a Roman emperor, though tanned and weather-beaten – a plainly dressed man: blue coat, buff waistcoat, hat with the King’s cockade and nothing more, a plain steel-hilted sword.
‘Let us have a pot of chocolate together,’ said Mr Eliot to Mr Woodfall. ‘Hey there. Ho. Ahoy. A pot of chocolate here.’ The older waiters at Thacker’s were used to being called as if they were three miles off in an impenetrable fog, but the new ones were rendered nervous by it, and were sometimes obliged to give up their places. ‘As I was telling our young friend here,’ continued Mr Eliot, ‘a decent surgeon’s mate is scarcely to be found in these degenerate days.’ He went on to speak of the desirable qualities of the young man who was to come: learned, even to the point of knowing some Greek, skilled, and above all interested in his profession, in its widest aspects, in its philosophical implications – qualities all too rare in the common run of modern surgeon’s mates. ‘Where,’ he cried, ‘will you find a young fellow nowadays who will purchase a dead baboon at the cost of his suppers for six months, and preserve its vitals in spirits of wine for the pure love of anatomy? Best rectified spirits of wine at eighteenpence the Winchester quart.’
‘Ah,’ said his colleague mournfully, ‘where indeed? But have you not left it very late, my dear sir?’
‘For such a paragon it is worth it,’ said Mr Eliot. ‘And so you would say if you had seen the fellow the Navy Office sent me last month – a very mere rake indeed. Besides,’ he added confidentially, ‘I though it prudent to wait until my brother-in-law and our friend Bartholomew were both on the board of examiners – it is their turn now, you know – in case of any little difficulty with this young man’s qualifications. His indentures are regular, but he has not quite served out his time. I prefer to take him to the Hall myself, see him examined and certificated, take him to the Navy Office, see to his warrantdirectly, and so carry him down to Portsmouth, all in one.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Woodfall, getting up, ‘I wish you joy of him. I am sure a good mate is a wonderful comfort to a man, particularly on a voyage …’ He walked away, puffing and holding his arms wide apart to indicate the extraordinary length of the intended voyage.
‘Come, Mr Byron, another cup of chocolate?’ said Mr Eliot; and looking at him more keenly he asked, ‘Are you feeling quite well?’
‘Oh, I’m well enough, thankee, sir,’ said Jack wearily; then suddenly, unburdening himself, he said, ‘The truth of the matter is that I have lost my friend, and your talking about a philosophical cove dissecting things brought him so clearly to my mind, I could cry like a girl. Upon my honour I could. Toby would dissect you anything you like, a baboon, or a horse, or a mole. Anything. I sit here all day long in case he should find his way – I’ve left instructions at the house, of course. He had only been one day in London. Blast and crush me down,’ cried Jack, wiping his eye, ‘you talk about your fellow knowing some Greek: why, Toby Barrow was speaking it as quick as I speak English when he was only ten; and Latin too, like a bench of infernal bishops, rot them all.’
‘Quietly now, Mr Byron; do not curse the bishops so. Perhaps I could help you, if you would tell me clearly what has happened.’
His listened attentively, and he was advising Jack to apply to the magistrate at Bow Street and to the Mansion House when a thin young man with knock knees and a cheese-coloured face was brought up to him by the waiter: this person carried a bridal posy in one hand and a letter in the other. ‘Be not severe,’ he said, putting the letter into Mr Eliot’s hand. ‘Severity were
‘Let us have a pot of chocolate together,’ said Mr Eliot to Mr Woodfall. ‘Hey there. Ho. Ahoy. A pot of chocolate here.’ The older waiters at Thacker’s were used to being called as if they were three miles off in an impenetrable fog, but the new ones were rendered nervous by it, and were sometimes obliged to give up their places. ‘As I was telling our young friend here,’ continued Mr Eliot, ‘a decent surgeon’s mate is scarcely to be found in these degenerate days.’ He went on to speak of the desirable qualities of the young man who was to come: learned, even to the point of knowing some Greek, skilled, and above all interested in his profession, in its widest aspects, in its philosophical implications – qualities all too rare in the common run of modern surgeon’s mates. ‘Where,’ he cried, ‘will you find a young fellow nowadays who will purchase a dead baboon at the cost of his suppers for six months, and preserve its vitals in spirits of wine for the pure love of anatomy? Best rectified spirits of wine at eighteenpence the Winchester quart.’
‘Ah,’ said his colleague mournfully, ‘where indeed? But have you not left it very late, my dear sir?’
‘For such a paragon it is worth it,’ said Mr Eliot. ‘And so you would say if you had seen the fellow the Navy Office sent me last month – a very mere rake indeed. Besides,’ he added confidentially, ‘I though it prudent to wait until my brother-in-law and our friend Bartholomew were both on the board of examiners – it is their turn now, you know – in case of any little difficulty with this young man’s qualifications. His indentures are regular, but he has not quite served out his time. I prefer to take him to the Hall myself, see him examined and certificated, take him to the Navy Office, see to his warrantdirectly, and so carry him down to Portsmouth, all in one.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Woodfall, getting up, ‘I wish you joy of him. I am sure a good mate is a wonderful comfort to a man, particularly on a voyage …’ He walked away, puffing and holding his arms wide apart to indicate the extraordinary length of the intended voyage.
‘Come, Mr Byron, another cup of chocolate?’ said Mr Eliot; and looking at him more keenly he asked, ‘Are you feeling quite well?’
‘Oh, I’m well enough, thankee, sir,’ said Jack wearily; then suddenly, unburdening himself, he said, ‘The truth of the matter is that I have lost my friend, and your talking about a philosophical cove dissecting things brought him so clearly to my mind, I could cry like a girl. Upon my honour I could. Toby would dissect you anything you like, a baboon, or a horse, or a mole. Anything. I sit here all day long in case he should find his way – I’ve left instructions at the house, of course. He had only been one day in London. Blast and crush me down,’ cried Jack, wiping his eye, ‘you talk about your fellow knowing some Greek: why, Toby Barrow was speaking it as quick as I speak English when he was only ten; and Latin too, like a bench of infernal bishops, rot them all.’
‘Quietly now, Mr Byron; do not curse the bishops so. Perhaps I could help you, if you would tell me clearly what has happened.’
His listened attentively, and he was advising Jack to apply to the magistrate at Bow Street and to the Mansion House when a thin young man with knock knees and a cheese-coloured face was brought up to him by the waiter: this person carried a bridal posy in one hand and a letter in the other. ‘Be not severe,’ he said, putting the letter into Mr Eliot’s hand. ‘Severity were
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