The Golden Ocean. Patrick O’Brian

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       Chapter Four

      ‘MY DEAR PETER,’ SAID MR WALTER, ‘I HAVE ASKED YOU TO come here because I think it my duty to your father to speak to you seriously. You are not making a good impression, neither you nor your friend.’

      ‘I know it, sir,’ answered Peter, hanging his head.

      ‘You are very ignorant of the service, but at least you know that a midshipman’s whole professional future depends on his captain’s report?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Peter, are you quite sure that you are suited for the Navy? Mr Saumarez tells me that you and your friend know no more about the work of a ship than, as he says, a pair of female Barbary apes; and I am sorry to say that the master finds you stupid.’

      ‘Sir, I am stupid with the master’s questions about navigation: I try very hard, but I can’t find out the answers. I never learnt the mathematics at home, not beyond the Rule of Three.’

      ‘It is true,’ said the chaplain, shaking his head. ‘I did my best to help your poor father to some knowledge of Euclid, but it was labour lost; though as a Grecian he outpaced us all.’

      ‘And as for knowing nothing about the sea,’ cried Peter, red with the humiliating recollection; ‘it is not fair, indeed it is not.’

      ‘Quietly, quietly.’

      ‘I beg pardon, but it is not. I can sail a boat with any of them and ’tis I can put a curragh through the surf at Ballynasaggart and it roaring as high as the church. Only I do not know the names of the things in English, so they think me a fool and a landsman.’

      ‘Have you tried to improve your knowledge of the English sea terms?’

      ‘Sure the Dear knows I have—’

      ‘Say “Yes, sir”.’

      ‘Yes, sir. It was only yesterday FitzGerald and I were in the beakhead asking some of the men—’

      ‘At the time of that distressing scene with the Commodore?’ said Mr Walter, frowning, and Peter nodded.

      ‘Tell me exactly what happened. I heard only the words on the quarter-deck.’

      ‘Well, sir, we had been asking these men the names of the rigging and I had thought for some time that they were gammoning FitzGerald. One said, “And that is the mainbrace. Do you see how badly it wants splicing?”

      ‘“Where?” says FitzGerald.

      ‘“There,” says another. “It needs a good splice, but we don’t like to say it. The captain has let it slip out of his mind, and with the first puff of wind the mast will come down.”

      ‘“He would be very grateful for being reminded,” says the first one, “but we daren’t go aft, being only ratings, you see.”

      ‘“How very glad he would be,” says another. “Why, it might be the saving of the ship.” And before I could say anything FitzGerald was gone.’

      ‘Yes,’ said the chaplain, ‘and with a bow—quite out of place—he said to the Commodore, “By your leave, sir, the men up at the sharp end of the boat consider that the main-brace needs splicing.” It was a very shocking piece of effrontery, and although the Commodore passed it off as being accountable to your friend’s inexperience, I really thought Mr Saumarez would have him confined. I understand that Mr FitzGerald enjoys the highest protection; but if he thinks that that will allow him to take liberties with Mr Anson, he is wrong. Mr Anson is not the kind of man to be influenced by such a consideration for a moment. By the by, who were the men who led him to such a monstrous impertinence?’

      ‘I could not say, sir, I am sure,’ said Peter, with a glazed look coming over his face. ‘All I remember is that they left the beakhead very suddenly when FitzGerald went aft.’

      ‘Hm. Quite so,’ said the chaplain. ‘But now I am on the subject, my boy, I must tell you that this friendship of yours makes me very uneasy. As I take it, he borrowed an important share of the money I brought you?’

      ‘Yes, sir; we went snacks. But he bore my charges all the way here. He would have done the same thing for me.’

      ‘And then there was that very discreditable affair with Ransome.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ said Peter uneasily.

      ‘It appears that your friend still bears malice.’ Peter was silent. ‘And if that is the case, he is not playing a gentleman’s part.’

      Peter was still silent. He was keenly aware of the strong disapproval that surrounded them in the midshipmen’s berth—a disapprobation that extended to him, because although he could not feel that FitzGerald was right, yet he could not possibly not take his part.

      ‘I may have heard a distorted account,’ said the chaplain, ‘but from what I have gathered, he insulted Ransome with his birth and Ransome knocked him down. I would have done the same. And now he has not the good feeling to make his apology.’

      ‘It was not quite like that, sir,’ said Peter. ‘He did truly think Ransome was a servant: I thought he was a seaman myself. We neither of us knew that midshipmen were so old and big. FitzGerald did not intend to insult him, and indeed afterwards he said he would have cut his tongue out rather than say it. He said he meant to express his regret, only it was so difficult. He said, “How can I go to the fellow and tell him I am sorry I mistook him for a servant or a common seaman when he has been one in fact—the apology would be worse than the offence.” But since then the others have been so unpleasant that he has got on his high horse, and whatever I say only makes it worse.’

      ‘It is bad blood. He has only to go to Ransome and candidly admit that he was wrong. Ransome is a very fine fellow: he behaved extremely well on the lower-deck: he is an excellent seaman and he has a courage that Homer would have mentioned with honour: Mr Anson made him his own coxswain, and then, to reward his merit, rated him midshipman. If I thought your friend had a tithe of Ransome’s merit, I should feel very much happier for you, Peter. Life is not very pleasant for Ransome: there are many of his former shipmates aboard, and it is the nature of low minds to grudge at another’s rise—I do not say that they do, mark you; but I believe he feels his position acutely, far more acutely than ever he need. Certainly there is not a gentleman aboard, not one in the squadron, who would have thrown his origin in his teeth, or who, having done so by inadvertence, would not have apologised in the most full and public manner. No, no. It is very bad, and by associating with Mr FitzGerald you are tarred with the same brush. Believe СКАЧАТЬ