Chapter Three
Nov. 2nd, 2004 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
under_hatchesChapter Three, 1.622 words, still no slash yet.
Chapter Three, in which Stephen is quite oblivious and Jack spots a sail at the horizon.
The ship’s bells rang eight times, and the morning watch took over. Jack already had been awake for half an hour, and since he was rather high up the bells sounded distant to him; he had climbed the Mainmast after inspecting the sails, gazing out on the horizon. It was a clear morning, with a cloudless sky. Jack felt strangely content, his heart about to burst, when he continued his look-out. Only when the sun had risen and the bells struck two, he nimbly climbed down, eyes watery and joints stiff from the wind.
He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. Upon looking up again, Jack found Mr Pullings watching him from his lookout point further towards the bow, a slight smile on the lieutenant’s face.
“Good morning, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, coming over.
“Good morning, sir,” Tom Pullings replied and touched his hat.
“You seem upbeat today, if I may say so,” Tom said after a moment of consideration.
“You may, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, smiling, “You may.”
Before his lieutenant could reply let alone ask, Jack had turned and was striding from the fo´c´sle back to the quarterdeck. There was a little more spring in his step then on the days before, but if the men noticed it, they did not mention it.
Pleased, Jack looked around the deck before he retreated to the stern cabin again. Due to their course towards Cape San Roque the entire room was basked in a golden light by the morning sun. To Jack’s eyes, it was very much alike the soft candlelight that had lit the cabin the night before, although not quite as warming to his heart. He stood by the window for a long time, watching the waves.
At four strikes of the bell, all men rose from their hammocks. The daily tumult began, with men shouting ‘All hands up! All hands ahoy! Rise and shine!’ and with what seemed to the unaccustomed eye as the general clutter of a day at sea. Sixty or seventy pairs of feet trampling up the hatchways did not rouse Dr. Maturin though, who slumbered in his cabin. Neither did the wailing of the pumps, nor Jack when he went by to see if all was well.
Amidst the turmoil Stephen lay deep asleep, blissfully unaware. He awoke barely in time for mass, with his hair askew and the ghost of a dream dancing in his mind. He would have slept even longer than this, waking only because Jack let the bell rang a little longer than customary. Hastily he dressed, not taking the time for a neat shave. He arrived almost late, and thoroughly flustered because of it.
Jack barely resisted smiling at Stephen when he saw the physician arriving on last minute and with a healthy colour to his cheeks. He did however give a curt nod, and proceeded to read from the bible. The deck was crowded with seamen who displayed the blank look of devout concentration, and when Jack looked up from the leather bound bible in his hands he saw Stephen standing slightly aside, head bowed in prayer. It still puzzled him how Stephen managed to arrange his science and his belief. Indeed, sometimes Stephen himself seemed perplexed as to where to tend to – Jack had heard him presenting theories unfit to repeat in any circle unless you intended to stir the listeners. Yet there he stood with closed eyes and folded hands, wrapped in a prayer.
After the service Jack read the Articles of War, which was deeply frowned upon by Stephen. The two of them had discussed the issue more than once in the privacy of the Captain’s cabin, and though Jack understood Stephen’s uneasiness and objection, he insisted on reading the Articles after the divine service. It was a tradition he was not going to break with. The men were used to hear them every Sunday, and Jack hardly saw any damage in reminding them about the laws and customs of the sea.
As soon as he closed service, the men scattered. Stephen remained at his place near the rigging, his brow furrowed.
“I wish you wouldn’t have to do this every Sunday,” Stephen said by way of greeting.
“I know, yet I cannot answer you in any way that would satisfy you, Stephen. Now tell me, did you have breakfast at all?”
Stephen deeply blushed at this and mumbled something incomprehensible.
When Jack sensed his friend’s discomfort, he quickly added: “For I wouldn’t mind a second breakfast as I was up before the morning watch. I’m feeling rather famished. What do you say, my dear doctor?”
“With all my heart.”
Jack smiled and led the way.
They shared bread and jam. If Stephen had watched Jack more closely, he would have noticed that Jack had more coffee than bread. Instead of eating he sat deep in thought, watching Stephen. Once in a while he urged the physician to have another slice of bread, gently nudging the basket towards Stephen.
Oblivious to this, Stephen ate heartily and talked about restocking his medicine chest once they had reached their destination.
“When will we arrive in South America,” he asked between bites.
Jack looked at him for a long time, his chin propped up in his right hand.
“Beg your pardon?” Jack then said, realising he had not listened at all. Stephen smiled gently.
“When will we reach our destination? I asked you how many days do I have to work with what precious little is left? I almost ran out of mercury as well as calomel, and with as many men suffering from the pox as right now I fear there will be shortage all too soon.”
“The pox,” Jack repeated, “Oh, yes, unfortunate. If the wind keeps up like this, we will reach the Cape San Roque within ten days, I daresay.”
“Ten days. Does that mean you plan taking the most direct route?”
“The north-easter is blowing just nicely; I don’t see any reason not to.”
Stephen nodded at this, although he did not seem to be quite satisfied with Jack’s answer. Jack stood up and quickly came back with a diagram.
“It’s not that you can indeed expect the wind to be exactly like in the diagram,” he said and spread the paper on the small table, causing Stephen to hastily pick up his plate, “but we’re in this area now, right here.” He pointed at the map, circling the area between Africa and South America, which was clustered with what seemed to be raindrops to Stephen. “Those here,” he pointed to the drops, “indicate the general expected wind directions. See? Although there is no telling just what winds we will find, the direction on the diagram matches the actual winds we face right now.”
“The Northeast trades will carry us down to the Cape just fine. Never mind the doldrums on the diagram; in a year like this, the north-easter reach much further south than this.”
Stephen looked at him sceptically.
“I remember you telling me the summer mists on the Atlantic would not begin before August. Yet we sailed into mists so thick we were trapped for days in what seemed to be night.”
“My dear doctor, that was a rare mistake, something that may happen once, but I surely don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re too far south for mist anyway,” Jack pouted.
Stephen laughed low and rumbling at this, and Jack gazed at him fondly.
Following a sudden urge to touch Stephen, he reached out and brushed over Stephen’s arm. It was a fleeting touch, yet Jack did not know how to explain it, so he picked up the diagram and turned to stow it away. He took more time than he normally would, and busied himself with correcting the position of his books. When he finally turned, Stephen stood next to him, having left his chair minutes ago.
“Oh,” Jack cried, “You gave me such a fright!”
“What is on your mind,” Stephen asked in a low voice, “that troubles you so greatly that you seek my presence and yet try to withdraw yourself from it?”
“I do not…,” Jack began, but stopped when Stephen gently took hold of both his arms. His touch was as soft as a feather, but Jack could feel every one of Stephen’s fingers, even through the thick fabric of his uniform. Stephen rub lazy circles with both his thumbs, a slow, calming movement only interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
Stephen let go of Jack immediately, and Jack, utterly regretting the loss, barked towards the door.
“Come in!”
One of the midshipmen barged in.
“Sir, Mr Pullings spotted sails not too long ago, Sir.”
Jack looked over at Stephen.
“Sails, Sir,” he repeated, “Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” Jack hurried after the midshipman, only turning at the door to gaze at Stephen apologetically.
“Go,” Stephen said, “By all means, go.”
Jack came back shortly after and found Stephen in the notion of leaving the cabin.
“A fine ship, hull-down at the horizon, slightly off our recent course, but I have corrected it and think we can catch her,” he said excitedly.
“A fine prize, I am sure.” Stephen bowed his head. “I have to excuse myself now. If we’re going into battle, if there is the slightest change of it, I fear I must prepare myself. There is too little of everything left in my medicine chest.”
Jack let Stephen go back to the sick bay only with the greatest regret. He glanced at the empty room, and fled its coldness up to the quarterdeck.
Chapter Three, in which Stephen is quite oblivious and Jack spots a sail at the horizon.
The ship’s bells rang eight times, and the morning watch took over. Jack already had been awake for half an hour, and since he was rather high up the bells sounded distant to him; he had climbed the Mainmast after inspecting the sails, gazing out on the horizon. It was a clear morning, with a cloudless sky. Jack felt strangely content, his heart about to burst, when he continued his look-out. Only when the sun had risen and the bells struck two, he nimbly climbed down, eyes watery and joints stiff from the wind.
He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. Upon looking up again, Jack found Mr Pullings watching him from his lookout point further towards the bow, a slight smile on the lieutenant’s face.
“Good morning, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, coming over.
“Good morning, sir,” Tom Pullings replied and touched his hat.
“You seem upbeat today, if I may say so,” Tom said after a moment of consideration.
“You may, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, smiling, “You may.”
Before his lieutenant could reply let alone ask, Jack had turned and was striding from the fo´c´sle back to the quarterdeck. There was a little more spring in his step then on the days before, but if the men noticed it, they did not mention it.
Pleased, Jack looked around the deck before he retreated to the stern cabin again. Due to their course towards Cape San Roque the entire room was basked in a golden light by the morning sun. To Jack’s eyes, it was very much alike the soft candlelight that had lit the cabin the night before, although not quite as warming to his heart. He stood by the window for a long time, watching the waves.
At four strikes of the bell, all men rose from their hammocks. The daily tumult began, with men shouting ‘All hands up! All hands ahoy! Rise and shine!’ and with what seemed to the unaccustomed eye as the general clutter of a day at sea. Sixty or seventy pairs of feet trampling up the hatchways did not rouse Dr. Maturin though, who slumbered in his cabin. Neither did the wailing of the pumps, nor Jack when he went by to see if all was well.
Amidst the turmoil Stephen lay deep asleep, blissfully unaware. He awoke barely in time for mass, with his hair askew and the ghost of a dream dancing in his mind. He would have slept even longer than this, waking only because Jack let the bell rang a little longer than customary. Hastily he dressed, not taking the time for a neat shave. He arrived almost late, and thoroughly flustered because of it.
Jack barely resisted smiling at Stephen when he saw the physician arriving on last minute and with a healthy colour to his cheeks. He did however give a curt nod, and proceeded to read from the bible. The deck was crowded with seamen who displayed the blank look of devout concentration, and when Jack looked up from the leather bound bible in his hands he saw Stephen standing slightly aside, head bowed in prayer. It still puzzled him how Stephen managed to arrange his science and his belief. Indeed, sometimes Stephen himself seemed perplexed as to where to tend to – Jack had heard him presenting theories unfit to repeat in any circle unless you intended to stir the listeners. Yet there he stood with closed eyes and folded hands, wrapped in a prayer.
After the service Jack read the Articles of War, which was deeply frowned upon by Stephen. The two of them had discussed the issue more than once in the privacy of the Captain’s cabin, and though Jack understood Stephen’s uneasiness and objection, he insisted on reading the Articles after the divine service. It was a tradition he was not going to break with. The men were used to hear them every Sunday, and Jack hardly saw any damage in reminding them about the laws and customs of the sea.
As soon as he closed service, the men scattered. Stephen remained at his place near the rigging, his brow furrowed.
“I wish you wouldn’t have to do this every Sunday,” Stephen said by way of greeting.
“I know, yet I cannot answer you in any way that would satisfy you, Stephen. Now tell me, did you have breakfast at all?”
Stephen deeply blushed at this and mumbled something incomprehensible.
When Jack sensed his friend’s discomfort, he quickly added: “For I wouldn’t mind a second breakfast as I was up before the morning watch. I’m feeling rather famished. What do you say, my dear doctor?”
“With all my heart.”
Jack smiled and led the way.
They shared bread and jam. If Stephen had watched Jack more closely, he would have noticed that Jack had more coffee than bread. Instead of eating he sat deep in thought, watching Stephen. Once in a while he urged the physician to have another slice of bread, gently nudging the basket towards Stephen.
Oblivious to this, Stephen ate heartily and talked about restocking his medicine chest once they had reached their destination.
“When will we arrive in South America,” he asked between bites.
Jack looked at him for a long time, his chin propped up in his right hand.
“Beg your pardon?” Jack then said, realising he had not listened at all. Stephen smiled gently.
“When will we reach our destination? I asked you how many days do I have to work with what precious little is left? I almost ran out of mercury as well as calomel, and with as many men suffering from the pox as right now I fear there will be shortage all too soon.”
“The pox,” Jack repeated, “Oh, yes, unfortunate. If the wind keeps up like this, we will reach the Cape San Roque within ten days, I daresay.”
“Ten days. Does that mean you plan taking the most direct route?”
“The north-easter is blowing just nicely; I don’t see any reason not to.”
Stephen nodded at this, although he did not seem to be quite satisfied with Jack’s answer. Jack stood up and quickly came back with a diagram.
“It’s not that you can indeed expect the wind to be exactly like in the diagram,” he said and spread the paper on the small table, causing Stephen to hastily pick up his plate, “but we’re in this area now, right here.” He pointed at the map, circling the area between Africa and South America, which was clustered with what seemed to be raindrops to Stephen. “Those here,” he pointed to the drops, “indicate the general expected wind directions. See? Although there is no telling just what winds we will find, the direction on the diagram matches the actual winds we face right now.”
“The Northeast trades will carry us down to the Cape just fine. Never mind the doldrums on the diagram; in a year like this, the north-easter reach much further south than this.”
Stephen looked at him sceptically.
“I remember you telling me the summer mists on the Atlantic would not begin before August. Yet we sailed into mists so thick we were trapped for days in what seemed to be night.”
“My dear doctor, that was a rare mistake, something that may happen once, but I surely don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re too far south for mist anyway,” Jack pouted.
Stephen laughed low and rumbling at this, and Jack gazed at him fondly.
Following a sudden urge to touch Stephen, he reached out and brushed over Stephen’s arm. It was a fleeting touch, yet Jack did not know how to explain it, so he picked up the diagram and turned to stow it away. He took more time than he normally would, and busied himself with correcting the position of his books. When he finally turned, Stephen stood next to him, having left his chair minutes ago.
“Oh,” Jack cried, “You gave me such a fright!”
“What is on your mind,” Stephen asked in a low voice, “that troubles you so greatly that you seek my presence and yet try to withdraw yourself from it?”
“I do not…,” Jack began, but stopped when Stephen gently took hold of both his arms. His touch was as soft as a feather, but Jack could feel every one of Stephen’s fingers, even through the thick fabric of his uniform. Stephen rub lazy circles with both his thumbs, a slow, calming movement only interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
Stephen let go of Jack immediately, and Jack, utterly regretting the loss, barked towards the door.
“Come in!”
One of the midshipmen barged in.
“Sir, Mr Pullings spotted sails not too long ago, Sir.”
Jack looked over at Stephen.
“Sails, Sir,” he repeated, “Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” Jack hurried after the midshipman, only turning at the door to gaze at Stephen apologetically.
“Go,” Stephen said, “By all means, go.”
Jack came back shortly after and found Stephen in the notion of leaving the cabin.
“A fine ship, hull-down at the horizon, slightly off our recent course, but I have corrected it and think we can catch her,” he said excitedly.
“A fine prize, I am sure.” Stephen bowed his head. “I have to excuse myself now. If we’re going into battle, if there is the slightest change of it, I fear I must prepare myself. There is too little of everything left in my medicine chest.”
Jack let Stephen go back to the sick bay only with the greatest regret. He glanced at the empty room, and fled its coldness up to the quarterdeck.
