Read 21: The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey for Free Online

above all of ratings; and there was nobody aboard either of the vessels who wished his own to be mocked, fleered at or called a second-hand mud-scow. They wanted no advice on cleanliness, seamanlike appearance or the priddying of decks, no facetious observations about their attire; and even the watch below spent much of their precious sleeping-time beautifying themselves and the ship. Perhaps the most active was Killick: Captain Aubrey had served as a commodore, so he a lready possessed a rear-admiral’ s uniform: these garments had been a great source of joy to Killick, but an even greater source of anxiety - termites in Malaysia, a shameless wombat in New South Wales, while from south of the Horn to the trackless wastes of the pampas innumerable forms of vermin had gnawed or attempted to gnaw the superfine broadcloth or ruin the gold lace with their squalid dejections. During this anxious night, with so many of his shipmates scouring pissdales or polishing musket-cocks, begging valuable slush from the cook or (more fruitfully) from his mates to give the round-shot something of a gleam as they lay along in the garlands by the great guns - during this active time he sat in the remarkably well-lit space where the surgeons often dissected their specimens or skinned t heir birds, sat there with Jack’ s best, rarely-used sea-chest open before him, half its contents spread out on a piece of sailcloth. His face was as pale as it could be, and it expressed not only horror but anguish too: for this strong clear light showed that his zeal in earlier, darker times had robbed the cloth of all its bloom. In places it was threadbare; and the heap of clothes had something of the sad, abandoned air so evident in the second-hand barrows of Monmouth Street.
    “ Pass the wo rd for Killick,” called a voice from the quarterdeck, and the cry was repeated until it echoed from the open chest itself. Automatically the steward obeyed.
    “Sir,” he said faintly to the towering captain.
    “ Have you laid out my number one uniform?”
    “ Well, sir, in a manner of speaking,” said Killick. “Which it ain’ t what you might call weathered very well.”
    Jack had never see n his steward so deeply moved. “Be damned to that,” he said. “ Every God-damned thing in that chest was frozen stiff week after week, off the Horn. Just look out my ribbon of the Bath, will you? It sets off an old coat very well.”
    “Beg pardon, sir,” said the officer of the watch. “ Suffolk is launching a boat.”
    Very true. Her barge was lowered down in a commendable fashion and manned: her acting-captain took his place by the midshipman in the stern. They pulled across with a particular accuracy of stroke and the coxswain brought her kissing alongside with barely an impact. Captain Simmons came aboard nimbly in spite of his packet of letters. He sal uted the quarterdeck and said, “ Good morning, sir. I thought you would like these” — holding up the bundle — “as soon as possible.”
    “ Good morning, Simmons — a very good morning to you — how pleasant to see you again. You could not have judged better. We have had no news from home this many a day. Such a welcome pack et: thank you very much indeed.”
    “ Not at all, sir. Do you choose to come back in Suffolk ’ s barge with your own coxswain?”
    “ Thank you, Simmons, but I think I shall shift my clothes, look through the chief of these papers and then c ome across at about four bells.”
    At the fourth stroke he ran down to the sadly weather-beaten boat where his coxswain was already sitting in the bows with his precious burden - ran down looking very grave. The red ribbon of his order shone in the light as he came aboard the Suffolk, but his face was as grave as ever: this was a profoundly serious occasion and he scarcely smiled as Simmons presented his officers.
    This ceremony over, he nodded to his coxswain, standing there by the mizzen, and said, “Heave out the flag.”
    The folded