brother William.’
Stephen asked after his former patient. ‘Very well,
I thank you, Doctor,’ said the Admiral. ‘He can get along quite well without
crutches now, and he has had a saddle made that allows him to take leaps that
would astonish you.’
Very soon after this the secretary said, ‘I
believe, sir, that I should take Dr Maturin to see Mr Colvin.’
‘Do, do, by all means; and the Commodore and I will
talk about convoys.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Jack to the Admiral, and in
a discreet undertone to Stephen, ‘In case your conversation takes a great
while, let us meet at the Crown.’
As he walked along the corridors with the Admiral’s
secretary, Stephen wondered how Colvin came to be here rather than in Malta. He was a man with whom
Stephen had quite often had dealings, almost always in London or Gibraltar, and without being friends
they were necessarily well acquainted. Colvin had probably meant to restrict
their conversation to intelligence, to the question of the Adriatic, but he could not prevent
a certain earnestness from making part of his ‘I hope I see you well?’ or from
giving a slightly more than usual pressure as they shook hands.
When the Admiral’s secretary had left them they sat
down and with an artificial cheerfulness Colvin began, ‘I am happy to say that
although the Ministry is growing more and more worried about the Russians’
procrastination, the passing of time, and the possibility of this shocking intervention,
we have at least made a beginning with the Adriatic yards. From Ancona and Ban
our banking friend, a man of extraordinary energy for his age, has not only
called in the loans made to the small and out-of-the-way shipwrights concerned
with French vessels but he has also warned all suppliers to insist on cash: no
notes of hand, no promises. He and his associates along the coast are closely
allied to what few local banks there are on the Turkish side of the water: they
will make no difficulties, nor, of course, will any of the beys or pashas. Mr
Dee knows perfectly well that these small yards have almost no capital of their
own - they work on borrowed money - and that when pay-day comes round and there
is no pay, the workmen are likely to turn ugly, very ugly. These places rely
for a large part on itinerant skilled labour, most of it Italian. Now I do not
know, sir, whether you have any moral scruples about having dealings with the
Carbonari... or even Freemasons: as it were allying yourself with such people.
Or perhaps I should say making use of them.’
Both Colvin and Stephen were Catholics and like
most of their kind they had been brought up with some curious notions: in
childhood they had been assured by those they loved and respected that whenever
Freemasons held a formal gathering one of their number was invariably the Devil
himself, sometimes more or less disguised; and after a short pause Stephen
replied, ‘As for the Carbonari, Lord William had no hesitation about treating
with them in Sicily...’
‘In these parts they are said to be strangely
allied to the Freemasons: some of their rites are similar.’
Stephen shook his head. ‘I have known only one
avowed Mason,’ he said, ‘a member of my club: and when he voted for the
execution of the King, his brother, he was asked to resign. Such things sustain
a largely irrational prejudice. However, a scruple would have to be very moral
indeed for me to reject any means of bringing this vile war to an end. I take
it that you feel these people might be useful to us?’
‘Indeed they may. Many of the Italian craftsmen in
the yards and even some of the natives are Carbonari. At the same time our
friends in Ancona and Ban have great
influence with their fellow-Masons in the Adriatic ports - the bankers and
money-men, I mean - and will prevent them from relieving the shipwrights. Now
wood is by its nature inflammable, and when two pay-days have gone by with no
wages, it would not be surprising if the yards
Stephen asked after his former patient. ‘Very well,
I thank you, Doctor,’ said the Admiral. ‘He can get along quite well without
crutches now, and he has had a saddle made that allows him to take leaps that
would astonish you.’
Very soon after this the secretary said, ‘I
believe, sir, that I should take Dr Maturin to see Mr Colvin.’
‘Do, do, by all means; and the Commodore and I will
talk about convoys.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Jack to the Admiral, and in
a discreet undertone to Stephen, ‘In case your conversation takes a great
while, let us meet at the Crown.’
As he walked along the corridors with the Admiral’s
secretary, Stephen wondered how Colvin came to be here rather than in Malta. He was a man with whom
Stephen had quite often had dealings, almost always in London or Gibraltar, and without being friends
they were necessarily well acquainted. Colvin had probably meant to restrict
their conversation to intelligence, to the question of the Adriatic, but he could not prevent
a certain earnestness from making part of his ‘I hope I see you well?’ or from
giving a slightly more than usual pressure as they shook hands.
When the Admiral’s secretary had left them they sat
down and with an artificial cheerfulness Colvin began, ‘I am happy to say that
although the Ministry is growing more and more worried about the Russians’
procrastination, the passing of time, and the possibility of this shocking intervention,
we have at least made a beginning with the Adriatic yards. From Ancona and Ban
our banking friend, a man of extraordinary energy for his age, has not only
called in the loans made to the small and out-of-the-way shipwrights concerned
with French vessels but he has also warned all suppliers to insist on cash: no
notes of hand, no promises. He and his associates along the coast are closely
allied to what few local banks there are on the Turkish side of the water: they
will make no difficulties, nor, of course, will any of the beys or pashas. Mr
Dee knows perfectly well that these small yards have almost no capital of their
own - they work on borrowed money - and that when pay-day comes round and there
is no pay, the workmen are likely to turn ugly, very ugly. These places rely
for a large part on itinerant skilled labour, most of it Italian. Now I do not
know, sir, whether you have any moral scruples about having dealings with the
Carbonari... or even Freemasons: as it were allying yourself with such people.
Or perhaps I should say making use of them.’
Both Colvin and Stephen were Catholics and like
most of their kind they had been brought up with some curious notions: in
childhood they had been assured by those they loved and respected that whenever
Freemasons held a formal gathering one of their number was invariably the Devil
himself, sometimes more or less disguised; and after a short pause Stephen
replied, ‘As for the Carbonari, Lord William had no hesitation about treating
with them in Sicily...’
‘In these parts they are said to be strangely
allied to the Freemasons: some of their rites are similar.’
Stephen shook his head. ‘I have known only one
avowed Mason,’ he said, ‘a member of my club: and when he voted for the
execution of the King, his brother, he was asked to resign. Such things sustain
a largely irrational prejudice. However, a scruple would have to be very moral
indeed for me to reject any means of bringing this vile war to an end. I take
it that you feel these people might be useful to us?’
‘Indeed they may. Many of the Italian craftsmen in
the yards and even some of the natives are Carbonari. At the same time our
friends in Ancona and Ban have great
influence with their fellow-Masons in the Adriatic ports - the bankers and
money-men, I mean - and will prevent them from relieving the shipwrights. Now
wood is by its nature inflammable, and when two pay-days have gone by with no
wages, it would not be surprising if the yards
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