Palafox, sir,’ he said.
‘Reporting for duty,’ prompted the officer.
‘Reporting for duty,’ said Peter.
‘Mr Palafox,’ said the officer, holding out his hand, ‘I am happy to welcome you aboard.’
FitzGerald in his turn was made welcome to the Centurion, and the officer said, ‘Have you your dunnage with you? Your sea-chests,’ he added, seeing their blank expressions. ‘Those are your things, are they?’ he asked, looking beyond them to where Sean stood with FitzGerald’s portmanteau on his shoulder and a little leather parcel that belonged to Peter. ‘Those are your things, eh? You have left your sea-chests ashore? Unwise. Never part with your chest—ordered to sea in five minutes—never see it again. Jennings, take the dunnage and show the gentlemen their quarters. Master-at-arms, seize that man. Pin him. Collar him before he’s over the side. He has not got a certificate, has he?’ he asked Peter, who stood there appalled at the sight of poor Sean immovably wedged in the grasp of two powerful sailors and a Marine.
‘I am sure my father would have given him one,’ said Peter, ‘and I assure you, sir, he bears the best character of anyone in our parish.’
‘Your servant, is he? Well, I’m sorry for it,’ said Mr Saumarez, with his eyes gleaming with greed; ‘but it’s all one, you know.’
‘Oh sir,’ cried Peter, ‘I can vouch for him, upon my word I can. I was going to beg your interest with Mr Anson to have him admitted to the ship. He is a first-rate seaman, and he is very eager to serve in the fleet. If a certificate is necessary, I will write home at once.’
For a moment Mr Saumarez appeared to suspect that Peter might be presuming to make game of him, and bent a very ominous look upon him; but his brow cleared, and he said, ‘Very well, Mr Palafox. I believe I can assure you that your request will be granted. Master-at-arms, take the man below. Mr Dennis will read him in.’
‘Thank you, sir; I am extremely obliged,’ said Peter, fervently shaking the officer’s hand; and Sean, blessing his honour’s magnanimous heart, hurried the wondering master-at-arms below while the sailors stood around gazing with wild surmise.
‘What the devil,’ cried Mr Saumarez, slowly recovering; ‘is there no work to do in this ship? Mr Bowes, why are those hands standing about like a parcel of in-calf heifers? Mr Walsh, your party is at a standstill. Good heavens, this is not fiddlers’ green. Has nobody ever seen an honest man ask to serve his country, as a privilege, in his Majesty’s fleet?’
‘No sir,’ said an unfortunate gunner’s mate, who conceived that these words were addressed to him. ‘Only the officers, sir.’
‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ cried Mr Saumarez; ‘and get on with your work, or by the living …’
‘I wonder when the fellow is going to show us our quarters,’ said FitzGerald, as he crouched under a beam in the half-darkness.
‘I believe these are our quarters,’ said Peter, uncertainly, feeling with his hand for something to sit on.
‘Nonsense,’ said FitzGerald. ‘You could not decently mew up a cat in this horrible booth.’
‘Beg parding, sir,’ said Jennings, appearing again, ‘but I can’t find your sea-chests nowhere.’
‘Never mind,’ said FitzGerald, fishing out their last half-crown. ‘There’s for your trouble. Now just show us our quarters, will you?’
‘Thankee, sir,’ said Jennings, spitting on the coin, ‘but I have shown you your quarters; no codding, I have. This here is the midshipmen’s berth.’
‘Oh,’ said FitzGerald.
‘Do you know if Mr Walter is aboard?’ asked Peter. ‘I should like to wait upon him, if he is.’
‘Chapling, sir? Oh yes, sir, he’s in his cabing. Shall I show you the way?’
‘If you please.’
‘Not been to sea before, sir?’ asked Jennings, hurrying along.
‘No,’ said Peter.
‘Which I thought not,’ said Jennings, with a grin that reached to his ears, ‘from the way you talked about your man’s certificate.’
‘Did I say something wrong?’ asked Peter, stopping under a grating that let through the light of day.
‘Well, you mistook of the lieutenant’s meaning, if I may say so,’ said Jennings. ‘He meant a certificate, a paper of writing, to say as how your man was exempt from the service. And you meant a character to get him into the service. Hor, hor,’ laughed Jennings, leaning against a standard in honest mirth. ‘Lord bless your innocence, there’s the hottest press out in twenty year—not a officer aboard but Mr Saumarez and the fifth and the chapling—all the rest is out with gangs as far as Lyme and Seaford—and you begging and pleading to have him took aboard. Oh, hor hor hor hor!’
‘Oh,’ said Peter, not very pleased at being thought innocent, ‘I see.’
‘All what we’ve got from the bridewells and gaols is shut up in the orlop in case they escapes—tinkers and mumpers and half-wits, not a seaman to be had for love or money, and the ship wanting of two hundred, and them all running to the inland counties for fear of the press, and hiding in barns. Oh, hor hor hor!’
‘Well, that will do,’ said Peter, quite sharply, and without more than a muffled heave Jennings brought him to the chaplain’s cabin.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Peter into the gloom. ‘I am Peter Palafox, and I have brought you a letter from my father.’
‘I am very happy to see you,’ said Mr Walter, and Peter had a vague impression of a tall figure rising among the shadows: he heard a thud as Mr Walter struck his head, not on the ceiling, for ships do not possess them, or at least not where you can hit your head on them getting up, but on the place which a mere landsman would call by that name. He also heard something that sounded wonderfully like a stifled oath, and then Mr Walter said, ‘I always hit my head on that—on that disagreeable spot. But come, Mr Palafox, or Peter, as I think I may venture to call you, for I knew you before you were born, let us find somewhere where you can sit down and make yourself comfortable. How is my excellent old friend, and your mother? No, you cannot move that. That is a gun. Here, shift the papers from my sea-chest, and sit on that. It is rather dark in here,’ he added.
‘So you have arrived from Ireland,’ he said as they settled down.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Peter, handing him his father’s letter.
‘Thank you. You will forgive me if I open it at once: it is not every day that I have the pleasure—you see, one can read quite well by holding the paper so, where the light comes in through the crack. When the port is open you can see the whole extent of my domain, of course—remarkably spacious. One might almost think oneself in a hundred-gun ship: though naturally my stores take up a good deal of space. But, however, they are doing something to the port, and it has to remain closed. Ha, ha. Your father remembers our days at the university. He reminds me of our avidity for sausages—for maids of honour. Ha, ha. Sad dogs we were. Roaring blades. But we were not in orders then.’
He read on in silence, bent sideways to catch the single shaft of light; and Peter, his eyes growing used to the dimness, made out the shape of a table, two chairs and a hanging canvas cot piled with books; these and the chaplain would have filled the cabin too full for comfort, but in addition there was an immense gun, like a couchant elephant, right in the middle, and the sea-chest, as big as a coffin, upon which he was sitting, embowered in more papers and books. It already called for uncommon agility to move from one side of the cabin to the other, and Peter tried to imagine what it would be like in a hollow sea. ‘And how,’ he wondered, ‘do they ever come at the gun to fire it?’
‘Well, well, well,’ said the chaplain, folding the letter and putting it aside with an affectionate pat. ‘It seems no more