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“Of course!” said Jack, turning as he did so to see who was calling and recognizing the tall, thin form of his friend Jevons, whom he hadn’t seen since final exams.
“Haven’t seen you since finals, Jack, where have you been keeping?”
“Looking for a ship,” said Jack, "though I haven’t said ‘no’ to some of the delights of shore, neither. What have you been up to?"
“Looking for a ship. And I’ve found one, too!”
“Have you, you sly dog! That deserves a drink, a commission at last! What ship? Tell me about her.”
“She is the Roth,” said Jevons.
“Roth?” replied Jack, thinking hard, “Roth? What is she? I’m ashamed to tell you I don’t know the name.”
“She’s a floating garbage can, actually. But she’s a ship, still and all. Transport, but she means full pay and I suppose the chance of promotion, some day. Beyond Lieutenant. But come,” he said, brightening suddenly, “let us wet the swabs!” He gestured embarrassedly to his new gleaming epaulets, purchased that morning with an advance on his pay, wonderfully heavy on his shoulders.
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Saturday, January 25, 2014
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Truth and Beauty: 1-1
Today was Sunday, so it was without fear of arrest for debt that Jack set out from his inn, a shabby little place in the liberties of the Savoy, crossed the street, and turned left to begin the long walk to his uncle’s city apartment. He was a large man, tall as well but perhaps too large for his height, with hair that as a child had been platinum blond but now, in his twenties, was drifting toward light brown in color. At present it was pulled back into a pony tail. He wore the simple uniform of a midshipman, his present rank, but he was now old enough to be a lieutenant.
At a gap in the traffic he crossed the street and turned left to begin the long walk to his uncle’s city apartment. His uncle, the MP for the borough of O’Brian’s Ferry, carried all of the family’s parliamentary interest, and though he rarely thought of his nephew, when he did his thoughts were generally benign. To Jack, this seemed perfectly fair, as Jack rarely thought of Uncle Rufus, though when he did, his thought were also generally benign, and thus the whole thing seemed to balance out rather well.
Jack’s last visit to his uncle (patron, he reminded himself) had been perhaps three years ago. Uncle Rufus had asked after Jack’s career, presented him with two sextants (“always good to have a spare, you know, Jack”) and a bottle of scotch, and sent him on his way. Neither of the sextants was as good as the one Jack had then owned (it was presently in pawn), but they were beautifully decorated, and more to the point they were from Uncle Rufus, so Jack had treasured them greatly until pressing debts had forced him to sell them both. He regretted it still. The scotch, on the other hand, was a fine old bottle, for though Uncle Rufus knew nothing of the navy he did know whiskey. Twice Jack had considered drinking it, but each time he had desisted, saving it instead for when he might receive his first commission - for when he would metamorphose from a mere midshipman, rated or disrated at his captain’s will, to a god-like Commissioned Officer whose lawful order it was Death to disobey.
Today, he hoped, would be that day. Commodore Anson, in the Success, was assembling a squadron of ships to sail against the French, and though Jack had no hope of an appointment to the flagship, he had applied for an appointment to one of the three sloops belonging to the squadron: the Griffin, Wyvern, or Bakeneko. He had fair chance of getting one, too, given the number of appointments and the number of candidates within easy reach, for the squadron had received sudden, urgent orders to put into space - French scout ships had been seen near Rigel IV and an attack was deemed imminent.
Almost as an afterthought, Jack had written to Uncle Rufus for help. He wanted the appointment based on his real merits, rather than interest. Eventually, however, reflecting that almost every appointment was at least in part due to interest, and that this was an essential step in his career, he had given in. The service was corrupt, and high minded though he might want to be, there would be no promotion without interest. Wiltshire’s father is no doubt pulling every string he can to get Wiltshire a berth in the Success, Jack told himself as he clicked ‘send’, and Higgins’ and Lister’s families are no doubt doing the same. Besides, think of the Santa Brigada and the Thetis, which I was never promoted for.
Uncle Rufus had written straight back, telling Jack that he was setting his sights too low with a mere second lieutenancy, and that he, Uncle Rufus, would press for something more impressive. Jack, who would have been more than happy to be a junior lieutenant in a one-gun brig, nevertheless saw no reason to contradict his patron, and sent back his thanks without delay, and Uncle Rufus, knowing what Jack’s fiances were likely to be (no half-pay for a midshipman), had invited him up to dinner on Sunday, when civil arrests could not be made.
Jack was lost in happy thoughts of promotion, pay raise, and the potential for prize money, and was rehearsing the names of the liners, those magnificent ships, when an insistent voice broke in upon him, “Jack there! Ahoy, there, Jack! Come join me for a glass!”
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Jack’s last visit to his uncle (patron, he reminded himself) had been perhaps three years ago. Uncle Rufus had asked after Jack’s career, presented him with two sextants (“always good to have a spare, you know, Jack”) and a bottle of scotch, and sent him on his way. Neither of the sextants was as good as the one Jack had then owned (it was presently in pawn), but they were beautifully decorated, and more to the point they were from Uncle Rufus, so Jack had treasured them greatly until pressing debts had forced him to sell them both. He regretted it still. The scotch, on the other hand, was a fine old bottle, for though Uncle Rufus knew nothing of the navy he did know whiskey. Twice Jack had considered drinking it, but each time he had desisted, saving it instead for when he might receive his first commission - for when he would metamorphose from a mere midshipman, rated or disrated at his captain’s will, to a god-like Commissioned Officer whose lawful order it was Death to disobey.
Today, he hoped, would be that day. Commodore Anson, in the Success, was assembling a squadron of ships to sail against the French, and though Jack had no hope of an appointment to the flagship, he had applied for an appointment to one of the three sloops belonging to the squadron: the Griffin, Wyvern, or Bakeneko. He had fair chance of getting one, too, given the number of appointments and the number of candidates within easy reach, for the squadron had received sudden, urgent orders to put into space - French scout ships had been seen near Rigel IV and an attack was deemed imminent.
Almost as an afterthought, Jack had written to Uncle Rufus for help. He wanted the appointment based on his real merits, rather than interest. Eventually, however, reflecting that almost every appointment was at least in part due to interest, and that this was an essential step in his career, he had given in. The service was corrupt, and high minded though he might want to be, there would be no promotion without interest. Wiltshire’s father is no doubt pulling every string he can to get Wiltshire a berth in the Success, Jack told himself as he clicked ‘send’, and Higgins’ and Lister’s families are no doubt doing the same. Besides, think of the Santa Brigada and the Thetis, which I was never promoted for.
Uncle Rufus had written straight back, telling Jack that he was setting his sights too low with a mere second lieutenancy, and that he, Uncle Rufus, would press for something more impressive. Jack, who would have been more than happy to be a junior lieutenant in a one-gun brig, nevertheless saw no reason to contradict his patron, and sent back his thanks without delay, and Uncle Rufus, knowing what Jack’s fiances were likely to be (no half-pay for a midshipman), had invited him up to dinner on Sunday, when civil arrests could not be made.
Jack was lost in happy thoughts of promotion, pay raise, and the potential for prize money, and was rehearsing the names of the liners, those magnificent ships, when an insistent voice broke in upon him, “Jack there! Ahoy, there, Jack! Come join me for a glass!”
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