Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House Read Online Free PDF Page A

ports, her soaring triple masts. I knew nothing of the subtleties of ship design; I should have to accept Frank's assurances regarding this one. But the ship was certainly an article of spirit, rocking gently at her moorings like a swan come to rest: sails close-furled in the shrouds, quarterdeck bereft of life. Only a handful of men moved purposefully about her. The rest of her crew would be on shore leave.
    “You can see where the foremast has been shipped and repaired,” Frank observed. “Splinters dashed from the poop railing and tops, as well—it is a French habit, you know, to train their guns on the masts and rigging, rather than the hull as we should do. I should like to see the damage the Manon took! She must be moored somewhere near about; the Stella will have towed her into port—but such trifles as this trim little frigate sustained, would never leave Seagrave dead in the water.”
    He halted abruptly in this speech, as though his words risked an ominous construction; and we spoke no more of the unlucky action, nor of the trim little frigate, until the George was gained and our nuncheon consumed.
    A S THIS WAS MY FIRST VISIT TO P ORTSMOUTH , F RANK was all enthusiasm in conducting me through the streets once we quitted the George. He had first come to the town as a boy of twelve, a hopeful scholar at the Royal Naval Academy; he had returned some part of every year thereafter, and must regard it as almost a home. He was longing, I knew, to gain the naval dockyard in order to observe the ships presently building in the stocks; to meet with old acquaintances and learn the latest intelligence of war; to finger lengths of cordage and brass carronades and talk with spirit of his views on gunnery. I had heard Frank's opinions on the subject before, and might have engaged in such a conversation, with a remarkable air of possessing knowledge well beyond my grasp— Three broadsides every five minutes, and better by G-d if we can manage it —but Frank was inured this morning to the lures of his profession. He led me unswervingly from the broader main street, into a crooked little lane halfway down its extent, lined with steep and leaning houses shoddily-built. In one of these, we thought to find Captain Seagrave.
    “I should mention,” Frank informed me as we stood upon the steps, “that Seagrave possesses a wife—a lady of birth and independent fortune. I believe she married to disoblige her family, however, and was cut off.”
    I nodded once in comprehension. The door swung open to reveal the harassed visage of a girl in apron and cap, several strands of blond hair trailing down her reddened face. Remarkably, she bore a black patch over one eye.
    “Missus says as how she's not at home,” this apparition supplied without preamble. “You may leave yer cards if you've a mind.”
    “It is Captain Seagrave we seek, Frank said firmly. “Pray tell him that Captain Austen has called.”
    “Yer can tell 'im yerself,” the slattern retorted.
    “That will be all, Nancy.”
    The maid skittered aside as though she had been prodded with a fire iron, to reveal an upright figure barely discernible among the shadows of the foyer. From his bearing alone—correct, unfussy, and economical in its containment—I should have known him instantly for an officer of the Royal Navy; but the smile that lit my brother's countenance was assurance enough.
    Frank stepped forward and seized Captain Seagrave about the shoulders. “Tom! It does my heart good to see you!”
    The man before us broke into a grin; he returned the pressure of Frank's hands with a clap of his own. “Austen! You rogue! I thought you well out of Portsmouth this age—on convoy duty to the Indies, some said, though I had heard you were relieved of the Canopus. Is Charles Yardley in command of her, then? She'll not be well served. Yardley's a craven fool.”
    “You'll not hear me say you nay, Tom,” my brother replied with a laugh. “I might almost suspect the