The Surgeon's Mate Read Online Free PDF Page A

he had not heard a somewhat artificial cough, the cough of one who does not wish to wake his companion but rather to advertise his presence if waking has already taken place.
    He pushed the curtains aside and met Jack's eye, his surprisingly sombre eye. Jack was standing by the window, looking unnaturally tall, even taller than usual, and Stephen observed that this was because he had taken off his sling and the arm hanging down by his side changed his proportions. He smiled on seeing Stephen, wished him a good morning, or rather afternoon, and taid, 'I have some letters for you.'
    Stephen considered for a moment. At least some part of Jack's sad appearance arose from the fact that he was wearing a broad black band of crape on his arm; but there was more to it than that. 'What's o'clock?' he asked.
    'Just turned of noon, and I must be away,' said Jack, giving him a small bundle of letters.
    'You have been up a great while, I make no doubt,' said Stephen. He looked at the covers without much interest.
    'Yes. I was at that God-damned office the moment they opened their doors. Their chief was away, but even so I made them rummage the place from top to bottom - such disorder you would not credit - but never a word for me.'
    'Several packets have been taken by the Americans, or lost at sea, brother.'
    'I know, I know,' said Jack. 'But even so... however, whining will do no good. Then I reported to the Commissioner. He was very civil, very welcoming, and he gave me good news of Broke - had been sitting up for an hour, talking quite rationally, and may be able to write his own dispatch. And he asked me to dinner after the funeral: but I noticed he felt uneasy, and after a good deal of backing and filling out it came. I am not to have Acasta, but am to go home. I was away too long, and she has been given to Robert Kerr.'
    The Acasta was a particularly fine forty-gun frigate, one of the few that could be considered a match for the heavy Americans, and Stephen knew how Jack had looked forward to commanding her in these waters. He looked for some words that might soften the blow, but finding none he said, 'I am grieved for you, Jack. But listen, if you feel the least pain or throbbing in that arm, you are to put it up - you are to put it in your bosom.' He stretched, gaped, took off his nightcap, and said, 'You spoke of a funeral?'
    'Yes, of course. You are not awake, Stephen. We bury poor Lawrence of the Chesapeake.'
    'Should I come too? I can be ready in a moment. I should be very willing to show the respect I feel, if it is usual.'
    'No, the custom is only men of the same rank, apart from those detailed to attend and his own officers. Stephen, I must go. Tell me, did you get any money? I shall not have time between the funeral and the dinner, and I should like to do the proper thing as soon as possible.'
    'It is in my coat-pocket, hanging behind the spence.'
    Jack plucked out the roll of bank-notes, peeled off what he needed, called out 'Thankee, Stephen,' buckled on his sword and ran down the stairs.
    All the post-captains in Halifax were gathering on the gun-wharf: he knew most of them, but he only had time to greet one or two before the clock struck; exact to the minute the coffin came ashore with its escort of Marines, and the cortege formed behind it, the few American officers who could walk, the soldiers, the captains two by two, the generals and the Admiral.
    They marched to the sound of a muffled drum, and the cheerful streets fell silent as they came. Jack had taken part in many processions of this kind, some of them very poignant indeed - shipmates, close friends, a cousin, his own officers or midshipmen - but he had never regretted an enemy commander as he regretted Lawrence, a man quite after his own heart, who had brought his ship into action and had fought her in the handsomest manner. The steady beat, the marching steps in time, caused his bitter disappointments of this morning to fade from his mind; and the