Free The Hundred Days by Patrick O’Brian

and his plantations in particular - and by the children’s
steadily continuing education. Sophie’s two hurried, tear-blotted pages did her
heart more credit than her head, but it was clear that the company of Mrs Oakes
was a great relief to her; though of course their neighbours far and near were
very kind: she asked Jack’s advice about the wording of her mother’s epitaph -
the stone was ready and the mason eager to begin - and she referred to the
window-tax.
    ‘Sophie and the children send their love,’ he said,
when Stephen laid down the letter he was reading. ‘George tells me that the
keeper showed him a sett with young badgers in it.’
    ‘That is kind of them,’ said Stephen. ‘And Brigid
sends you hers, together with a long passage from Padeen that I cannot make out
entirely. He told it her in Irish, do you see- they generally speak Irish
together - but although she is perfectly fluent in the language she has no
notion at all of its orthography, so she writes as it might sound, spoken by an
English person. In time I shall find out the meaning, I am sure, by murmuring
it aloud.’
    He fell to his murmuring, and Jack to a closer
study of Sophie’s hurried, distracted words: both were interrupted by the sound
of seven bells in the middle watch. Jack tidied his papers, reached for his
sextant and stood up. ‘Is anything afoot?’ asked Stephen.
    ‘I must look at the coast, take our latitude and
have a word with William: we should be quite near the height of Laraish by
now.’
    On deck he found the sky clearer still, with the
outline of the shore plain against it. Both wind and sea had been diminishing
steadily, and if it had not been for his doubt about the solidity of Dover’s
mainmast he would have increased sail some time ago: he glanced down the line -
all present and correct - and to leeward, where the schooner was running
goose-winged on a course exactly parallel with his, well within hail for a
powerful voice. Jack had a powerful voice, strengthened by many, many years of
practice; but for the moment he contented himself with looking at the logboard,
with all its entries of course and speed, doing some mental arithmetic, and
taking the exact, double-checked height of Mizar, a star for which he had a
particular affection.
    ‘Mr Whewell,’ he asked the officer of the watch,
‘what do you make our position?’
    ‘Just at seven bells, sir, I had a very good
observation and found 35* 17’ and perhaps twelve seconds.’
    ‘Very good,’ said Jack with satisfaction. ‘Let us
signal Squadron diminish lights, reduce sail.’ Then, leaning
over the rail, ‘Ringle?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Close to speak pennant.’
    ‘William,’ said Jack in conversational tone, some minutes
later, looking down at the young man who stood there, smiling up, his steel
hook gleaming in the foremast ratlines. ‘William, you have been in and out of
Laraish pretty often, I believe?’
    ‘Oh, a score of times at
least, sir.
There was a young person - that is to say, quite frequently, sir.’
    ‘And are we near enough for you to recognize the
shore-line?’
     ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Then be so good as to look into the harbour, and
if you see more than two or three corsairs - big xebec-rigged corsairs and
galleys - stand half a mile offshore and send up three blue lights, if less,
then red lights and rejoin without the loss of a moment.’
    ‘Aye-aye, sir. More than three, stand off
half a mile: three blue lights. Less, then red lights and
rejoin without the loss of a moment.’
    ‘Make it so, Mr Reade. Mr Whewell: Reduce sail in
conformity with pennant.’ And directing his voice upwards, ‘Look afore, there!’
    Eight bells: all round Surprise the sentinels
called ‘All’s well’ and prepared to go below, but without much conviction, they
knowing the general situation and their captain’s tone of voice. How right they
were. As soon as the muffled thunder of the watch below hurrying up on deck had
died away, Jack said, loud