Free The Unknown Shore by Patrick O’Brian Page A

stairs, he bawled for a pair of oars. ‘Give way,’ he said, thrusting Ransome into the boat, and he exhorted the rowers to pull with all the force and eloquence that ever he had learnt at sea, directing them to pass straight down the river to the press tender in the Pool. At the sound of the words ‘press tender’ the watermen paused, and Jack cried, ‘Give way, can’t you? You have got your infernal certificates, han’t you?’ The watermen certainly had, and they could not be taken by the press-gang nor kept aboard the press tender; but, as the bow oar explained, ‘It makes the blood go thin as gin in my arteries.’
    ‘Veins,’ said stroke.
    ‘Arteries,’ said bow.
    ‘Ransome,’ said Jack, ‘you have heard about these birds on the Monument? Well, don’t you see that they would bring Toby out of his grave, if they were to appear again? You must go ashore at Old Swan stairs, buy a couple of turkeys – turkeys, mind you, Ransome; none of your common geese – and hoist them at the top of the Monument. And I will go down to the tender – Dick Penn is in command – and bring up a thundering great party to stop every alley, once the crowd has gathered. Do you understand? Have you any money?’
    Ransome struck the side of his nose with his finger to indicate comprehension, jingled his pocket to show his wealth, and remarking that Jack was a credit to his Ma, stepped on to a lighter that was moving in to the shore, and thence, in order to lose no valuableseconds, to a wherry, adjuring it ‘to shove in, cully, and do the handsome thing for once in its – life,’ words which the wherry recognised as its native tongue, and which it complied with, wafting the intruder ashore with all the elegance that a wherry is capable of.
    Some hours earlier than this the first lieutenant of the guard-ship had told Mr Richard Penn, the fifth lieutenant (and until recently a midshipman and a colleague of Jack’s) that what he, the first lieutenant, wanted was a little zeal, initiative and mother-wit on the part of Mr Penn. The first lieutenant freely acknowledged that it would be vain to look for seamanship, intelligence or beauty in Mr Penn; but at least the first lieutenant had a right, he hoped he had a right, to expect Mr Penn, when in command of the press smack, to bring back something better than crippled half-wits with certificates of exemption. Were there no idle apprentices left in the City of London, no stout, able-bodied young men? Did the entire uncertificated population resemble Mr Penn?
    These harsh words were still rankling in the bosom of the press-tender’s captain when Jack appeared on the river, and crying, ‘Hoy, Dick,’ darted up the side.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Byron,’ said Dick coldly.
    ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Jack, saluting and growing quite red. ‘May I have a word with you?’
    ‘I am going below, Mr Hape,’ said the captain to a dwarfish midshipman, and led the way into a kind of moist cupboard.
    ‘Now, Jack?’ he said, sitting down and waving to an empty locker.
    ‘I am very sorry I forgot myself just now,’ said Jack earnestly, ‘but I am in a great taking, Dick, and I rely upon you absolutely. Do you know about those birds at the Monument?’
    At the Monument itself Ransome was having difficulties that he had not allowed for: he had bought his turkeys easily enough, and although the poultryman had foisted the oldest, stringiest birds in the market upon him – birds that had proved unnaturally strong, cunning, malignant and resourceful – he had them under control by now, and he had reached the door of the Monument, only to be told that he might not bring them in.
    ‘No turkeys. No fowls whatsoever,’ said the keeper of the Monument,who, seeing that Ransome was a sailor, supposed that he was drunk. ‘And no tarpaulins, either,’ he added, with offensive sobriety.
    ‘In the King’s name,’ cried Ransome, in a hoarse wheeze.
    The keeper hesitated for a moment; but the