The diffused light in the aft cabin was sufficient to allow Jack to read and write. His new responsibilities, in command of a detached squadron, brought the inevitable high tide of paperwork, the bane of a fighting officer's existence. "Stephen," he said, "you're a great hand with a phrase, what say you to this? I'm writing out an order to Captain Thomas of the Undaunted to take station off Cape Creux. Do you know Richard Thomas, Stephen? God help me, I am getting on; I served under his father when he was First aboard Bellerophon, 44. Heneage Dundas and I were quite intimidated by him, a right, by-the-book tyrant. But Richard is very sensible and a first rate officer.
"Forgive me, I wander, Stephen. I beg your pardon. I write, 'Take station off Cape Creux... for the purpose of watching the Bay of Rosas and parts adjacent, etc., etc... it being left to his discretion... such means as may be in your power,' now, here Stephen... 'either for the assistance of our allies or for the annoyance of our enemies,'" stressing the last phrase. "Don't you like that; ain't it droll?"
"To be sure," said Stephen with generous enthusiasm, "it's the drollest turn of a phrase ever to fly off your pen. I am sure Mr. Thomas will warm to it straight away." Jack beamed with satisfaction.
"Stephen," said Jack some moments later, his voice artificially quizzical as he rested his worn pen on yet another stack of official papers, "what does it signify about the desire to achieve a great ambition only to have it seem less urgent, less important as one reaches the goal?"
Stephen, slouching in a shaded corner of the cushioned bench running athwartships under the Great Cabin's elegant windows, looked sideways at Jack, knowing he would say more and the rhetorical question merely a preamble. Stephen's focus was on the industry of a rather nondescript spider, ostentatiously rigging, naval fashion, its gossamer system of lines and stays. "God knows," Jack went on, "it seems I've spent my entire life in chase of my Flag; flogging ships and crews, happily enduring any hardship, bleeding on enemy decks, always 'Huzza times three!' for the Crown but always, always," his voice trailing off, "hoisting my Flag."
"The trouble, my dear," said Stephen in a sympathetic voice after a suitable silence, "is the juxtaposition, certainly cruel to the military mind, of the simultaneous prospect of victory and peace thwarting the long awaited-recognition of promotion. It is not unlike that whimsical game we played some years back on the other side of the world, with the sticks and ball; just when you reach a point to do well for your side the match is stopped abruptly; you are stymied, unfulfilled." Jack looked at him closely, satisfied that he was not being jocose as he recalled how he and the other Surprises witnessed the embarrassing sight of Stephen running wildly around the Cricket pitch thinking he was playing a game of his Irish youth. "It's a painful irony, Brother;" Stephen continued in a sympathetic tone, "at the moment the military should be celebrating its imminent and glorious victory over the tyrant, it embraces moroseness. The mantle of glory is gleefully and, in many cases, shamefully worn by those with no part in its achievement. This we witnessed after Amiens."
© 2000 Jim Reilly