What to look for in a married woman?

Lieutenant Clerke is breakfasting with Hicks and the younger Midshipmen, Monkhouse ( the junior ) and Harris. They are in hastiness, fixing to have direction with the sextant on the upper deck. Parkinson joins them, sits entirely at an next tabular array, non taking any of the biscuit, salt porc and port vino they are devouring, but eating, with great briskness, utilizing his bone-handle painter’s knife to skin it, an American apple. One more out of the box of apples given to him as a separating gift by Dr. Fothergill in London. He has merely a twelve of these waxen fruits left, packed in tissue paper in a box under his bunk, the remains of a half gross. He offers round the fruit but none among the company is interested. Relieved – since he has found a gustatory sensation for them and admirations as he munches what he will breakfast when they are gone – this, at current rates of ingestion, will be shortly – crunching the piece and listening to their talk.

Clerke is in a bright temper, chatty and homosexual. He talks at high velocity about the virtuousnesss a adult male should anticipate of a married woman, diverting the younger work forces greatly. He, Parkinson, listens with involvement excessively, tickled by Clerke’s spice.

‘There are inquiries, chaps, inquiries. Mr. Monkhouse, grade what I say keenly, for I hear on the pipeline you are up next.’

‘He’s to be married every bit shortly as we return, ’ offers Harris.

‘Excellent! What is the good lady called? ’

‘Eliza, ’ Harris french friess in, delving a finger into his companion’s ribs. ‘Eliza Mitchell. She’s the girl of a Shropshire landowner.’

‘A landholder no less! What an model start! ’

Monkhouse wiggles and blooms.

‘Eliza.’ Clerke takes a minute to see and internally concentrate his topic. ‘Eliza.’ He looks at Monkhouse. ‘So, Jonathan, is she an early riser? What? You do non cognize? Well, you must’ve walked her, promenaded her, let’s say? ’

‘Yes.’

‘And does she linger? No? Is she adorned with beads and baubles? Are there spots of Sn swinging from her ears and fingers? All the assorted atoms of brass and Sn andet ceteras– the specious variegated hardware adult females secrete about their individual, state me – does she subscribe to that? ’

2nd Lieutenant Hicks slides grinning back into the bench place alongside Clerke, back from the knuckleboness, rapidly cued in to the effect and push. Parkinson has witnessed the two Lieutenants’ jibing, examining question of the midshipmen before ; observed their faultless thought transference in executing. Their purpose is amusing, fundamentally benign ; they wish to do athletics out of the immature men’s discomposure, to watch them falter and wiggle ; but sometimes, in their enthusiasm, they can be cruel.

‘Come on, state him directly Mr Monkhouse, ’ says Hicks, snaping up the port and bear downing the spectacless. ‘Let’s non linger excessively long. We’re all friends here.’

Tentatively, Monkhouse ventures to talk, ‘Well Miss Eliza does herself up cleverly for out-of-doorss, ’ he says shyly, still crimsoning from his ears to his pharynx. ‘With plentifulness of thread and trim.’

Clerke springs on him adroitly. ‘Bravo! And silks and ruche and voluminous sums of foaming skirts? Lacy quarters and whatnot? ’

‘Well, yes, I suppose.’

‘Excellent. Then she qualifies at that place. Step two – and possibly we’ll demand Harris here to offer us a 2nd sentiment, a degage oculus, so to talk, ’ Clerke turns to Harris, pins him with his eyes. ‘You do cognize Miss Eliza, Harris? You’ve met her, I mean? ’

Harris shakes his caput smartly, light-haired coil flopping down over an oculus. ‘No, sir – non in – I mean, sir, I’ve seen her portrait.’

‘You’ve seen her portrayal? ’

‘Yes.’

‘And what sentiment did you signifier of it? ’

Harris lowers his eyes and glimpses on the sly in Monkhouse’s way.

Monkhouse delaies, tidal bore for his companion’s finding of fact.

‘Well, sir, ’ Harris ventures into the assemblage silence. ‘She seemed to me the really image of eligibility. An first-class gimmick all round.’

Hicks cuts in. ‘Fie, Harris, this is all really good, your eligible images and first-class gimmicks and what non – glorious things were she a fish or a landscape – but he’s inquiring you to state us directly. Does she strike you as a beauty? ’

Harris intermissions. His lips signifier a word, a phrase, but the vocalization slices. In the silence, he looks down at his custodies. ‘Well yes, ’ he says, beat uping. ‘Though possibly the inquiry should be put to Jon.’ He jerks a pollex at Monkhouse, looks at Hicks and so Clerke with some rebelliousness in his eyes. ‘But yes, she seems comely enough.’

Clerke toasts the Midshipmen over the tabular array. ‘Thank you Harris. Your reply has saved your comrade a life-time of test. Aye, for the ugly are seldom chaste and their heads’ll bend at the first mark of attention.’

Yokels snorts a laugh, raises a manus in apology, incorporating his hilarity. He, Parkinson, catches Monkhouse’s eyes, sees them laden with leery involvement, a hint of amusement, but besides fear. Clerke has got him rather firmly aquiline.

‘Yes, gentlemen, ’ Clerke swirls the vino in the base of his glass, catching the bits of black tannic acid. ‘Is it non besides true that the beauty that chooses you is a great plus, so you walk with a spring in your measure, and your bosom o’er flows with joy? ’

‘Ay, that is true, so it is, ’ says Hicks.

‘But in combination with the other virtuousnesss, ’ Clerke goes on, warm now to his subject. ‘Because we have to hold our adult females sensible excessively. State us ; is your Eliza sensible, Jon? ’

Monkhouse’s forehead cleaves. His shoulders lift in a shrug.

‘We can’t have her breathless, suspiring over poetry.’

‘Oh, no.’ offers Hicks, turning down his lips, agitating his caput keenly.

‘And she must be thrifty. Because, Jon, my love, how is she traveling to maintain your house if she’s non thrifty? ’

‘Ay, thrifty and a difficult worker excessively, ’ Hicks french friess in.

‘Ay, and sober excessively. Which for a landowner’s girl may be a shade hard, don’t you reckon, Zach, what with the handiness of cyder apples, grape and barley on a farm? ’

Zachary Hicks nods wisely, pursing his lips. ‘Could be, could be.’

‘So be cognizant at that place, ’ says Clerke. ‘Make it obviously from the start that you’ve a policy curtailing the ingestion of exhilarating liquor.’ Clerke refills his glass, lifts, drinks, sups and thwack his lips in satisfaction. ‘In my experience, any adult female who drinks immoderate measures of spirits is fit merely for a brothel.’

Lieutenant Hicks ululation with laughter so and pounds the tabular array with his fists, while Clerke, under the hail of noise, suppresses a little smiling. Clerke’s mode remainsfaux gravethroughout. He to the full intends to press on with his subject. Parkinson glimpses from one to another of the Lieutenants, detecting them closely, seeking to judge what is go oning inside their caputs. They seem to bask teasing the male childs – they provide sport – but he wonders whether there might non be a hint of malicious purpose in their drama.

‘Now so, ’ Clerke pleads for composure, puting a keeping manus on Hicks’ arm. ‘Let’s move on to our following consideration. Ahem. Is she clean? My recommendation to you, my chaps, following clip you and a lady – even the faultless Eliza Mitchell – following clip you’re fast upon the town gallivanting, is to take a good stopping point expression behind her ears.’

The midshipmen snort nervously, sing one another. They can non make up one’s mind whether to be scandalised by Clerke’s evildoings, party to their officer’s libertinism or victims of his temper.

He, Parkinson, watches their hesitation, unsettled reactions. But so all of a sudden they are interrupted – summoned from breakfast by the sounding of eight bells, chiming down rotundly from above decks. Geting to his pess, he wraps his apple desquamations and nucleuss into his table serviette. He will return via the Quarterdeck and take his garbages for the delectation of the hogs.

Lieutenant Clerke stretches his weaponries over his caput and moans, loosen uping his musculuss, loath to stand. He notices Parkinson for possibly the first clip. ‘Ah, my friend the painter is here! What say you friend? How do you like our advices? ’

He debates briefly with himself, eventually commits to talk obviously. ‘I find them reminiscent of William Cobbett’s treatise on matrimony, sir. Albeit somewhat adapted.’

Clerke smiles and stairss off from the tabular array, buttoning his adventitia, unbending his arms. He’s a tall adult male and as he approaches must dunk his caput to suit under the low-ceiling of the muss deck. ‘Ach, my friend, you’ve rumbled me again.’ He gently squeezes Parkinson’s shoulder. ‘Though possibly we’ll maintain it from the chaps, eh? ’

Parkinson smilings, ‘Of course.’

They walk, shoulder to shoulder, towards the comrade manner ladder. Clerke is immense in his Navy blue adventitia and gold epaulettes. ‘And how goes your work on the fishes and what non? ’ he asks.

He has been painting Holothuria, gathered by Dr Solander out of the sloop, captured and drawn in by keep-net. They are gluey, formless specimens that rapidly decay and odor foul. He tells Clerke that this is what raises the malodor below decks.

‘The Great Cabin is wretched, but I can non work faster.’

‘Could they non be preserved? ’ They cross the deck-boards at the galley terminal, which are moist underfoot and odor vinegary where the orderlies are working. A saloon of bright Sun radiances down through the hatch, casts a gilded square of visible radiation on the floor.

‘The colorss leech in spirit, ’ he says, gesticulating Clerke forward and speech production to his rear as they climb. ‘We want them drawn as near to the life as possible, given their fragility.’ They come out into bright sunshine on the chief deck. Haines the bos’n is waiting and hands the ship’s sextant to Clerke. The midshipmen appear at their dorsums and autumn in, Hicks following on last.

Clerke says, ‘So there’s nil for it but to work like a devil. Is Mr Buchan of aid? ’

‘He’s engaged on coastal prospects.’

‘Of? ’

‘Madeira, the Dry Salvages.’

‘Yes. Well so you’ll have to grin and bear it entirely. The malodor I mean. And the graft.’

‘We all portion the stink.’

‘Eh? Er, yes, right. Anyhow, apologies, but I’m traveling to hold to check on with this myself.’ The party is expecting Clerke’s word.

He waves him off. ‘Please.’

‘Perhaps we’ll talk subsequently? ’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’ Clerke goes off and he drifts across to lounge awhile at the ship’s rail. He looks down at the sunlit sea at the pes of the bark. Its main coloring material is jade. It spangles gold. He looks into the white frothing aftermath, bits of glistening light temporarily blinding his eyes. His ideas turn once more to the impression of catching the motion of visible radiation in the sky, in H2O. How to catch and press the thought of changeable gesture into the still frame of a painted surface? It is an mystery, like the mystery of happening and maintaining a good adult female, or is it greater, or less? He does non cognize. How so, to compare and rank the comparative standards of adult females. Can we believe about Ann? Is she a beauty? Is she sufficiently thrifty? A good plenty Walker, non over-adorned? Is she a adult female who is clean and sober and meritable plenty to get married? Goodness, he thinks, what bunk, what arrant buzzword. And so it seems dark when he looks back into the ship, a impermanent sightlessness, an consequence of the visible radiation.

He finds Dr Solander standing at his side. ‘I have a proposal for you, Sydney, ’ says the physician. ‘A possible solution.’