CHAPTER 6 - MY CHOICE!
“What is ‘duty’ when it is not freely chosen?” Kitty Carroll
Davey returned to the midshipmen’s quarters and found Jack face down in his book and asleep. He hung up his hat and unbuttoned his tunic when he noticed a shadow fall across his peripheral vision. On reflex, he immediately snapped to attention.
“Commodore!”
John Rodgers put a finger to his lips. “As you were, Davey.”
Davey relaxed a little. “Aye, sir?”
“Just checking on Mister Pyle. How goes it with him?”
“As well as expected, sir. Fell asleep studying.”
Rodgers grinned. “So, I see. Very well.” He raised an eyebrow toward Davey and stepped over to the desk. He smiled and nodded approvingly. “The American Practical Navigator. I gave each of you midshipmen the same set of books. Which books have you been reading, Mister Faust?”
Davey furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “I’ve read through all the technical books and made sure I could put them into practice.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Rodgers smiled. “You have always demonstrated your efficiency and practical gifts, Davey. And, I might say, with proficiency worthy of my senior officers on this frigate.”
“Thank you, Sir!”
“But.”
“Sir?”
“While very high proficiency in the technical matters of the Navy is to be appreciated, even lauded, an officer needs to think. How an officer trains and uses his brain and intellect determines his destiny, as well as that of his ship and crew. Even more importantly, when it matters the most, you must think critically about the difference between what you know and what you think you know.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir.”
“Well, Mister Faust, you have one weakness. While you are prepared for battle, you are unprepared for war. And war is coming. Our merchant sailors are still being taken from their vessels and our trade routes are still being disrupted.”
He put his hand on the midshipman’s shoulder and lead him out past the curtain, closing it behind them. “Davey. War is politics by other means. You know how to fight, and you know how to lead those around you in battle. But to be a good officer, you need to learn how to command and navigate the politics.”
Davey furrowed his brow, but he kept his eyes glued to Rodgers. “I think I understand, Sir.”
“Good. Because I have a new assignment for you.”
“Sir?”
“Please read The Republic by Plato, then Paradise Lost by Milton.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Then come see me and we will discuss what you’ve learned.”
“Aye, Sir. I will. Thank you.”
Rodgers smiled. “The Bosun will see you on the morrow. So, you’d better be ready. Get Jack in his hammock and both of you back to sleep. Carry on.” The Commodore turned and strode away.
#
The soft glow of candlelight and a rich bouquet of floral aromas escaping from her daughter’s room drew Margaret Rollings’ concern and curiosity. Peering through the doorway, she found Penny asleep at her small desk with her head resting on her arms atop an open book. Margaret tip-toed closer to peek at the stack of books next to her daughter’s feet. A small candelabra provided just enough light for reading and a fading scent of roses for ambience.
She picked up the top book. Opening it, she found a brief note written inside, “Enjoy these with my father’s compliments, Kitty”. Turning to the title page of Clarrisa by Samuel Richardson, she found another note. “You make the choice, not the man. K”.
Placing it on a shelf, Margaret picked up the rest, Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, and Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, and The Arabian Nights. With a sigh, she sat those on the shelf as well, then rested her hand lightly upon her daughter’s shoulder. “Penny. Penny,”
Her daughter’s half moan, half grumble, “My choice. I choose,” caught her by surprise.
She leaned down and whispered in Penny’s ear. “Honey? Penny?”
Eyes still closed; Penny softly breathed out. “Don’t choose for me. I will choose him.” She pushed the book away and lifted her head. “Mother?”
Margaret sighed and slid her arm around Penny’s waist. “Let’s get you in bed. You need better sleep than this.”
“Alright, Mother.” Penny put her arm up and around her mother’s shoulder, her legs wobbling as she stood up. “I’m not in my nightgown yet.”
“Just get into bed, dear.” Margaret helped her daughter get to the bed and lay down without falling, then pulled the covers over her. “It will not care what you are wearing.”
Penny clutched the blanket tight and rolled onto her side, away from her mother. A breathy, “My choice,” escaped her lips and faded into silence.
Margaret stepped to the desk to snuff out the candles, but the soft reflection of the open book and a circled paragraph caught her eye. A quick flip to the title page revealed Emile, or On Education, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The encircled passage surprised her. “The strongest is never strong enough to be always the master, unless he transforms strength into right, and obedience into duty.”
An elegantly written note in the margin surprised her even more. “What is ‘duty’ when it is not freely chosen? Think on this, Penny.” – Kitty.
Sighing heavily, Margaret closed the book, snuffed the candles, and quietly padded back to her bedroom, only to find her husband awake, propped up on an elbow, and waiting. “Your daughter fell asleep at her desk reading her new books.”
A husky, gravelly, and tired voice responded. “You expected something different?”
“I expected different books.” She sat on the edge of the bed and looked over her shoulder at her husband. “And I didn’t expect her talking in her sleep about choices.”
“So, you eavesdropped on her?”
“Clever by half and half a fool besides.” She crawled into bed and turned on her side to face him. “No. She said it while I was putting her to bed.”
“But you inspected her books, did you not?”
“Of course, I did. What mother wouldn’t?”
“Well, what did you find?”
“Now look who wants to pry.”
“Of course I do. What father wouldn’t?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you in the morning. Now go to sleep. You’re worse than your daughter.”
#
After the Commodore walked away, Davey returned through the midshipman’s curtain to the musty quarters and found Jack still asleep at his desk. “Jack. Wake up. Rodgers wants you in your hammock.”
“What’s going on, Davey?”
Davey turned to the fresh voice. “Hello, Paddy.” He motioned toward Jack. “Our newest needs to be put in his hammock. Commodore’s orders.”
A mischievous grin shot across Paddy’s face. “You mean the most junior amongst us?”
“Ha!” Davey’s eyes twinkled in the lantern light. “Yes.”
“And did Rodgers order a particular method of transfer?” Paddy silently stepped to Jack’s side, opposite Davey.
“No, he gave no such order.” Davey’s grin broadened. “Meaning, as senior midshipman, I may use my discretion.”
“As your second, I advise we carry out the order in such a manner to train Mister Pyle in proper midshipman protocol.”
“Very well, Paddy. I’ll get his shoulders, you get his legs.” Davey held one side of Jack’s chair and nodded to Paddy to grab the other. “On three. One. Two. Three!”
They both yanked the chair away from the desk. Davey locked his arms under Jack’s and Paddy wrapped his around Jack’s legs, quickly lifted and carried him to the hammock.
“HEY!” Before Jack realized what was happening, he felt himself fall into his hammock and found Davey and Paddy grinning down at him. “What was that for?”
“Orders, Junior Midshipman Pyle.” Davey winked. “Proper protocol is to see yourself to bed. Consider this your reminder.”
Jack scrunched his face and looked right at Paddy. “Your idea?”
Paddy grinned. “Maybe. Goodnight, Jack.”