Patrick O'Brian - The Wine-Dark Sea

With Sarah and Emily standing in opposite corners of the cabin and holding the squid's arms just so, Stephen snipped, drew, and described, dissecting out various processes for preservation: there was alas no possibility of keeping the entire animal even if he had possessed a jar large enough, since it was Mr Vidal's property, he having detached it from the beef at the cost of some cruel wounds (a spiteful decapod) and having promised it to the gunroom cook for today's feast, this Friday being the day when, on the other side of the world, Shelmerston, forgetting all differences of creed, lit bonfires and danced round them singing a chant whose meaning was now lost but which as late as Leland's time was clearly in honour of the goddess Frig; and even today the words retained such power that as Stephen well knew no Shelmerstonian born and bred would willingly omit them.

The little girls were usually as good and silent as could be on these occasions, but now the coming of the feast and the arrival of the prize-money overcame Sarah's discretion and she said, 'Jemmy Ducks says Monsieur Turd's nose is sadly out of joint. He kicked Jean Potin's arse. Jean Potin is his servant.'

'Hush, my dear,' said Stephen. 'I am counting the suckers. And you are not to say Monsieur Turd: nor arse.'

Emily prized Stephen's attention and approval more than her immortal soul: though an affectionate child, she would betray her best friend to obtain it and now she called out from her corner, 'She is always saying Monsieur Turd. Mr Grainger checked her for saying it only yesterday: he declared it was wicked to speak so of such a benevolent gentleman."

'Heave that tentacle taut,' said Stephen. 'Never mind your pinafores.' He knew the squid's destination and he was working fast, with great concentration. Yet well before the description was complete there was a gunroom cook's mate begging his pardon, but so horny an old bugger, if his honour would excuse the word, needed a good hour in the pot: his honour sighed, quickly removed one last ganglion and sat back. 'Thank you, my dears,' he said to the little girls. 'Give Nicholson a hand with the longer arms. And Sarah, before you go, pass me the frigate-bird, will you, now?'

He was pretty well acquainted with frigate-birds, as any man who had sailed so far in tropical waters must be, and he had skinned quite a number, distinguishing three or perhaps four closely-allied species and making careful descriptions of their plumage; but he had never thoroughly dissected one. This he now settled himself to do, meaning first to examine the flight muscles, for in their lofty soaring the frigate-birds were perhaps even more remarkable than the albatrosses: and he had scarcely laid bare the breast before he had a premonition that he might be on the verge of the finest anatomical study of his career.

The bird, naturally enough, possessed a wishbone: yet from the very first it had seemed extraordinarily, unnaturally, firm under his touch. As his scalpel worked delicately down towards the keel of the breastbone, a spatula easing the muscles aside, he was perfectly deaf to the ring of coins and the powerful voices on the other side of the bulkhead - Captain Aubrey, the two oldest forecastle hands (rather hard of hearing), and Mr Adams telling over the treasure of the Franklin, converting it into Spanish dollars and reckoning the shares - and to those on the quarterdeck: an extraordinary number of hands had found tasks that kept them within earshot of the open companion, and they kept up a murmured commentary upon the amounts, proven-ence and rates of exchange of the coins handled below, showing a wonderful grasp of the European and American system, switching from Dutch rixdollars to Hanover ducats with as much ease as from Barcelona pistoles to Portuguese joes, Venice sequins or Jamaica guineas. The murmur, the remarkably strong murmer, ceased when hands were piped to dinner, but the telling in the great cabin continued, while Stephen, without a thought for anything else, steadily exposed the upper thorax of the frigate-bird.

He had not quite bared all the essentials by the time Killick and Padeen came in fairly skipping with impatience to say that the gunroom was assembling - the feast was almost under way. He submitted to their attentions and hurried below properly dressed, fairly clean, with his wig straight on his head and a look of shining delight still on his face.

'Why, gentlemen,' he cried on entering the gunroom, 'I am afraid I was almost late.'

'It is no matter,' said Grainger. 'We had another whet and feel the better for it. But now I will ask Mr Martin to say grace, and we will set to.'

Martin had been moved to make room for two more Shelmerstonians from the prize and now he was on Stephen's right. He was looking ill and thin and when they sat down Stephen said to him in a low voice, 'I trust I see you tolerably well?'

'Perfectly so, I thank you,' said Martin without a smile. 'It was only a passing malaise.'

'I am glad to hear it; but you must certainly stay on deck this evening,' said Stephen; and after a pause, 'I have just made a discovery that I think will please you. In the frigate-bird the symphysis of the furcula coalesces with the carina and the upper end of each ramus with the caracoid, while in its turn each caracoid coalesces with the proximal end of the scapula!' His look of modest triumph faded as he saw that Martin's anatomy did not appear to reach so far, or at least not to grasp at the consequences, and he went on, 'The result, of course, is that the whole assembly is entirely rigid, apart from the slight flexion of the rami. I believe this to be unique among existing birds, and closely related to the creature's flight.'

'It is of some interest, if your example was not a sport,' said Martin, 'and perhaps it justifies taking the bird's life away. But how often have we seen hecatombs that yield nothing of significance - hundreds and hundreds of stomachs opened, all with much the same result. Even Mr White of Selborne shot very great numbers. Sometimes I feel that the dissection may take place merely to warrant the killing.'

Stephen had often known patients eager to be disagreeable: a common morbid irritability, especially in putrid fevers. But it was almost invariably kept for their friends and relations, rarely extending to their medical men. On the other hand, although Martin was undoubtedly sick, Stephen was not in fact his physician; nor was it likely that Martin would consult him. He made no reply, turning to Mr Grainger with praise of the squid soup; but he was wounded, deeply disappointed, far from pleased.

Opposite him sat Dutourd, apparently in much the same unenviable state of mind. Both men however kept up a creditable appearance of urbanity for some time: they even exchanged remarks about the squid, though it was clear to most of the table that not only was Dutourd's nose out of joint but that he held the Doctor in some degree responsible. For Grainger, Vidal and the rest, privateers or man-of-war's men, taking or being taken was as much part of sea-going life as fair weather or foul and they accepted these things as they came; but they knew that this was the first time Dutourd had been stripped -relatively stripped - and they treated him with a particular deferential gentleness, rather as though he were recently bereaved. This had the effect of making him more loquacious than usual: towards pudding-time his voice rose from the tone of conversation to something nearer that of public address and Stephen realized with dismay that they were to hear a discourse on Rousseau and the proper education of children.

The plum-duff vanished, the cloth was drawn, the decanters moved steadily round, Dutourd boomed on. Stephen had stopped listening several glasses back: his mind turned sometimes with glowing joy to his discovery, more often with intense irritation at Martin's obvious desire to wound. It was true that Martin was much more an observer of birds - an accurate, highly experienced observer - than a systematic ornithologist, basing his taxonomy upon anatomical principles, yet even so...