Patrick O'Brian - The Thirteen Gun Salute

'Can you imagine her being brought to bed of anything else?' Jack could perfectly well imagine it, but he had so often heard Stephen speak of his future delight in the company of this little hypothetical daughter that he only said, 'The pilot tells me there are no other men-of-war in the river, which is just as well - there is always a certain amount of awkwardness. He also tells me that the post office is shut today, which is an infernal bore. Have you any idea of what to order for dinner?'

'Cold green soup, grilled swordfish, roast sucking-pig, pineapple and the little round marchpane cakes whose name escapes me with our coffee.'

'Stephen, you will deal with the quarantine-officer, will you not?'

'I have prepared a little douceur in this purse, which I must remember to transfer to the fine clothes Killick is laying out for me. And that reminds me, I must look out for a servant to replace Padeen at last. Killick will wither quite away if he has to go on looking after us both.'

'I think any newcomer would wither away even quicker under the effect of his ill-will. He has grown so used to it since poor Padeen was sent away that he looks upon you as his own property, and he would resent anyone else. The only thing he would bear would be some lumpkin to stand behind you at dinner; with the best will in the world he cannot stand behind both of us at the same time and it drives him distracted. But why are you putting out fine clothes? It is only a tavern dinner at Joao's.'

'Because I must call at the palace and ask for an audience with the Patriarch. On the way back I shall look in at my bankers' correspondent.'

The dinner at Joao's had passed off very well, for although the port was in the Portuguese taste, somewhat thin, sharp and even astringent, the coffee was the best in the world; Dr Maturin's reception by the Patriarch himself had been kind and gracious beyond expectation; and now he was walking towards what English sailors called Roly Poly Square, where his bankers' Lisbon correspondents had their place of business. He was conscious of a sense of positive well-being; the sun shone upon the broad river and its countless masts; and he was happy for Sam. But he had a feeling that he was being observed. 'Those criminals, intelligence-agents and foxes who last, who survive to have offspring, develop an eye in the back of their heads,' he reflected; and when he had finished dealing with his letter of credit and some other matters he was not surprised at being accosted on the doorstep by a decent-looking man in a brown coat who took off his hat and said, 'Dr Maturin, I presume?'

Stephen also took off his hat, saying, 'Maturin is indeed my name, sir.' But he showed no inclination to stop, and the other, hurrying along beside him, went on in a low urgent tone, 'Pray forgive me, sir, for this want of ceremony, but I come from Sir Joseph Blaine. He is just arrived at the Quinta de Monserrate, near Cintra, and he begs you will come to see him. I have a carriage close at hand.'

'My compliments to Sir Joseph, if you please,' said Stephen. 'I regret I am not at leisure to wait upon him, but trust I may have the pleasure of a meeting at either the Royal or the Entomological society when next I am in London. Good day to you, sir.' He said this in so decided a tone and with so very cold a look in his pale eyes that the messenger did not persist, but stood there looking wretched.

'Damned villain,' said Stephen as he crossed the square and began to walk down the Rua d'Ouro. 'To come without even a pretence of credentials, supposing that I should hurry off into the hills and beg Taillandier to cut my throat' - Taillandier being the principal French agent in Lisbon, and usually much more professional in his methods.

'Hola, Stephen,' called Jack from the other side of the street. 'Well met, shipmate. Come and help me choose some taffeta for Sophie. I want some so fine it will go through a ring. I am sure you understand taffeta, Stephen.'

'I doubt there is a man in the whole of Ballinasloe that understands it better,' said Stephen. 'And if there is blue taffeta to be had, I shall buy some for Diana too.'

They walked back to the quay carrying their parcels, and since Jack, not knowing how long they would be, had not taken his own gig ashore, they were about to hail a boat when a party of the Surprise's liberty men, gathering about the launch true to their hour, caught sight of them the whole breadth of the square away and roared out, 'Never waste your money on a skiff, sir. Come along o' we.'

Jack went along o' they in the democratical corsair fashion quite happily, though he was just as glad that there were no serving officers in their formal barges to watch him: though in fact, apart from their first free, uninhibited invitation the Shelmerstonians were as prim and mute as any long-serving man-of-war's men throughout the crossing.

It was clear that Jack was right in saying that Killick regarded Stephen as his own property. He at once took him down to the coach and made him take off his fine English broadcloth coat, crying out in a shrill nagging tone, 'Look at these here great slobs of grease, so deep you could plough a furrow in them: and your best satin breeches, oh Lord! Didn't I say you was to call for two napkins and never mind if they stared? Now it will be scrub-scrub, brush-brush for poor bloody Killick all through the night watches; and even then they will never be the same.'

'Here is a box of Portugal marchpane for you, Killick,' said Stephen.

'Well, I take it kindly that you remembered, sir,' said Killick, who was passionately fond of marchpane. 'Thank you, sir. Now when you have put on these here old togs - they are quite clean and dry - there is Mr Martin as would like to have a word with you.'

For once the word, which was a serious, private one, did not have to be uttered at the masthead or in the remotest corner of the hold, for Stephen and Martin were both fluent in Latin, and in spite of Martin's barbarous English pronunciation they understood one another very well.

Martin said, 'Standish has asked me to approach you, who know Captain Aubrey best, to learn whether you think he would be likely to entertain a request to resign the pursership. He says you told him there was no cure for seasickness -,

'So I did, too.'

'- and although he is very fond of the sea he is extremely unwilling to face a repetition of what he has already suffered, if the Captain will release him from his obligations.'

'I do not wonder at it. In his case the prostration was as severe as anything I have ever seen. But I do wonder at the suddenness of his decision. He followed our explanation of the unmooring with the liveliest interest; yet he was perfectly aware of what he had undergone and of what in all likelihood he was to undergo again.'

'Yes. It struck me too; but he was always a strange, versatile creature.'

'I believe he suddenly threw up a living in the Anglican church, to the astonishment of his friends.'

'That was not quite the same, however. To have the living he was required to subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles, and the thirty-first describes Masses - forgive me - as blasphemous fables and dangerous deceits. When he came to that he said he could not put his name to it, picked up his hat, bowed to the company, and walked off. He was much attached to a Catholic young woman at the time, but what influence that had upon his action I do not know. We never discussed it: we were not at all intimate.'

Stephen made no comment; after a moment he said, 'If Captain Aubrey releases him, what will he do? Unless I mistake he has no money at all.'

'He means to wander about as Goldsmith did, disputing at universities and the like, and playing his fiddle.'

'Well, may God be with him. I do not think there will be any objection to his leaving the ship, splendidly though he plays the violin.'