Patrick O'Brian - Desolation island

"Hear him," said Reuben.

Stephen made a suitable reply, but said that he would not say farewell, at this point: he would visit his patients once more, just before they saHed, to see that all was well and above all to give Captain Putnam the fullest instructions for their subsequent care, a point of the greatest importance, since they had no surgeon aboard. At this, as he observed with deep satisfaction, Captain Putnam's face went as blank as a wall, all expression wiped out; while Reuben looked down at his feet.

"But stay," he said, considering. "I think I shall take my leave after all. Mr Herapath is quite as competent as myself in these matters: he will come in the evening. Yes, Mr Herapath will come In my place. And so farewell to you, gentlemen; and I wish you a most prosperous voyage home to the States."

As they rowed back Herapath said, in a low, troubled voice, "Dr Maturin, I should very much like to speak to you privately, if I may."

"Perhaps when we go through the chest again, in the afternoon. We may be able to spare your countrymen some asafoetida. There is nothing more comforting to a seaman with the megrims, than asafoetida.' The asafoetida, with examples of its various mixtures, lasted them to the Leopard, where Stephen went aboard, asking Herapath to carry on to the shore - a shore still filled with the clangour of hammers and the roar of the forge - to note what drugs remained in the hut; and, while he was there, to tell Mrs Wogan that Dr Maturin proposed himself the pleasure of waiting on her after dinner. Mr Herapath still had the spare key, he believed.

In spite of the very high spirits in the wardroom - everyone talking at once, although the Captain was present, laughing, guzzling albatross soup, tender sea-elephant, mutton-bird fritters - dinner was a somewhat empty ceremony as far as Stephen and Herapath were concerned: they both of them took little on their plates, and of that little they ate less, concealing the gobbets of flesh beneath biscuit. And whenever Stephen happened to look down the table, he found Herapath's eye fixed upon his face or the Captain's: as the meal progressed Stephen grew more and more alarmed. If Herapath jibbed now, with the whaler almost on the wing . . . "Captain Moore," he called through the din, "you have sailed with the Prince d'Auvergne, have you not? Pray what kind of a man is he?" The gentleman was one of the few French royalist officers serving as a post-captain in the Royal Navy, and his reserve, his aloofness, was a byword in the service.

"Why, as to that," said Moore, his smile changing to a serious look, "I cannot say very much. I never saw him in action, though no doubt he would have behaved very well; and I never saw much of him out of action either, if you follow me. He was in an awkward position, fighting against his own country; and as far as his officers were concerned he kept himself very much to himself. I suppose he did not care to risk hearing us crowing over the French, or - Babbington's Newfoundland, excited by the merriment, interrupted with a melodious baying, and the general talk flowed on -- it was of gudgeons and braces drowning Moore's final observations, which he delivered in dumb-show, shaking his head in disapprobation. Stephen was quite pleased with the result of his words, but his satisfaction disappeared at the end of the meal, when they drank the King's health. Herapath emptied his glass and joined in the general 'God bless him' with what seemed an unusual emphasis; and Stephen recalled, with dismay, that Herapath's father had been a Loyalist - a man with a deep sense of allegiance. How much of this had he passed on?

"It seems to me," said Stephen to himself, "that an interview would be fatal. Herapath would certainly open his mind to me. Unsuccessful opposition on my part would confirm him in his resolve; successful opposition would expose my hand. In any case I have not the strength to argue a decent man out of his convictions; not today. I am sick, sick to the heart of these manipulations."

Nevertheless, when he called upon Mrs Wogan he took with him a soft parcel, which he laid upon the small table in the middle of the room, a table that was usually covered with books, sewing, a variety of objects, including, at times, Stephen's stockings to be darned. It was empty

now, and indeed the whole place was curiously trim, almost bare. "Upon my word, ma'am," he said, "you are in prodigious fine looks today. I speak with never a word of flattery' Nor did he. She might not have quite the feral grace of Diana, but Diana's complexion had suffered from the Indian sun, and Mrs Wogan's was now of a brilliance he had never seen surpassed. The drifting rain was much the same here as it was in Ireland: perhaps that was a cause. "You are superb," he said.

Mrs Wogan blushed and laughed, said she was happy to hear it, and wished she might believe him. But in fact this was largely mechanical: she paid little attention to his remarks. After a turn or two about the room she observed that it was a wonder how the weather held up: day after day of something almost like summer. He had never heard her reduced to the weather before: nor had he seen her so little mistress of her emotions. She asked after the state of the tide, and whether the whale-boats were still on the shore, with quite a painful edge of agitation.

"So we have a set of beautiful new gudgeons," she said, land may sail away directly."

"I believe they are all done but two," he said. "The wardroom is in a great state of jubillation. But I do not collect that we are to leave Desolation quite so soon. These gudgeons must first be attached, or shipped, as we say; then all the innumerable objects on the strand must be returned to the ship. In any case, Captain Aubrey could never answer for it to the Royal Society, were he to hurry me away before my collections were completed; and I am not half way through the cryptogams."

"The cryptorngrams, sir?" cried Mrs Wogan.

"No, child," said Stephen. "Cryptogams. A cryptogram, with another r to it, is a puzzle; and the word is also used for a secret writing, I believe. Cryptogams are plants that produce offspring without any visible, apparent marriage.' Mrs Wogan blushed again, and hung her head. "And that reminds me," said Stephen, taking the parcel and slowly untying it. "Your kind countrymen made me a compliment of furs. I beg you will accept them to wrap your baby in. When it arrives it will need all the warmth it can get; both figurative warmth and literal too."

"It shall certainly have them both, poor honey-lamb," said Mrs Wogan, and then, "Oh, oh," she cried, colouring again, "sea-otters! I have always longed for a sea-otter. Maria Calvert had two - how we envied her - and here there are four! I shall wear them first, with great care, and then the baby shall have them on Sundays. What luxury! And it is my birthday too, or almost."

"Give you joy, my dear," said Stephen, saluting her.

"Dear Dr Maturin," said she, returning a hearty kiss. "How immeasurably kind. But surely, sir, there must be some lady who . . . ?"

"Alas, never a one. I have no advantages of person, nor family, nor purse; and it has always been my misfortune to aim far beyond my deserts. I am unlucky in love."

"You must come to Baltimore. You would find plenty of girls, and good Catholics too - but what am I saying? We are bound for Botany Bay.' After a longish pause, in which she stroked the furs against her cheek, she said, almost to herself, "It depends what you mean by love, of course.' Then, in quite another tone, "So you do not think the Leopard will sail quite yet?"

"I do not."

"Suppose it takes a week. Tell me, since you know everything about the sea, and ships, would the Leopard catch up with the whaler, if they went in the same direction? The Leopard has more masts and sails, and is a man-of-war, so much faster, I presume."