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"Men of the H.M.S. Surprise." Aubrey addressed them from the quarterdeck, looking down at five dozen battalions who would, in the course of the next three hours, wage war with the men of the French ship Acheron.
"My crew. My men. This is a day for which we have waited. This is the day for which we have prepared and toiled." He could see all of their faces now, reflecting the glory of his patriotic words. Jack surveyed his men; all clean as instructed, all primed and ready for battle.
"The phantom ship, the Acheron will be within our sights in less than five and twenty minutes." Including that damned fool Cicely Hollum.
Cicely Maturin of course, not Hollum now; against his own better advice Stephen had married her in order to fulfil her own sense of duty to her brother. The damned fool had stood by his word and allowed her to fight; even up until this morning he had hoped, though vainly, that Maturin would have convinced her to remain locked in his own cabin until the battle was over.
"They have declared that they will take us as a prize. Are we going to stand for that?"
"No!" chorused the men, heartily. "No!"
"Are we?"
"NO!" Jack beamed at his men, glancing to his left to Pullings, who pulled his hat in deference.
"The French ship is bigger and faster than ours with more men." He could hear murmurs of comment from the mid-deck. "However, they have one thing we do not have." Jack looked down at Cicely again, who was amongst her peers now. Who had accepted her for being Robert Young, of all things. Let's hope they remember this and do not try anything foolhardy or heroic in her defence.
"We have Surprise on our side!"
"Huzzah! Huzzah!"
"Then listen all. We have done our routines. We know our drill. There will be no daring or valiant risks on behalf of anyone. This day we will take Acheron as a prize because God is on our side. God is on our side!"
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
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"Come on!" yelled James as an enemy cannonball smashed into the top of the hull. "We need to get across there now!"
It was the middle of the afternoon now, and already the battle was in full swing. Aubrey's plan of to hoodwink the ship had gone exactly to plan and had sailed too close. Once this had happened the Captain had put his strategy into action, boarding the vessel first in order to tackle the mightiest of the enemy.
All bar the younger gunners and the mizzenlads had boarded with them and the battle raged strongly on the decks of the French frigate.
"Come on, Rob," he yelled again, and Cicely ducked as splintered wood flew in her direction. She could see James already on the horizontal rope ladders, held together with grappling irons which the crew had used to cross between the Surprise and the Acheron. Cicely jumped on behind, and began to follow, keeping him in her sights.
"You can do it!" James encouraged, looking back as she looked down at the swirling azure ocean below her, and she gathered all her strength about her in order to catch up with her pair. Before her, she could see, hear and smell the battle and every so often yells and screams of aggression being meted out permeated her being.
Cicely glanced across at the pair fighting now; Killick and what looked like a midshipman, swords meeting together, clashing and clattering like steel pans. She heard a yell in front of her and realised that James had made it across, and had met his first opponent almost at once.
Keep going, Cicely told herself. Once you get over there you won't think of it. You'll be with the enemy, fighting. Ahead of her as she crawled the shouts and screams were getting louder.
Three quarters of the way there, and she could see the deck of the Acheron. Almost there, she told herself and, focusing on its oak floor put her strength about her to pull herself when Cicely saw a man watching her move.
Before she knew it, the rope ladder had given away underneath her. It moved pendulously back towards the Surprise, however Cicely had let go, and thudded against the side of the French ship.
Winded, she pushed herself flat against the frame of the hull, and once the nausea began to ebb, she began to inch her hands across it quickly, blocking out the screams and shouts around her so she could concentrate.
Behind and to her left, she felt a 9-pounder thud into the Acheron, and heard the men behind its blow inside the ship reel and fall on the inner gunnery side. Wood splintered, and Cicely was showered with flying timber.
Move, she told herself urgently, as her hands gripped the outer frame of the gunport above her. Move to the port to your left. Inching her hands along further her foot kicked the wood of another gun port which, if her feet could be trusted, felt cold, indicating that it was empty.
Scrambling inside, Cicely headed to the steps to the upper foredeck, but was forestalled when a huge Frenchman got in her way. He raised a fist and punched her full in the chest. Cicely hit the deck full back, and the man stood over her, his greasy locks hanging over her, and his face showing aggression.
Just as he was about to pull Cicely up by the jerkin, another cannon ball thundered through the hull, making the man disappear. Cicely scrabbled to her feet, and realised that rather than disappearing, his demise had been hastened by his impact on the supporting beam of the deck, and his head lay two feet from the rest of his body.
Trying not to think about what had just happened, Cicely hurried herself up the steps to the foredeck. Weaponless now, her only chance was to get adecks and find or steal a blade to continue the fight.
Up the steps she went, listening to the more defined sound of battle now and Cicely could make out more distinctive sounds; blade steel clashing; steel thudding into flesh. Pitiful roars as men met their demise.
When she put her head above, what she saw was carnage. Seamen both French and English, where not engaged in on-to-one combat, were seeking their next engagement, or otherwise strewn dead or dying on the timber.
Before her, Callumay was engaged with a lad of his own age, probably a midshipman too; Peter had the upper hand presently, although to Cicely they looked evenly matched. Others too; Bonden, Chell, Nagel…in the chaos and confusion all were striking others of the Acheron, even Maturin had his sword aloft, fighting for the Captain.
Cicely looked down searching the deck now for an available blade and stepped forward in the direction of a dying Frenchman, a lad not much older than Robert, to retrieve one, straight into a half-dried pool of blood. Cicely stumbled, coming down on her right ankle awkwardly having just missed a fatal blow.
She got to her feet and, cumbersome weapon in hand struck out clumsily and away from her. He staggered back, having been incapacitated by Wiggin, behind him. He was replaced in her sights by a tall man, far bigger than any she had encountered, who had just brought down Hoole. This time, Cicely took the sword firmly and drove it into his shin.
Above the wound the man screamed and he lunged at Cicely; blade of a Louis XVIII replica heading towards her shoulder. This time, it struck her, but it is an awkward blow and rather than taking off her arm sliced open the first three inches of fabric and grazing her skin, skimming her shoulder from her tunic so Cicely now had one crumpled sleeve and a top held up by one shoulder.
She dodged out of the second blow, and hurtled her way forward; this time she heard the man grunt behind her and she turned to find he was now dead on the deck; a pool of blood oozing out below him.
Without stopping to wonder what had happened Cicely plunged even deeper into the throng and noticed James stuck between the main sail mast, defending his life now, and inching ever closer to the floor as the man above him progressed further and further with each attack.
Just then, James ducked below the rigging, as the Frenchman's blow struck the mast, and Cicely advanced towards him, rage beginning to throb in her temples: how dare he attack her pair? Serves him right that his blade is now stuck in the mast.
Before she could get there though, the man chased off in the direction of James behind the rigging. Cicely followed him round, determined to mete out some revenge for James's close shave.
Just as she was about to assault the man, Cicely felt her legs go from underneath her and she was dragged behind the rigging housing. The rage that had filled her chest began to turn into fear as she saw her sword which she'd dropped become further away from her before she was turned over by the assailant and straddled, to prevent her from escaping, his hand clamping her mouth. And as she went to bite the hand that was restraining her, Cicely looked up into an altogether familiar face.
"Why if it isn't Mr Robert Young!" John Fotherington smiled broadly when she looked back at him, releasing his grip from her mouth and helping her up.
"John!" Cicely gasped, "What are you doing here?"
"Well, it's a pleasure to see you too Young, " he continued, ducking her back behind the wooden housing, "After I just saved your neck. Can't 'old it 'rgenst you mind, seein' as Aubrey saved mine not half an 'our 'go." Cicely looked back at him in incomprehension.
"'e just released me from the incarceration this French bathtub had me in; shook me by the hand 'e did, 'n all. C'mon." Without waiting for her to reply, John took her hand and pulled her behind the stern set of steps leading to the quarterdeck.
"But Mr Fotherington," Cicely said, throwing Fotherington a confused look. "I left you in Sao Paolo almost two months ago. How did you end up here?"
"Well, 's a good question, Young. Dunno 'ow I let it 'appen to meself, actually. I got caught up in some gamblin' with some men at Sao Paolo when I 'adn't been well on me luck. When I lost, they decided, since they couldn't find any actual gold on me that I would come with them and work on their ship. Great, I thought to meself, get back 'ome in no time and start again. Then when I got there, and I woke up in 'morning I was given immunity as a prisoner of war, 's long as I told 'em the secrets I been carryin'"
"Which is where I fed 'em a load of bilge water which sounded like what they wanted to hear. Still never let me go, mind." He looked Cicely up and down.
"But even better an' knowin' Captain Aubrey's still fer me, I'm happier to know you're safe, Robert Young." He clapped her on the back. "What 'appened 'ere?" he said, looking at her grazed shoulder.
"You should have seen the Frog," said Cicely, tying not to think about the mayhem she had insisted she had been a part of.
"But never mind me, John. Your son's here. James!" Cicely declared enthusiastically.
"James?" The older man looked at her in shock.
"He's been looking for you since you left Cadiz." She smiled, trying to smooth the transition of information to Fotherington.
"He's really here?" Cicely nodded.
"A mizzen, like myself." She smiled, but a thought struck her that something wasn't quite right. He was here, captured, yet he had gambled with the French who had taken him as their debt when they found he had no money. Seemed plausible, and yet…
"OK," continued Fotherington, patting her reassuringly on her left shoulder. "I'll find him which means I'll have to leave you. If you're going to continue this battle, what you need to know is that the French will only get so far before they stop. They'll weigh you up, like, to see how strong you are. If they can't defeat you they'll stop, and another Frenchie'll have a go. Takes 'em much longer, but it's a good tactic. Now, we need to get onto the quarterdeck, then I can see where James is. Wait a few moments before going up, then attack the strongest, I'll be behind you and we can bring him round together." Cicely looked into his round face, and nodded before scampering out from under his arm, and up the steps onto the quarterdeck.
The first man she sees is the Frenchman who had attacked James ten minutes ago. He had seemed rather strong, having cowed James into submission before the lad had darted away.
She raised her sword and took a swing at the man, missing, and bringing her back round to face the steps. John was quickly ascending now, but James was suddenly beside her.
"Cicely!" he screamed, wheeling around to his assailant.
"Mon dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, "are you not yet already dead?"
Cicely dived forward, trying to trip up the Frenchman, who steps forward and in to the path of Fotherington's steps.
"John!" screamed Cicely as he levelled his sword not at the Frenchman but at James. "It's James. Your son!"
Fotherington looked down at her before impaling the Frenchman onto his sword, and turning again to James. Cicely got to her feet and shouted at Fotherington that James was his son. Fotherington turned malevolently towards Cicely, then she realises what had been bothering her: Fotherington had both legs. He looked in triumph now towards Cicely, pushing James down over the parapet and onto the foredeck. Cicely made to go in his direction, but stopped when John raised his sword to her neck.
"Yes, young lady, you noticed the detail. As did I when I saw you. It was very good, very good, " he intoned, "but one has to be an expert in espionage like myself to fool me. And even then, it would be a close thing."
"James," she muttered, as he backed her towards the railing that he had just pushed his son over. "Your son!"
"No son of mine would willingly slave in the hands of the Royal N, especially not for that fat Bavarian oaf that gracefully straddles the throne of Great Britain. Are your comrades of the HMS Surprise still in the dark about your gender? Or has the doctor already seen evidence of your womanhood?" Cicely stopped when she could feel the railing press into her back.
"Yes, it was such evidence on your clothes that the shopkeeper in Sao Paolo disposed of that confirmed it for me. That and your propriety; and you were too persistent in boarding the Surprise specifically.
"Yes, I know all about your secret..." Holding the sword in his left hand Fotherington pushed up her tunic and pulled at the bindings with the other, unravelling them with one hand underneath. As he withdrew his hand, Cicely instinctively covered her chest with her hand, until Fotherington pointed the sword tip to her throat.
With one swift movement, Cicely thrust her knee towards his groin. Damn, she thought, as she ducked under his right arm, missed.
Two steps later, and Fotherington had backed Cicely against the outer railing of the Acheron, and began to pull at her tunic. She froze as he came closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, hot and acrid. He threw down his sword, laughing.
"Pretty body like this was made for a fine dress, not shabby mizzen clothes." He moved his hand down her waist. You'll be my prize, for there will be none for the secrets I have shed here." Fotherington moved his left hand down onto her thigh, working his way up to the waistband of her britches. He brought it to rest on her backside and began to pull at the fabric, as he breathed heavily into her face.
Closing her eyes, Cicely reached down to his right hand and took the flesh between her thumb and fingers, twisting it until he screamed. He slapped her across the deck, nursing his hand.
"Whore!" he screamed at her. "I will have you…"
Cicely watched as he took a pistol from his pocket but instead of levelling at her, turned to the bow of the ship. She got to her feet, and looked in the direction of his shot. He was aiming at Aubrey.
"No!" she screamed in horror. "Why? You were his comrade! The men still speak of your heroic deeds! You saved the ship at Gibraltar!"
"Whatever gave you that gave you that idea? Old Joe?" Fotherington snarled, turning to look at her with distain. "Yes he knew me, before I found the pay was somewhat healthier coming from the coffers of Bonaparte. Espionage has been my game for a long time now, not least because they are not Protestant Heretics!"
Cicely gasped in horror as Fotherington cocked the pistol, and reposition his shot in the Captain's direction.
"No!" she screamed, moving in front of him. "How could you? He was your Captain! And he's your son," Cicely added, pointing where James lay unconscious on the foredeck.
"Once I rid Aubrey of that despicable habit called living, I will be the wealthiest man in the New World," said Fotherington slowly. "The war won't trouble me there, and I can live out my days in peace."
"NO!" screamed Cicely again as Fotherington squeezed the trigger. She kicked his hand holding the gun…the bullet's trajectory jerked with the force…and Chell fell dead from the crow's nest.
"Aah!" Fotherington roared in anger. "You baggage! I only had one shot." He threw Cicely onto the deck before grabbing her by what material was left of her tunic in his right hand, pulling her eye-level.
"How dare you interfere with my affairs…" Cicely kicked out towards the man, and tried to unpeel his hands from her. He tightened his grip so most of the material was round her throat.
"There's not just me. He is sought by many of the good men of Napoleon. Others will try. And next time you will not be in the position to interfere!" Taking three steps towards the edge of the ship, John Fotherington held Cicely over the edge. Below her, swirling waves of tempestuous ocean beat against the hull. Around her, though the battle still raged, gunners on the opposite side still firing and men still dying, Cicely could feel the breath being squeezed out of her as he held her by one hand over the turbulence.
"Others will try," she heard him say again, and she fixed him with a stare, into his mad eyes.
There was a single gunshot behind him. Stephen Maturin shot a single bullet through the back of Fotherington's head. As Cicely fell backwards, so did Fotherington; his eyes unfocused and delirious. She felt him fall on her as they tumbled over; the man falling on top of her as they plunged into the debris of the Acheron.
Cicely felt her head meet timber as she was pushed further and further down beneath the sea. She tried to swim from underneath him, but the lack of air in her lungs made her flounder as the light above her grew rapidly fainter as the seconds passed. Images of her brother drowning filled her mind as she closed her eyes and gave way to unconsciousness.
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"...no…get away! Fillings!"
"But sir…"
"Give her some air now, you too, Nagel, don't touch her!"
"Leave her to the doctor!"
Cicely's mind tried to piece together the familiar sounds that she was hearing. She knew she recognised them, but from where?
"He's busy with the wounded, James…"
She could feel cold hands on her brow now, and the sun, definitely the sun drying her clothes. Her clothes!
Cicely opened her eyes to see Joseph Nagel patting her face.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said quietly, "no need to move," he added as she tried to sit up.
"…F…F…" she began, then coughed.
"Here," said James, coming closer to her and slipping his jerkin off. Nagel gave him a look, before relenting and allowing James to roll it up and put it under her head.
"…Fotherington," she managed, looking up at James. "Your father…" James shook his head.
"Not my father," he said quietly. "The man who the doctor shot was a spy for Bonaparte. My father would never do such a thing." He took her hand and held it, but Cicely struggled to sit up, looking at him urgently.
"But Stephen…" she began, looking at James, before realising his confusion. "The doctor," she confirmed. "He must have known about Fotherington." Nagel smiled.
"Looks like we have our own spy," said Nagel, taking her other hand and with a glance at James, pulled Cicely to her feet.
"Come on!" he said cheerfully. "We won!" Cicely looked round at the scene of dreadful devastation. Mutilated bodies of dead French and English sailors bestrewed the deck, their faces fixed in masks of terror.
Then bells began to ring aboard the Acheron. Aubrey's men, Cicely included stood on the foredeck together as the Captain announced their triumph.
"Huzzah!" cried the men around them, "Huzzah!" Cicely looked around at the men, throwing off their black armbands in triumph, as they cheered. Edward was now at peace, Cicely knew, and smiled at James, who hugged he in celebration.
"…three cheers for Captain Pullings!" announced Aubrey as the men continued to cheer.
"Huzzah!"
And it was then that Cicely, as she caught Maturin's glance briefly during the cheer, realised that although the day was won…
"Huzzah!"
…and she had fought hard and cleared her brother's name…
"Huzzah!"
...she now belonged anywhere but aboard a ship.
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Cicely awoke in her hammock the day after the battle happy that she knew now what she must do.
The day before, despite fervent insistence from many of them to the contrary, she helped the crew clear away the dead, both French and English from the deck of the Acheron, and their own injured back to the Surprise.
The French dead they had left for the most senior officer of the now Navy-owned Acheron, who happened to be a seventeen-year-old midshipman. The English, whose number included Callumay, Doudle, Wiggin, Nash, Taylor, Old Joe and Chell, were honoured by a Christian burial at sea from the Surprise.
Cicely had stood there, once their decks were clear that evening, listening to the names of those killed being solemnly recited by the Captain following their shrouding.
Tears had flowed from her eyes unashamedly as she stood shoulder to shoulder, next to James and also to Fitzherbert, an able seaman whom she had helped gratefully back onto the Surprise.
Celebrations commenced thereafter and well into the night; the Captain declared double grog rations for all, and that the anchor would be weighed and all duties were suspended until the next morning.
The men sat adecks, making-merry: dancing and drinking; singing of what seemed like every shanty, jig and reel known to them all, and laughing about their victory that day. Cicely had sat and listened; already their feats were passing into legend. The day when Jack Aubrey won the greatest Pacific victory, over the Acheron, for the crown. When the enemy outnumbered the heroes, which made them more determined to fight and win.
When the doctor, to whom they toasted as he, the officers and Captain visited them following their own celebratory supper, killed the spy and saved the Captain, and therefore the day.
Cicely had sat and listened to it all, even when James nudged her trying to gain her rebuttal of the facts, but she shushed him, trying not to make eye contact with Maturin. It was only when Richards picked up his concertina, striking up "The Scotsman's Fair Maiden" and Nagel had pulled her into the centre of the group with the other men to dance that the look Maturin gave her before the officers left was one so strange that Cicely could not figure its meaning.
However Cicely did not have a chance to reflect on it until Blakeney had woken her up early the next morning sobbing into the men's berth where, it turned out, Maturin had told him she would be found. She'd sat adecks with the lad comforting him and reassuring him that Peter, his best friend aboard, would be in heaven now.
Will asked her whether Edward would have forgiven them all, and Cicely had said, of the kind brother she had known, there was no doubt. She held him close in her arms for comfort when he dissolved into tears, stroking his hair and remaining silent when Blakeney had soothed himself quietly by reminding himself she would still be there.
And once Blakeney had returned, now pacified to his bed, Cicely remained above looking out into the darkness, and reflecting on her situation.
Despite her knowing deep down that her brother was at peace, Cicely still realised that her time upon this ship was past. The men treated her as one of their own; she was still Robert Young to them, their mizzenlad, and accordingly she'd fought to work and live with them.
But what of the brutality she had witnessed – and committed? That was almost unbearable. Even though she had done it for Edward and, in the end, for her Captain. Worse still, she had made a grave mistake in marrying the doctor, for though he had helped her, she was in no position to repay the debt.
His position aboard was far too complex for her to be a consideration, of course. That list of names, about which she had told no-one, was clearly connected with counter-intelligence for the Crown: she could not let herself get in the way of that and were she to mention her wish to stay aboard, he would surely accommodate, such the gentleman he was. Not even his manly beauty she would allow to sway her. And what would God's punishment be for her treating marriage so nonchalantly?
With the decision to depart in some way in her mind that morning, and seemingly boundless energy as a result, Cicely made her way to the sick berth. In every available space men hung in hammocks, mostly slung from the beams, and where there was no space, others slept on the floor; broken and wounded limbs laid out to ease their pain. Many of them turned as she closed the door behind her.
"Morning'" she said in general, walking over to the window-side of the berth. "Pizzy," she said quietly. "How are you?"
The young boy grinned up out of a filthy face, his blonde curls flat against his head. He lifted his left leg in her direction, indicating where the lower part had been amputated that morning. Cicely stroked the boy's head; in another hour he'd feel it.
"Who closed this door? I instructed for it to remain open." Cicely stopped when she heard Maturin's authoritative tone. There were murmurs amongst the men and Cicely carried on looking at Pizzy for another couple of seconds before turning.
"Cicely," he continued, noticing her there.
Don't say anything kindly, she begged him silently. Please.
"And how do you fare, after your plunge into the great blue?" He smiled, and gestured towards her back. "I would be happier if you would allow me to examine you." She shook her head.
"You are most kind, doctor," Cicely replied, realising that many of the eyes in the busy berth had stopped to look at them, "but I'm well. And besides I would rather make myself of use to you in whatever way I can. Lieutenant Pullings has stood me down for a shift to recuperate."
"And so you should, in bed," replied Maturin evenly.
"That'll be Captain Pullings," replied Captain Pullings, interrupting them, "however I do feel you need some assistance, doctor, in order for your own wounds to heal," he continued. Cicely looked down to his leg where bandages were holding it together.
"It's nothing," he said, following her stare.
"It's a three-inch deep and ten inch wide gash from a second lieutenant, Young," clarified Pullings, grinning. "And it might have been worse if I hadn't been behind you." Maturin shot him a look. Pullings continued to grin.
"Perhaps you would like to start with Captain Pullings," said Maturin, "he is in need of rebandaging, and redressing. He is also taking a up hammock which I need for Rawlings, so I would be grateful if you could treat him adecks?" Cicely nodded as Pullings screwed up his face in obvious defeat.
Once they were outside, Cicely sat next to Captain Thomas Pullings, RN and carefully rolled up his sleeve, trying not to catch any of the dressing in it. She then crossed over to Mowett who was mizzening, requesting her ration of grog. At least it would be cleaner than the water aboard, having been distilled at least once.
"What a waste," commented Pullings as she began to unravel the cotton he had wrapped round the wound. "Rather think I should drink that to numb the pain."
"So when will you be sailing?" asked Cicely, ignoring his request and pouring the alcohol onto clean padding before wiping it over the star-shaped gash on his forearm. Pullings winced; but tried not to let it show.
"I'll be Captaining the Acheron back to Portsmouth this very afternoon," he replied, "Killick's going to choose half a dozen men to go with me so I can crew her properly, and I'll take half of the marines. We'll have to refit in Neodoro of course, so she will get home in one piece. And I'll probably have to retrain a carpenter; Captain Aubrey won't be able spare his."
"She's a fair prize," said Cicely, blotting away the liquid and glancing at the Acheron's mainsail just behind them. "I expect it will be a sadness for you to leave the Surprise. How long have you known the Captain?"
"More years than I care to remember," replied Tom, laughing heartily. "I was a midshipman not much older than Mr Blakeney when I first met Lucky Jack. He was a Lieutenant then, of the Sophie. My, we've had some times." He looked wistful, and Cicely continued to bandage the clean wound. "I will miss her," continued, patting the timber of the Surprise. "We've seen some action, certainly. As have you..." Pullings looked sideways at Cicely, who tied off her bandage and stepped back. She nodded in agreement.
"You're quite right, Captain Pullings," Cicely conceded. "As you were right then, when you spoke to me two days' ago." She sat down next to him on the deck.
"You did what you thought was best. For your brother. This I can understand that. Sometimes family concerns are the most important thing." He smiled in her direction, an empathetic smile which if she were another of her sex, Cicely was sure she would find endearing.
"He's at peace," she nodded, confirming the new Captain's unspoken words. "He wasn't one to hold onto conflict. And now I know more surely than I have ever done that I am in the wrong situation. After yesterday. After…" Cicely stopped and turned to him, looking into Pullings' brilliant blue eyes.
"You are of the new Century, Captain Pullings," she continued candidly. "And now I see your point of view. There was no place for me in the battle yesterday; I hindered Captain Aubrey; more men may have survived and for that I will always be truly sorry." Pullings held out his left hand and patted her own as she looked away.
"Far from it," replied Tom Pullings sharply. "I never have witnessed a woman in battle and I believe Jack thought you would get into it far deeper than you could handle and expect to be rescued when things got tough - "
"I – "
"But you far exceeded all our expectations," he finished, not allowing Cicely to interrupt. "You did remarkably well, Cicely. And for the men to treat you as one of their own; that's proof enough."
Cicely looked at him as he spoke: of all the crew aboard, Pullings had been always come across to her as the least affable. She could see his strength now of a naval Captain and in time his reason and determination would make him loved in his stead, like Lucky Jack.
"You are clearly able to carry out a mizzen shift over a sustained period of time; that is certain. And I don't think you would have been discovered had it not for Will Blakeney…" Pullings smiled, but then frowned as he noticed a shadow fall across her face.
"Fotherington would have killed the Captain if you hadn't been aboard. The doctor would not have got there in time: I should know; we officers were instructed to relieve him of combat where we could. I tried but it took us both to finish off the stubborn Frenchie and by the time he was free it was – would have been too late." Cicely smiled.
"Thank you," she said, getting up. "However it matter not where my strength and personal character lies; on balance I should not have been there." Looking around her, she took in the men who had been well enough to take the shift following the battle; her own, for a time. She took in the quarterdeck, where Blakeney was directing the watch, and the sick berth whose open door revealed Stephen Maturin; doctor, naturalist and intelligence agent attending the first of these duties.
"I should not be here now," she said quietly, before turning back to Pullings. He stood himself and clapped Cicely on the shoulder.
"I've always need of a lad who can mizzen like you, Cicely," he said reassuringly. "Especially one who can nurse so expertly." He held up his arm in approval.
"I don't believe you would tolerate my presence aboard your own ship," said Cicely slowly, not quite daring to believe that her resolve could be met so easily. "I would be cumbersome to you; a nuisance –"
"You tolerated the situation here…"
"Because I had to. For Edward. I was foolhardy..."
"But you proved it could be done," Pullings said approvingly. "That goes a long way. You overcame your fear with courage, something which many could not." Cicely stepped away from Tom and looked out towards the ocean again. Ahead of them the Galapagos Islands hovered in the haze of the late morning sun. Pullings smiled.
"I leave this afternoon, returning to England with Acheron. Will Robert Young be amongst my crew?" Cicely turned to look at Pullings. The last piece of the jigsaw had just fallen into place. She saluted.
"Aye-aye, sir."