In the far distance the long, sleek figure of the "Indefatigable" loomed in the haze of the mid-Pacific. It had been some days since "Surprise" had been in sight of her, having detoured to the Galapagos Islands, leaving Stephen Maturin there.
Cicely had risen at the first bell of the morning watch – half past four in the morning was when she would see her husband bent over his work, his eyeglasses firmly upon his nose, peering at a specimen, or a section of a specimen – and this morning, aware of his absence, she busied herself with his work that day.
It had been when the first bell of the forenoon watch sounded that Cicely put down the quill, her hand aching from scribing with it, when her mind was filled with the previous day's events. Stephen's servant, who had integrated himself with the crew as one of them, Padeen Colman had collected a small artefacts and sketching out sections of the pancreas of one of the unfortunate apes who had met its demise aboard.
They had talked briefly then, about Stephen's plan of reboarding "Surprise" when it passed down through the South Seas on its return voyage. "Either that, or I will have found my way to you on the Carteret Islands. There can't be that many clockmaker kings – I will easily find your uncle...and you."
And that had been that. "Surprise" had anchored. A pair of hands had rowed Stephen, his belongings and his manservant out to "Albermarle", a place she recognised as being where he, Padeen and Blakeney had landed the first time round, just after he had been shot by John Howard and just before they had encountered the "Acheron."
As they hastened their passage to the shore, Stephen had turned, only once, and looked at her, his wife, and had smiled, his eyes gleaming. Cicely had, in turn, raised her arm and waved. To let him go, Cicely knew, it was the right thing to do.
Right, Cicely had told herself the previous afternoon. But not easy. It would be six months, at least, till she saw him again. Better than last time, though. There were plans in place to meet, not an escape across Europe and a mix-up the machinations of an enemy spy. Cicely had heard Stephen promise her that the business with William Wickham was over now he had her fortune on the death of her father however, she knew her husband. Like his naturalistic work, it would be difficult for him to put that aside easily.
She had refused food the previous evening and was rewarded with a "tutting" from Preserved Killick, the ships cook, amongst other things. And she could have sworn she had heard footsteps later on in the evening, near her door but when the noise had penetrated her consciousness and she had guessed to what they were, there had been no-one there.
Like there was no-one there now, Cicely knew, as she opened the door to see if anyone was actually there. The captain, perhaps. Blakeney, although he should by now, at his age, know better. Or even Higgins, who was the ship's temporary, but now better learned, sawbones until Stephen reboarded.
She closed the door, her eye glancing at the floor where Stephen's copy of Candide had fallen from her hands, her reading matter for the previous evening. While she disagreed with some of what the Frenchman said, much if it spoke of the same unifying interconnectedness of mankind - all peoples having the need for God, though calling Him in a variety of names and worshipping Him in such disparate ways - as long as you overlooked the horrifying cynical, satirical narrative. She had found it a week or so ago and had taken to reading it. When she had asked Stephen about the book, discarded as it had been on his desk, his only comment was of the deal of inaccuracies in the populace and geography of New Spain.
New Spain, Cicely thought, as she stared at the angles of the first-rater, pulling to mind Christmas in Brazil, in Sao Paulo, when its Admiral, Edward Pellew, his wife and had shared Christmas evening with them. How long would it be until there were independent nations there? If it were up to Stephen they would be free of the Spanish tomorrow, although the Brazilians were happy to receive the displaced Portuguese royal family. How long would that last? How long until the population realised that the treasures still being shipped to their mother countries would be better off in the hands of the native-born European-descended creoles? How long until they, like the North Americans, rejected their mother-countries in favour of independence?
She closed her eyes and thought again of Stephen's leaving. Cicely had known it would be coming, of course. But even after the turbulent storms after the Cape and Drake's passage the day still felt so far in the future that it might never come;
Once Padeen had come to pack his instruments Stephen's whole demeanour changed, as if the anticipation of the riches of his observations, and the potential consequences of researching these animals, finally bubbled to the surface, his whole being was alight with purpose and determination.
She looked again at the horizon; the "Indy's" sails out at almost right-angles from their masts, or so it would seem from so far away and such an angle. Soon, it would be far out of sight, Jack only catching up with it when they got to India, such was Admiral Pellew's ship, for it was to be a week away when Cecilia herself would be disembarking, taking with her his Christmas present of Brazilian animals for a life in the Carteret Islands with her Uncle Godwin until "Surprise" returned from its commission in India, or Stephen had found his own way to Sarawak. At least Stephen had managed to take up the kind offer from Edward Pellew to examine his Indian animals in Brazil's port of Sao Paulo.
"Surprise's" destination was well known amongst the hands and speculation had been rife to the purpose. Stephen and Jack had pointed out over dinner two nights before that Bonaparte seemed to be trying to stifle trade for Britain, introducing blockades around the European coastline and following courses of action designed to interrupt British shipping in the colonies. The United States, Stephen had speculated, would be dragged into this by Bonaparte somehow and Cecilia had suggested that the invasion by one USA citizen, as reported in Spanish in Valparaiso, Isaiah Watt, while ludicrous, may have been organised by British traitors.
"They want Canada, of that it seems certain," commented Stephen, but would not be drawn into a discussion about British espionage, especially since Cicely had found out his support of Wolf Tone. Another bid for independence, this time from Great Britain. Another one in addition to the American states. While the man's intentions were noble, Cicely had thought to herself, there was more chance of the sea itself changing to the gold of the Andes than Catholics and Protestants uniting in Ireland in the common cause of independence.
Which led the conversation around to India, where Jack had declared, where we had lost the colonies on one hand we were gaining other territory around the globe at a similar rate.
"Is Britain the East India Company then?" was all Stephen would be drawn on, his voice wry and his tone reticent, to which Jack had replied, "to all intents an purposes, Stephen, yes. If we did not have their trade, if we don't now, and in the future, then Bonaparte will have defeated us in India and, of course, Australia."
Stephen's subsequent silence had thrown Cicely, her mind absorbing the discussion which was putting her mind off thinking about the next morning and when it was clear that they weren't going to continue Cicely excused herself from their company citing tiredness, she also knew that Jack and Stephen would be parting for a considerable amount of time and gave them time together. Politics disinterested her, in any case. Or rather, Cicely corrected herself, in the safety of her own head, when she contemplated politics it merely served to remind her of her father's plans for her for financial gain. Politics. Where other people were harmed for your own gain.
It had been the fourth bell of the first watch, 2 o'clock in the morning, when Stephen had pushed open his cabin door, undressed to his underwear and lain next to her in their adapted bed-cot, now space for two, pulling her closer as she slept, his eyes searching for rest while his mind raced.
Cicely had woken, still in his arms, the unusually still Doctor Maturin fast asleep next to her rather than opposite, updating notes, cross-referencing, looking for common features in the work.
She had looked at him in wonder, as light shone between the ill-fitting planks, highlighting his handsome features, the same that she had precipitated her feelings when he had lay close to death from his abdomen wound, caused by Captain Howard's ill-timed attempt on an albatross. Just there, almost a year ago, Cicely had thought, for Surprise was now anchored in the same bay as they had been when Stephen had departed to collect specimens. And now, she knew, he had renewed purpose, thanks to the common interest in independence of Brazil akin to Simon Bolivar of the Spanish South American countries he was able to glean a good deal of insight into work left behind with Bolivar that put him head and shoulders above Alexander von Humboldt.
She had kissed him, resting her head on the naturalist and ex-spy's chest as he moved in his sleep. Their night had been one of intimacy, for Cicely had woken when he had slipped next to her.
And then, in his haste to remember all that he would need for the months on the Galapagos, crew and officers practically stumbling over one another to assist, he was gone, striding gainly over the ropy lava deposits, not looking back again, as both he and Colman had traversed west.
And thus, Cicely knew, though the parting had been wretched, at least she had got to part with her husband legitimately this time, as a naturalist keen to fulfil his part on his commission. Cicely had watched him go until the two figures were no more than blurs on Albemarle's horizon, whereupon she had forced herself back to their cabin and to work for him, to rest, and then work more, something she had done feverishly for the past two days, as it filled her time, kept her away from kind words and gestures which may cause her to break down and display her sorrow and forced her not to think and exhausted her enough for Cicely to be asleep seconds after her head had touched the canvas of the doctor's bed.
It had been both Will Blakeney and John Howard of the marines who had got her above-decks that morning, with the promise of an inspection of the remaining animal-gifts of Stephen's, who she was becoming rather attached to and with the promise of a beautiful day and something to draw, neither of them mentioning Stephen's departure, something which was passed over as a topic of conversation when Jack Aubrey had pointed out the "Indy".
"If we can hold our course we may find ourselves catching up with Admiral Pellew a little", Jack had concluded, pointing out her shape due north of them. "Even though she is faster, she must avoid several reefs. I am nimble." When Cicely nodded, but would not be drawn into naval discourse, which he knew she was keen, Jack pulled her from the side for a brief embrace. "He will miss you as much as you will miss him, my dear," he said, to the top of Cicely's head.
"He told you that?" asked Cicely, her voice a mixture of resignation and sadness.
"Yes," replied Jack, letting her go. "Amongst other things. Such as, the nature of his research. I didn't understand a lot of it. Well, to be honest, I didn't understand any of it. But I listened, and I am sure he was grateful." Cicely looked at him.
"Did he discuss his hypothesis of "changeability"? And that all species are the same, but where they live and their environments cause them to alter to fit?" Jack nodded, his bicorn hat nodding over his forehead, a sure sign he was perspirating in this hot, humid weather, as it wouldn't hold fast.
The night before Stephen had told her too, how he believed that there is a basic shape to all animals but also their living conditions influence how they are. If an ape from a family begins to live in Borneo then its feet, hands may be unsuitable to life in that place. "With the Dutch?" Cicely had quipped, but her husband had not been in a joking mood.
"It may not survive as long as the native species," he had pressed on, ecstatically, "But it can change in itself and get used to its external environment. If a pair were there and they found a way to survive, any young could be expected to be taught to cope. Eventually a species may lose its ability to live in its home environment because of the changes it has had to make in the new one. Change-survivalism. And I am sure von Humboldt has got there before me but for the research he left with Bolivar. I am convinced he does not, or he would not still be in Europe. I need examples, many examples of my idea of "changism" - there is an interconnectedness between everything, a unifying connection, rather than differences. Oh Lord, Cicely...ut is extraordinary to think Von Humboldt himself alluded to this but did not pursue it. Dr. Darwin too...molluscs! But neither Dr. Darwin nor von Humboldt have developed it." His voice had gone quiet in the darkness, before he had added, "I wonder how it could happen...I want to find out! All islands, everything in the South Pacific is a pure, untouched. I want to push my hypothesis to the limit and, if it still holds then, there must be a fundamental truth to it."
"Changism," confirmed Jack Aubrey. "And interconnectedness. But, before long - " Jack broke off as the one remaining ape swung its way over to Cicely, "he will be declaring us – people – connected to apes."
The ape in question was the young ape who had survived was a few feet up the rigging - the salts had taught it not to destroy the rigging by feeding it hard tack and grog and the creature had become a firm favourite amongst them. When it saw Cicely on deck it bounded over to her, raising its arms like a child might, begging to be picked up. Cicely crouched and allowed the ape into her arms. It wouldn't be able to do this for long - it had already grown though not yet an adult. It mewed a little, begging for food. Jack's face crumpled a little, before obliging with a little hard tack, adding, "I would appreciate your subtlety on this matter before Killick."
"And now, Mrs Maturin, are you prepared for your disembarkation at the...let me think now...Carteret Islands?"
"As I ever will be," Cicely replied, looking back again at the moderately rough sea, and the "Indefatigable" again. And another ship she thought she could see just to the east of her, unless it was sea-fog. "My uncle is not expecting me, however he made us this promise of living with him, Edward and I. I will no doubt grow used to it while I await Stephen's and your return."
"Indeed," nodded Jack, as a bell rang afore, from the forecastle. He glanced up, frowning a little, before slipping his small, brass sea-glass to his eye.
"Maria Josephine," read John Howard, who had stepped over to join them. "Good morning, Mrs Maturin, it's good to see you above decks. You look well."
"Thank you, John," she replied, adding hushedly, "you know you may call me Cicely." She looked briefly at Jack again just as he lowered the glass, who then nodded and excused himself, striding slowly but firmly towards the front of the ship, and to the middies who were analysing the route, and the ship which was now most definitely on the horizon.
88888888
Not half an hour later and "Surprise" and the misidentified "Maria Josephine" were fiercely exchanging broadsides. The middies had been right to order the ship to beat to quarters, standing the men alert in case of action, for action they received. Obediently, Cicely had repaired to Stephen's cabin, as was the agreed protocol in such an event, and had barred the door.
What was that ship doing? The "Maria Josephine" had accompanied them, the "Indy" and the "Star" as a semi-convoy from Brazil, around the Horn and tracking the west coast of South America. But, it wasn't the "Maria Josephine". For, when Jack had flagged to her captain, the response was cannon-fire, one falling short and lopping ten feet from the larboard of "Surprise" and the other grazing her larboard fore-hull, causing "Surprise" to skew in the water.
Now, outside, there was further gunfire. Cicely listened as the whistling from the other ship, which has responded to Jack's hailing of it by showing a white flag with an inverted red chevron. An independent ship, one which had the audacity to challenge a ship of the Royal Navy and think they could win. Why would it do that? The captain was either obviously mad or desperate in some way.
Another series of whistles and thuds. Cicely counted them – one...two...three...four...five...six. Cannon from the "Surprise's" larboard guns firing in quick succession so as to inflict maximum damage.
Another shot...from them, this time. And again, falling short. A part of Cicely, one which was wedded to the life of sea, wished she could be a-decks with her former crew, offering support and practical assistance.
And then, just as another volley of cannon soared from the larboard, a hit, at the front, Cicely deduced, for the ship was heaved westwards, the impact causing the stern to toe back. A bad position; any ship on the defensive wished always to be parallel to his target for maximum effect. Cicely turned as a "thump" in the cabin stole her attention: it was Stephen's chair falling over, and a confetti of small drawings which Cicely had been working on the day before and that morning.
Just as she turned to pick them all back up, the chair too, the "bump" with which the "Surprise" had endured made her topple over, upsetting Stephen's sea-chest too. A graunching noise made her stop. What was happening? Cannon-fire had stopped, and there were feet, hurrying on the deck.
Taking Stephen's letter-opener, a long, thin, stiletto-like blade, Cicely thrust open the door and strode out, over the boards which were the ceiling of the lower gun deck and up the steps, peeping up to see what was going on. To the right of her Cicely could see large pieces of metal embedded in the ceiling, which was the floor of the main-deck, with more at the back and front, letting in light. It seemed to Cicely that "Surprise" had been grappled, somehow. She looked back up, hoping to catch something, anything that was going on above there, something Jack might be doing, or the men. But nothing.
And then she saw boots, brown tan, knee high, with dull, blue tight-fitting trousers at the knee. The owner appeared in her line of sight momentarily, before moving away, and then back again. He was pacing, or so it seemed.
A few indistinct words made Cicely freeze as hurried steps were coming her way and she hurried as fast as she could back to Stephen's cabin, barring the door and pushing the heavy chair that had fallen in the impact up against it.
Nothing happened for a good five minutes and then she heard the sound of footsteps increasing in volume and pace coming towards her. Gripping the letter opener in her fist, she stood behind where the door might open, screwing her eyes up as she waited for it to be forced down.
"Nothing but my surgeon's quarters," she heard Jack say. "Unless your marque specifically states you may take the private belongings of a person." A pause. "If you would like to follow me this way..."
The footsteps faded, and she breathed a sigh, her eyes closed. Marque? Privateers. But, how was it that privateers had overcome "Surprise" and Jack was allowing them to pick through the ship's contents? That wasn't what "Letters of Marque and Reprisal" were for. She knew that precisely because...because...knelt before it, throwing out the old copies of "London Times", heaving out "Zoonomia"and trying to be careful as she moved out her husband's pride and joy, his mounted microscopic lenses and stand. At the bottom, she had seen, right at the bottom, was something she needed.
Her mind and her body filling with determination Cicely grasped the paper, folded into three, once sealed with wax and wrapped in scarlet ribbon, squeezing it tightly between her fist. It might just work...
...she stuffed it into her loose blouson as she scooped up the letter opener again, moved the chair and returned to the steps. She could hear Jack speaking as the man who was with him hoved into view once more, his long, black, straggly hair tied at his nape. For a sailor he was incredibly fair, his hair contrasting with the colour of his skin.
Nothing else for it. She knew what she must do.
Stamping up the steps, Cicely surveyed the scene. Around the decks salts and middies, looking somewhat inert and silent. Next to them, more men, guns trained. And in the centre Jack, conversing with the man, eyes darting to his Lieutenants, Blakeney, Mowett, Barrington, Cross, as if communicating something. And then his eyes caught Cicely's as she was now standing in full view of them all. The man with him, who was holding a blunderbuss watched his expression and turned slowly to look at Cicely.
"I thaought all yeur men were accounted for, Captain Aubrey," said the man, his voice one of triumph, his eyes flashing with light as they met Cicely's own. Down one cheek a scar ran, from ear to jaw, as if from a knife, or short-sword, the mark dark red, appearing old, but deep.
"They are," stated Jack, a look on his face of disbelief. And disappointment. Cicely felt a pang of guilt. She knew she should have remained where she was; Jack had assured her safety. But, she countered, to her conscience, he didn't know what I know. And what I am attempting to do.
"You are a privateer?" Cicely's question rang across the decks. Some of the men who were holding the working sailors at gunpoint murmured amongst themselves. The black-haired man dipped his head, as if that was the only acknowledgement he was about to give to her.
"Then, I demand to see your papers."
The hush was deafening. Only the waves, lapping mockingly at the hull of Surprise and between them and the larger vessel, which had indeed grappled "Surprise" to it, in order to embark, made a sound. The man stalked menacingly towards her, his features fixed, as if petrified in rock.
"And," he said punctuating the words, "who is asking?"
"Mrs Cicely Maturin. Private citizen."
"Well, Mrs Cicely Maturin," he repeated, his words steady, a slight undertone of mocking. "You may, indeed, see my papers. I do not want you to think that my overcoming a naval vessel was not legal." He bent over her slightly, his shoulders crowding over her, shaking the paper from the top to reveal the letter, waxed at the corner. She took the bottom of it, examining the words, and the signature at the bottom. Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson. President of the United States, President of the former British colonies. So, the USA was issuing Letters of Marque now, were they, in order to replenish their banks? But, this ship was out of its domain, surely? The country had only just purchased the central part of its continental landmass from the French: none of its territory existed on the west coast.
"There. Does it meet your approval, Mrs – Cicely – Maturin?"
"Yes, captain..." she bent lower to inspect the Marque, looking for the man's name, refusing to look past him and at Jack, for she knew she would not be able to do what she was about to do if she did.
"...Captain Josiah Eaton."
"There," he sneered, pulling the Letter from her hands. "Now that we have established that..." he turned towards Jack, whose stare she could feel boring into the side of her skull.
"...but," Cicely continued, staring at the American captain. "I just want to be clear. You have privateered against a ship of His Majesty's Royal Navy..." Captain Eaton swung back, staring at her.
"Indeed. As is my right. Your captain has been most obligin'" Cicely shook her head, deliberately.
"Not my captain. As I said, I am a private citizen, whose business is her own. However, may I establish for one moment, has Captain Aubrey temporarily relinquished command of our ship, in order to comply with your Letter of Marque?"
"That is so, young...Madam," he said, eyeing her up and down. "You – may go back to your quarters – this ain't none of your business, here."
"But that is where you are wrong, Captain Eaton," pressed Cicely firmly, calling upon every ounce of nobility that she had been born with, and the additional ounces trained into her by her governess. "Your Letter of Marque can only be used against ships which you have defeated in combat, and whose permission you have sought, should a private citizen be aboard."
Cicely! Screamed the look from Jack Aubrey. What are you doing?
"In the absence of my husband, Captain Eaton, I counter your Marque with my own, thus leaving our arrangement quits." She thrust the paper in the air, flapped it open, then handed it to Jack, whose eyes fell upon it, hungrily.
"Where is your ship?" demanded Eaton, furiously, eyeing Jack. "This is a naval man o'war. Only a privately-commissioned vessel may enact a Letter of Marque and Reprisal!" he stormed forward, to a muttering behind him. Several of the hands, Bonden, Nagel, were jostling out of position, itching to resume the fight they so clearly had been engaged in when the invading ship had pulled them close and overran them.
"My vessel, sir, is this ship. While so that Commander Aubrey commands his crew, then you are the victors. But I call upon the commander, now the commander of a defeated naval vessel, to place it under my command." Temporarily, thought Cicely. Commander Aubrey," she turned to look at Jack, after Jack had finished reading, "do you yield possession of your ship, His Majesty's Ship "Surprise" to me, its crew and all its effects?"
Jack looked at her from the corner of his eyes, and she thought she glimpsed admiration in them, before he looked at Captain Eaton, holding out the document, in the same way he had with his to Cicely not five minutes before.
"As "Surprise" is now my ship, and I command her at will, it has now become an independent ship by the name "Surprise. My place upon this former naval ship was gifted to me, as a wedding present by Admiral Lord Nelson himself, and the Letter of Marque and Reprisal a gift to me from the Lord Admiral. It is in this capacity I claim the right to use my husband's Marque and Reprisal documentation. Or, would you prefer that the Commander releases your ship to be sunk to the bottom of the Pacific?"
She saw the man's eyes flicker towards his ship, a look of pain within
"Indeed, this action is within my control, certainly," Jack Aubrey interjected, in an attempt to wrest control of the situation. "My marines are below, who will most suredly protect the life of Mrs Maturin and could choose to act accordingly." Jack stepped forward, handing back Cicely the Letter.
"I believe the choice is yours, sir. "Surrender your cargo under Mrs Maturin's authority, and this displaced former Royal Naval crew will see that you leave safely in these waters to, perhaps, use your own Letter to replenish your own bounties. Or, I will order my men to come about your ship and loose fire upon you."
A silence hung between them for a few moments. Cicely looked between Jack and the erstwhile captain of the purported "Maria Josephine".
"I yield," growled the captain, taking in Cicely with disdain. "I yield all claim over this – your ship - " he gave Cicely a foul look, then looked to his crew, "and will re-board our own. Men!" He turned, looking over his shoulder, and beckoning to his crew, who put down their weapons and made to follow their captain. The hands, who had been under gunpoint – illegally as they had just discovered, took a few steps towards the men who had held them up, pushing and roughing at a few, until Jack's stern gaze wordlessly put a stop to it.
Just as the crew had reboarded the attacking ship, Josiah Eaton swinging his long, be-booted leg over the taffrail, Aubrey stepped towards him.
"I speak on behalf of the owner of this vessel, Mrs Maturin. As you have seen fit to damage her ship we – she seeks reparations."
There. At least they could claim some kind of victory over this impudent ship which had the gall to attack them. He looked at Cicely.
"We could fight. And I am sure, hand to hand, my men and the marines would win, and could claim their ship, the..." he paused, waiting for someone to fill in the name of the ship, for it was not "Maria Josephine."
"...Liberty!" yelled Lieutenant Barrington, coming up from leaning over the rail, clearly having sought the ship's name.
"...the Liberty," Jack finished, turning to Cicely, who was next to him. "What do you say, Mrs Maturin?"
"Sink the guns," declared Cicely. "Confiscate the grapples." And then, despite her better judgement, as a thought trailed hot as a comet in the blackened ocean-sky under which they were sailing, she added, "and any documentation which the captain has not already burned."
The "Liberty's" captain's pale face began to colour; he was clearly furious with this request. But, the marines stepped forward, Captain Howard in the lead, making for the easy step over each ship's rail and onto the Liberty.
"Indeed," snarled Captain Eaton, enraged and he stood aside while John Howard and his men carried this out, to the clear ire of Josiah Eaton, who was casting it all in Cicely's direction.
"Once I end my days, which will not be too far in the future," John Howard said to Cicely that evening, once the "Surprise" had been formally handed back over to Jack Aubrey, once the clean-and-repair was underway, once the minor casualties had been dealt with; once the dof-watch food had been eaten, and once she had been commended by Jack for her quick thinking, "I know that I will never forget this day, Cicely Maturin. I do not believe that your husband will ever be able to get the sea-life out of you, no matter how many times he marries you."
