A warm breeze woke Cicely early the morning a man-o'war was spotted on the horizon, nearly two months after arriving at her uncle's island. Adam was the first to hail Charles Godwin and the two men walked the strand near the shore, talking. Cicely watched them, as the daily arrival of half a dozen or so villagers came to the house to see her.

It had happened by accident. The villagers had, through Adam, expressed their joy at the woman whose life and that of her son she had saved. B'twi had been left to give birth alone, her uncle's servant had explained, for it was believed, even by the young woman herself, that the child was full of bad spirits. B'twi had been scared, Cicely had known that much, and she had, since, been accepted back to her community with her son, who was thriving.

So, Cicely realised, the people trusted her to help her with their problems, their problems being mainly medical, and Cicely, with the encouragement of her uncle, sat on the porch of the house in the early morning, before the heat of the day set hold talking to the men and women - usually with children - one by one, as Adam translated, treating them.

Whether he knew it or not, Stephen had been an excellent teacher and Cicely was beginning to realise and, from once being a pert youth who, as Robert Young, had charged headlong after her brother, had now calmed enough under her husband's easy professionalism and gift as an instructor, from his love.

Now, as the first woman came to sit opposite her, holding her hand with the other, Cicely noticed that Adam, and another man, were beginning to haul out one of the fishing boats, presumably to meet the rowing boat which was heading out from the warship.

"She fell, picking berries three days ago," Adam's wife translated, sitting next to the woman. Cicely took the woman's hand in her own. Swollen, but not broken, it would be indeed sore, and infected.

"Do you have the leaves?" Cicely asked. Eucalyptus leaves. The islands, like many around, had abundant eucalyptus trees, and she knew from Stephen's books, that the leaves reduced swelling once soaked in water and placed over the area. A compress of cooled boiled water containing salt should contain any infection.

Mrs Adam translated and the woman nodded, bubbling her words of thanks to Cicely as she left, to be replaced with an elderly man with a cut on his leg. Salt to clean it, Cicely advised to the young girl accompanying him - his daughter, Mrs. Adam explained, then bandaged and the man should rest.

Seven more people came to hear Cicely's advice before her uncle waved several more away, ushering Cicely in as the sun rose towards midday, when the heat was stifling.

"They ask too much," her uncle warned, as the cook prepared a luncheon of fruit and bread. He held open the door to the dining room, its cooler air moving around refreshingly. Cicely put a hand on her uncle's arm.

"I only do what my husband would do," Cicely replied, trying to banish the sick feeling in her stomach that was rising for distant longing of him. "No-one was too sick or too poor or too disfavourable that he would not tend them." Charles Godwin took her hand in his own.

"I know, my darling girl," he soothed. "And I see every day how much it brightens you. But you eat but little, and have been sick yourself."

"This heat," Cicely proposed, although it could have been any number of things. She was deeply grateful for her uncle's hospitality, and knew that being here meant she was not a worry to Stephen, or to Jack, Cicely could not help but miss the sea, miss being aboard a ship, miss being a part of a crew. She had worked, she had been a sailor – by dint of expedience to seek Edward, this was true – and now, not being a hand aboard a ship had left a lost feeling inside that ministering to the indigenous populations bodily and spiritual needs did not fulful. Perhaps God needed to show her patience, for Stephen would return.

"And after luncheon, you will rest," her uncle instructed her, kindly. "No more the physicianing until tomorrow." His face broke into a wide smile.

"And besides, I have something which may interest you," he added, taking from his pocket a letter. He offered it to Cicely, who looked at it with interest. Several ink stamps had obscured most of the address, being "Mister Charles Godwin esquire, Carteret Islands."

"It got to me," her uncle added. "A boat was coming from Papua New Guines when I last took a cargo of wood. He took the wood and I took the letter. There was also a newspaper, from home." Cicely looked at the second letter, proffered to her by her uncle.

"It is from my brother, William." He held the door open as the servant brought in a platter of native fruit, bread and fish. Charles Godwin pulled out the chair from the table, and Cicely sat, whereupon they both ate.

"I read his wife's book," Cicely managed. She did not feel she had the stomach to keep the food down, she did not want to disappoint her uncle. He would insist she stay inside tomorrow, and it was the thought of treating the people who needed it, or strolling the water's edge watching the seascape, with its clouds and boats that made Cicely feel content there.

"And what you read pleased you?"

"It - " Cicely began. Yes, it did please her, and she said so. It also intrigued her. To Cicely, equality in the law, which women did not enjoy, was so obviously wrong that it was surprising that Mary Wollstonecraft felt she had to write a book about it. Perhaps it just had to be said. And William Godwin, her eventual husband, took it upon himself to publish it.

"Most of the letter is from Mary, William's daughter. Your cousin. I thought, after luncheon, you may wish to read it."

Godwin soon then left her in the sitting room, the sun reflecting the gentle lapping waves. Cicely watched he and Adam head down towards the chapel, before sitting carefully on the blue-baize chaise. Her head bent to the letter, and folded open the already

In the Yorkshire countryside, said her uncle William, Mary and her elder sister Fanny, tore around getting thoroughly dirty and into many different kinds of scrapes. Her father's new wife was despairing of her, and it had caused many rows.

The bottom part of the letter was in a small, curling hand, and asked her uncle Charles what it was like on Carteret, what the weather was like. She asked about the animals and trees and birds, she asked about the church he was building. She must have known Charles Godwin was a clock maker for she asked about the time pieces he was making, how the mechanism worked, how the pendulum must work, and had drawn a small sketch in the corner, showing the back of a clock, with its facings removed. A hand to keep time was drawn in the centre, and a short explanation of the girl's own was added alongside it, asking if she were right.

The whole being of a nine year old girl was there, in ink and paper, effusing with enthusiasm and youth. Cicely could picture the girl, in curls and in nice clothing going off in search of birds' nests and the like, on the moors behind which they lived. Oh, what a thing it would be to meet Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, her little cousin.

Immediately, Cicely took up paper from her uncle's mahogany bureau. She began by introducing herself, and with the most interesting part of the girl's question, consulting a book by her uncle's friend, John Harrison, finding the answer to Mary's question.

"By means of a spring, and tiny cogs designed to rotate with the hours," Cicely transcribed. She then went on to say how it was she was related to Mary, through her own mother, also called Mary, who had been Charles' and William's sister.

"It sounds as if we have something in common," Cicely continued, "for I too love outdoors best of all things." She continued by explaining how to look at the waves and the wind and the best things to adjust to counter the sail on a ship, to gather the most wind within and use it effectively. "My husband, who is a naturalist," also adores nature above anything else. He is searching for scientific answers to a problem that he wishes to solve. He has not, to my knowledge, been to Yorkshire, so I beg of you some answers of your own: what is the best beast living in your county? Is it your favourite, if not, what is? Why do you like it best?"

Cicely showed the letter to her uncle that evening. Godwin read it through twice through thin spectacles, then looked back at her.

"Is it true, Cicely? That so much can be discerned from the sea?"

"Yes," breathed Cicely, exhaling deeply, for the look on her uncle's face seemed grave. But, he was waiting. "The sea, the wind. The clouds, and how they scatter. I fear I learned a great many things whilst aboard ships."

"Afraid?"

"It is not what a woman should learn."

"And what would Mary, your aunt, say?" Cicely closed her eyes a little, searching her mind.

"I do not wish women to have power over men, but over themselves." Her uncle smiled.

"That is one, thing, yes. She says many more things, as does Thomas Paine." He looked at Cicely over his spectacles.

"So, unless a woman has the opportunity to learn, without fear of what she should learn, how can she have power over herself? She will never know how to discern the truth; she will never be able to make decisions."

"And you have done this already. The indigenous people whom I represent here are benefiting from your learned skill of medical knowledge. Your husband, clearly, trusted you with this and that you would make good with it." Godwin smiled, as he lay down Cicely's letter onto the table in his withdrawing room. "I would be remiss if I did not continue it, with an area of knowledge that you are most skilled in. Pray tell me, do you miss the sea?" Cicely nodded, almost immediately.

"Yes, uncle," she confessed. "Very much." Were that I have been Edward and had his commission, she added to herself. "I can see it now...strategy, and how it can be put into play; the orders...the discipline, though not too harsh, enough to keep men in line, humanely, with regularity, and above all fairness...what to do in a squall, how to keep up the mens' spirits, the officers as well as the hands...I do not mind tending the people...but to sail...to fight..."

Her voice trailed off, and Cicely realised she had been talking loudly and with animation. She still had the stomach wound and, though not as painful as once it had been, she was not as agile as she once had been; probably not race the hands to the very top of the topgallons and win. She was shaking. Uncle Godwin stood, and took both her hands.

"Then your skill will be vital tomorrow," he counselled. "I am to sell more rubber in Bourgaineville tomorrow. British and Dutch ships will be there. I would have you come wth me, niece, and tell me more about sailing. And your husband?"

"My husband?" questioned Cicely's mouth, but her heart was beating fast. He wanted her to sail with his goods to market. What an opportunity.

"He does not love by God's word alone?"

"He does not," Cicely replied. "Possibly not by God's word at all."

"I will not make windows into mens' souls," her uncle quoted. He smiled at Cicely again. "Do you know which of our monarchs said that?"

"Queen Bess," Cicely replied, immediately, as long, red shadows began to play on the mahognay of Charles Godwin's desk. "Edward told me of her; he love history - our mother too - I believe that is why Edward is so called, after Edward 6th."

"Ah, yes," Godwin nodded. "My sister Mary always did like Tudor history." He paced the Persian carpet to the wide view of the sea. "She did a poor thing for herself by marrying your father, but our father thought it was a good match and your mother said nothing to any of us. I found out of her death and its circumstances by reading the newspaper. Now," he turned suddenly, and smiled again at Cicely.

"If you have more letters to join this one, now would be the time to write them. We can get them sent. Tomorrow." He placed a hand on Cicely's shoulder. "Tomorrow," Charles Godwin concluded, looking his niece up and down, "you should wear the clothes you arrived in - they are totally practical for the journey we take, to Bourgaineville, and I want you to take us, Cicely!"

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The cool of the morning had awoken Cicely, who was already in a state of excitement. The sea looked a deep sapphire, waiting for the sun to rise and fill it with solar energy. She dressed quickly and, waiting for her uncle in the dining room, interrupted Isaac, Adam's son, who had come from the kitchen with a box. Scritching in the box told Cicely he had caught some living things in there.

How things had changed, in her mind. Transcriptions aside, and though she had found her niche alongside her uncle, Cicely now realised that she was missing the ocean, missing the waves around the bow and stern as winds filled sails and taughtened sheets. She was going to be with her uncle, captaining his ship, if his meaning was correct.

"Venam, madam," Isaac said, striding through to the kitchen. Cicely followed as he emptied out three tiny vole-like rodents onto, their tiny feet, almost webbed, pushing themselves quickly over the sand. They scampered away, though Cicely suspected they would be back.

"Venam?"

"The spirit animals. When we are ill, we pray they will with them our ills."

So, that's what they were. Cicely had often heard of "spirit animals" when Isaac, or his father, had translated for her. She hoped she had done as best as she could by these people, who had welcomed her uncle so readily and, too, attended the church he had built.

"Are you coming with us, Isaac, on my uncle's ship?"

"Sir, Mister Godwin say so," Isaac nodded, then looked past Cicely, and into the kitchen, where Vharles Godwn was busy wrapping fruit in linen cloths.

"No time to lose!" He declared, seeing Cicely standing there and led them though onto the sand where the venam rodents had scampered, and around towards the atoll-side of Buka.

And there she was, the schooner. It hadn't been there yesterday. Cicely looked around the lines, of its fore-sail, and its main sail. They hung well, fluttering gently in the breeze. Adam, Charles Godwin's manservant, stood proudly on deck, which stretched out, gracefully. Small enough to crew with three; large enough to transport the goods her uncle had to sell on behalf of the islanders.

"We must cross the centre of the island group, then out through the strait, south west. This will take us to our trading post. Our cargo is loaded," he added, as he watched Cicely's face as she appraised his vessel.

Then, Cicely began clambering throught the salt water and had reached for a long rope looped over the fore-sail's sheet. Behind her, Charles Godwin laughed.

"Throw down the ladder, Adam!" he commanded, and Cicely pulled it past the hull, so it trailed in the water. It was a matter of minutes before she stood on the ship's main deck. The dark and light patches of aquamarine water were already giving her clues as to the navigable route and, in the distance, the aperture between two sandbanks stared unblinkingly back at her, like the eye of a needle.

"It is pleasing to see my niece in her natural habitat," chuckled her uncle, as he boarded behind her. "Isaac and Adam crew this ship, although usually with Jacob." Jacob was Adam's brother, and had been ill, too ill even for Cicely to treat, although she suspected it was a fever of some kind.

"Do you have quinine bark?" she asked of her uncle. "If it is a fever, maybe this will cure him. Stephen uses this, although rare, for most fevers."

"Bourgaineville will be the place to obtain it," Charles Godwin declared. "When we have sold our wood and our produce, we can buy what we need. I will certainly negotiate for Jesuit's bark." He clapped a hand on Cicely's shoulder.

"Now, what do you make of her?"

Cicely looked around. The schooner's workmanship was exquisite. Every join was neatly and efficiently completed, no expense had been spared over the cleats and the scunts, where the ropes would wear against these wooden fittings. It had been one of Jack Aubrey's pieces of advice at his dinner table once, and Cicely had never forgot it: no matter the line of the hull or the span of the sails, look at the rope fittings. If they are smooth, the shipwright knew his trade.

"You have a very good ship, uncle," she nodded, smiling. "A good runner, reliable, easy to handle, full or empty."

"That's where you're wrong, my girl!" Charles Godwin laughed. "Not me - you! You have a very good ship!"

Cicely felt her mouth drop open. Hers?

"She is currently un-named; I traded my ancient brig for her, and this will be her first sailing under cargo. Will she do?"

"She will do," Cicely conceded, and then echoed, "mine...?"

"Before she goes, she must have a name," Godwin urged, striding over the sun-bathed deck; the early morning sun was now rising quickly. "And we must depart soon if we are to get to Madehas and back before nightfall.

Cicely looked over the ship again. How many superstitions there were over the naming of a ship, traditions, rituals and the like? The Anglo-Saxons believed if you changed a ship's name a virgin had to urinate at the prow; you should never name a ship something boastful or arrogant, although that the ship had not been named in the first place was equally bad luck, as were temptations to Poiseidon, like "Tempest" or "Storm". Equally, a woman was bad luck. But, a woman was about to captain this ship, this ship called -

"The Mary!" Cicely said, inspiration coming to her as she looked along the ship's lines, then looking at her uncle, her face glowing with happiness. "The Mary, for my mother."

"And your cousin," Charles Godwin added, a smile coming over his face. "You like it, then?" he asked. Cicely turned to her uncle.

"Like it? How could I not? A ship of my own, and crew?" And Cicely looked over her lines, and her prow, and up at her sails. A ship of her very own to command.

"A ship of my own to command," Cicely breathed, as the rope fell at the midships, an invitation to board.

"Not to command, my darling girl," William Godwin told her. "In short, your own ship. You own her, you command her. You sail her to where you will. Sail her out of the archipelago and to Sarawak for trade if you will, or up and down the islands and treat the people."

Cicely's heart filled with so much joy she thought her heart would burst. Her own ship. The Mary...

"Captain Cicely," her uncle added, pulling out of his coat a flask. He removed the cork and put it close to her nose. The sharp spirit smell rose quickly into her nostrils and filled her mind, with the essence of the coconut and palm nut from which it was made. "For the treatment of wounds," Godwin added, striding over to the ship's front boards. "But first, is it not the tradition to embalm the wood with spirit."

"Yes," Cicley smiled. "Indeed." And her uncle, with Adam at his side, proffered the flask and Cicely made to pour it onto the prow beams. "First, a prayer," she told her uncle.

"A prayer," the old man repeated, nodding his head, and looking over the ship again. "I have one, Cicely, so, pour away."

Cicely looked at the ship, smaller than the Surprise, like a two-masted frigate, larger than a brig. Where she had come from, Cicely did not know. But her uncle had bought her, and had given her to Cicely. She would be the "Mary", and she would sail her beautifully.

"The Mary!" Cicely declared, putting her spare hand on the prow of the ship and running it over the planking. Beautiful finish, her mind thought, caulked and rope-fibred exceedingly well. In fact, upkept to Jack Aubrey standards. It would feel like an age before she could sail her, Cicely thought, her excitement replacing the latent sorrow of Jack's and Stephen's departure.

"The Mary!" declared Godwin and Adam together, as Cicely poured some of the spirit over the ship's hull. She stopped after a moment, for she knew that this would indeed be excellent in the cleaning of wounds, and handed it back to her uncle. He re-pocketed it, and then stood, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer. Cicely did the same.

"Oh Lord," William Godwin began, "May you look fairly and clemently upon your servant Cicely Maturin, who will captain this vessel, "The Mary". May you bring her fair through storms as you bring us all through life's storms. Amen."

As a prayer, Cicely, thought, she had heard better. But her uncle was a non-conformist, and had, as good Methodists did, related the message back to the listener. God was there, and so was His people. And they needed to know God was compassionate and patient first, before any object in the world.

"Now, my niece," William Godwin continued, gesturing towards "The Mary's" deck, upon which several of the islanders were already aboard. "I would be pleased to walk with you over your new charge."