Crozier's Operation

"If it's a fishing boat, they might just want to buy some fish... For Emily if not for us," Peter suggested. But surely they would have signalled in less urgent terms... "If they are not sure, Captain Bolitho might stand out to sea to see..." He looked down the long southward sweep of the river mouth, and the more forbidding north shore where they were.

It was excellent news about Dr Crozier, but he couldn't be left out here on the beach for long. Dr Maturin was looking both worried and distracted. Another distraction would not hurt him and might cheer him up. It had cheered Peter up, or at least cleared his mind...

"I found this, Sir," he said, holding out the Marine's hat, and pulling the handkerchief away.

Stephen looked into the hat, and a smile slowly spread across his face. "You found an Arabian dormouse, Mister Yates." He dipped his hand into the hat, and the mouse stared at it. "How did you catch him?"

"He was curious, and tried the ship's biscuit crumbs... There was a family living in the roots - with babies. But I couldn't bring them. This one seemed alone, and ..." He put his head close to the doctor's to look into the hat. "It is the same kind of dormouse then. I thought it was."

"He is astonishingly unshy," said Stephen as the mouse stepped onto his fingers. "Almost tame; how odd. Yes, he is mature - on his own, you say? It is not so uncommon... The Romans came to Portugal, and brought these mice to breed, to eat them, and they have flourished, it would seem."

"To eat them? Really. There wouldn't be much meat ... You're not going to do so, are you?" He thought again, watching the creature sniff at the doctor's fingers. Being eaten - unless by the cat - was probably a less likely fate. "I ... I don't want him dissected, but you can have him, if you'd like."

"Ah, but there were a delicacy, stuffed..." Stephen smiled down at the young boy. "You do not want him yourself? A live one to sketch?"

Peter looked at the mouse, and felt the urge to accept. But he had brought it back for the Doctor. He had returned to do that, after all.

And if he took it it would only be left behind, when he did leave the Terpsichore - assuming that she did come back for them. If not, he would be in charge of their little part, at least in theory. He couldn't imagine standing his ground if either the Sergeant or the doctor disagreed with him, but he might be useful if they disagreed with each other ...

"No," he said, and looked up with a clear expression as he could manage. "I brought it back for you."

"Well, that is very kind, Mister Yates, thank you. And never fear; I shall not dissect him," said Stephen with a smile. He had a collapsible cage in his knapsack, just in case, and while the Arabian dormouse was not rare at all he was not a man to look a gift mouse in the mouth. He was really rather touched.

Peter scuffed at the sand under his feet, and threw a glance at Dr Crozier, shaven and still not quite the right colour, but definitely more present than before the operation. The line round his scalp. And he hadn't seen, and the others would demand to know what had happened, and ...

He drew a deep breath. "Is there anything we should be doing?" He realized how that sounded and added: "To help Dr Crozier, I mean." A midshipman did not consult a doctor, even a naval surgeon or a physician to the nobs in London.

"I think what you have said implies that we will be here for some time yet, so we will put him in the shade. There is not much to be done save wait now," said Stephen, still looking at the mouse. "Sergeant, you should take your hat back; the sun is rather fierce."

The sun was high, and the amount of shade thrown by the sail was small. Of the two options, the easier would probably be sufficient. He instructed the men to put four of the long oars in the sand, and to bring down the sail from the mast, to sling it between the oars, as a canopy. If that was not sufficient, then they could turn the boat, and prop it on the other oars, and make shelter beneath it, against sun or rain... He ordered the mast unshipped for now, and turned back to stare out along the beach towards the headland behind which the Terpsichore had disappeared.

Stephen gently let the mouse wander into his pocket, where there was a substantial number of biscuit crumbs, and walked back down the beach. "Mister M'Clure, it looks like we shall be here for some time yet, help me to move Mister Crozier; well done, Barrows," said Stephen as he helped move the cradle. He felt a quiver in his pocket.

"Thank you, sir," Quinn said, taking his hat back and putting it on. "I dunno why it's allus hotter on land than at sea, but there you are. And do you need my Marines for anything? Because I will take them wooding and watering otherwise, to give them something useful to do. There's likely to be streams around here, though the river will be brackish and probalby undrinkable, like you say. I'd rather not have to use the water we brung with us if we don't have to, y'see, sir."

"I agree with you, sergeant. I urge you to do as you think wise with your Marines; I think we are in very little danger here at all, save from lack of anything useful to be done. Idle hands tempt the Devil," he said, knowing he had got the gist of the proverb, but it was not quite sound in its execution. "I will keep the canteens with me."

"Right you are, sir," Quinn answered, nodding. Wood's allus useful to have - I'm sure the cook would appreciate us topping up his stock." And if they were here longer than expected, they could at least light a fire to help keep them warm. "I'll leave Beech and McEwen here with you. If you need us back quick, sir, get one of them to fire off his musket and we'll get back as quick as ever we can."

"Thank you, Sergeant; I am sure all will be well," said Stephen with a weary smile. He wondered what was happening on board the Terpsichore. "Will you take one canteen with you? It won't be much, but it should give each man a mouthful at least; it must be very hot in those uniforms, and it is noon."

"Thank you, sir. It is pretty hot, yes." Noon? Well, they were going to miss 'up spirits' and dinner, which most captains set out in their Standing Orders should not happen if at all possible. It couldn't be helped, though; investigating a strange sail took precedence over hanging around for long enough to allow a boat-load of men to row back out and climb aboard.

"Will we take Mister Yates, or would you like him to stay with you, sir?" he asked. He was a little concerned about the young midshipman, and hoped there was nothing wrong.

Stephen looked back towards the shade. "He seems to be working well here, but if he wishes to go with you..." He looked back to the sergeant, hearing something in his tone of voice. "Is anything wrong?"

Quinn sighed, took his hat off and somewhat distractedly ran a hand through his hair before replacing it. "I'm a mort worried about him, sir. Nothin' I can quite put me finger on, but he don't seem so lively as he was. It's almost like he's worryin' about something, but there's nothing I can see that he could be worried about. It's not just us being stuck here, I'm sure of that." He frowned. "Maybe you could talk to him, not being a Terpsy. He might find it easier to talk to you than to me. And maybe I'm imagining things."

He didn't think he was, though; he hadn't seen Yates skylarking or anything since de Guarde had come aboard. Maybe that was it - could it be something to do with de Guarde? Quinn had no idea. It could simply be something like toothache, or what some of his Marines would term 'the runs'.

"If he wishes to talk I will be happy to listen, but if he does wish to speak to me I will report nothing, Sergeant." Stephen looked back towards the shade. "But when I met him the day before yesterday I thought he had a melancholy air about him; moreso, he seems unused to it."

"I know you won't, sir. But maybe it'd help him. And, well, he's usually cheerful and friendly. The sort of young gentleman Captain Aubrey would've given his eye-teeth for, in fact. And, well, it ain't right for a lad to be like he is right now. If he does talk to you, I won't ask what he's said. I just... want to help him if I can, that's all. And maybe if he talk to you, that's all he'll need." He shrugged. "It's... I can't put my finger on it, but it's almost like he's carryin' something too heavy for him and doesn't know how to ask for help."

Stephen looked back towards the midshipman. "I will see what I can do, Sergeant. It is kind of you to be so concerned for him."

The Terpsichore wouldn't be back yet - even if the sail didn't lead them off on a chase, it would take time to rendezvous with it, and then they would have to come back, against the general direction of the wind. Peter had understood that that was not as difficult as it sounded, but unless the wind was just right, it still took longer... Probably.

He turned back. Dr Crozier had been put under the awning, which would keep the worst of the sun off him, but it might be that something more - something denser - would be needed. The Sergeant was talking to Dr Maturin, and at one point Peter was aware of a considering glance in his drection. But surely the Sergeant didn't suspect... He had been quite relaxed about the dormouse, after all, even allowing it in his hat.

"It's part of... well, we're shipmates. Like you and I was shipmates in Sophie. It just might be easier for him to tell you, not bein' shipmates with him." He touched his hat. "If there's nothing else you need me for, sir, I'll go and get my men busy. And thank you."

"Thank you, Sergeant; I am glad to have you with us." Stephen nodded politely and walked back to the shade. "Mister Yates, gentlemen," he said as he sat down; he scrutinised Mister Crozier, and took his pulse - slightly stronger, he noted in triumph.