Crozier's Operation

"As do I, Captain," said Stephen, with a glance towards the door. "What do you intend to do now? We must assume that the Marines on the shore came from the ship you pursued - it will return for them."

"Most likely," Bolitho said with a nod. "As to what I intend, I cannot say for sure. It would be inadvisable to continue chasing the French ship if they have not changed course, for they will be much too far away. But neither can we wait too long for them to return. We must still continue our journey to Oporto."

He paused for a moment. His irritation had still not subsided, and truth be told, he had not really thought out a proper plan yet.

"We shall remain on our present course," he said at last, "And if we encounter the ship again, we will engage them in battle."

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well. Do you know the name of the ship?" A sudden thought struck him and he took the piece of paper from inside his waistcoat, that he had taken from the Marine who attacked him - better for Bolitho to know of its existence than for it to be entirely soaked. He peeled it open - the outer folds were illegible, but the inner ones could just be read.

"No, I do not. We did not get near enough to see it," Bolitho said.

He watched Maturin remove the paper from his waistcoat, staring at it curiously. "What is that?"

Stephen let the paper flap open, his left arm still very painful. "It is a piece of paper the man who attacked me dropped. I thought it might be useful. It is written in Galician, but... the Hérisson. It says that that is the name of the ship which was intended to stop here, to pick up..." Saint-Laurent. It was him at the beach; Stephen had known he recognised the voice, carried on the wind as they fled. "A clerk, it says - that must be the civilian Mister Yates saw."

"The Hérisson," Bolitho repeated. So that was the name of the ship. He glanced at the paper, but as he could not read Galician, he would not be able to study it. "This clerk must be a person of some importance if they are going out of their way to pick him up. Does it give a name, or does it just say 'a clerk'?"

"A clerk - or 'the clerk', to be more precise. I apologise; the ink has run, and I spent only a little time in Galicia..." There was a list of names, British names - Stephen subtly hid them with his hand. "Just an order to pick up the clerk at the northern bank in Figueria da Foz. There is more, but I cannot make it out."

"That's alright, doctor. You have made out enough of it--more than I could have, at any rate," Bolitho said.

He crossed his arms as he mulled over this information. The clerk. He wondered who the man was, and what was his significance. Why was he to be picked up there? Why did he need a special escort to retive him? So many questions.

"I appreciate the information, and I thank you for finding this paper. Although, I fear it prompts more questions than it answers."

"It does," said Stephen, waving it gently in the air. "At least you have a name for your quarry now."

"Indeed, and that is good enough for now," Bolitho said. His anger had lessened somewhat during the course of their discussion, and even though he still did not appreciate Maturin's earlier criticism, he did appreciate his assistance. "Thank you again for finding it. And thank you for everything you have done--for Dr. Crozier, and for the other wounded men."

"It was my duty sir; I could do no less," said Stephen, managing a wobbly bow, and even managing the word 'duty' sincerely. "Thank you for returning for us; we would have been in a sad state after a night."

"I would not have left you overnight," Bolitho said, "You have my word on that. We may have gone for longer than we should have, but I would not have abandoned you--any of you--no matter what."

Stephen nodded, not smiling - he felt too drained. "That is a comfort to know, Captain."

"I imagine another comfort would be to get some dry clothes," Bolitho remarked, noticing that Maturin was still wearing his wet clothing, "Mr. Yates went to retreive some for you--I should think he will be back soon."

"He performed remarkably, sir. But he is unhappy; I promised to speak to you on his behalf."

"Oh? Is there something ailing him?"

Yates had seemed fine before. Had he suffered an injury that Bolitho did not know about?

"As I said, he is very unhappy; he is simply not suited to life at sea. It has begun to manifest itself physically - I saw evidence of it while we were on land - and so for the sake of his health I must ask that he be put ashore as soon as is convenient. He has tried, and continues to do so, but going home would be best for him; or at least not being on the water."

The idea of losing one of the midshipmen--especially one as promising as Yates--was a sad prospect. But if the lad did not want to remain at sea, Bolitho was certainly not going to force him to stay aboard.

"I am sorry to hear that, but if he does not want to remain on board, then I shall see to it that he is allowed to leave at the best opportunity. Did he give any particular reasons for his unhappiness? Or is it just the general idea of being at sea?"

"He confided in me as a patient, sir - I am afraid I cannot give you his personal reasons. He did tell me, however, out of confidence, that the officers of the ship have been nothing but kind, and he respects them all extremely. There are also no problems in the midshipmen's berth, or anything a captain might need to know. Personal reasons, and a general unsuitability to a nautical life."

Bolitho nodded.

"Very well. It is unfortunate that he feels that way, but I am glad to know that it is not due to any unpleasantness from officers or fellow midshipmen. I understand that not everyone is suited to life on board a ship, and if Mr. Yates would rather persue another path on land, I shall not hamper his progress."

Stephen gave another little bow. "I thank you for your understanding, Captain. He was a credit to you - every man was."

"That means a lot to hear you say so. They are a good crew, and I would have been surprised if they had given any less than their all," Bolitho said, "Yates has the makings of a fine officer, so I am pleased that he continues to act as one, despite his desire to leave."

"Exceedingly well, and the Marines also." Stephen was shaking violently now, chilled to the bone. "I beg you to excuse me, Captain; I must return to the sick-bay."

Allhands wrote:

Midshipman Peter Yates wrote:"Well done, young'un," meant more from Chandos than most, and he expressed himself more than willing to lend a jacket, a shirt and trousers to the doctor. Peter reported to the officer of the watch, while Chandos slipped below to collect the clothes.

Only three days out from Lisbon they were still clean, and Chandos carried them to the sickbay and stood waiting to pass them to someone, not wanting to interrupt in the presence of the Captain.

Since the doctor and the captain were busy and had stepped out of ear shot it was Bridgens who met the midshipman. "Here, I can take these for you. They're for the doctor, aren't they?" He said, noting M'Clure still busy with the patients that he had to see, check and make sure what their vital signs were.

Chandos was about to leave, when he remembered something else, that the doctor should know. He stood, nervously hoping that the Captain did not see him and ask him what he was doing below decks. With an inward shudder, he heard the bells that marked the end of the Second Dog Watch and the start of the First Night Watch - well, at least he was now no longer the duty midshipman. Kinsella would be senior on this watch.

Stephen walked back to the sick-bay, and was startled to see an older midshipman standing outside. "Mister... Chandos?"