Book 5 - Desolation Island by Patrick O'Brian

Author:Patrick O'Brian
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780006499244
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-09-19T19:01:05+00:00

'Women are not without defence, however,' reflected Stephen, passing forward along the orlop to remonstrate with Peggy and Mrs Boswell for their thoughtless conduct. Herapath had recently led Louisa Wogan down from the poop, and through the scuttle in her cabin door came the painfully familiar sound of a man being passed under the harrow.

Though passionate, the voice was low; in the most fluent French it told Herapath that he was a fool, that he understood nothing, nothing at all—he had never understood anything, at any time. He had not the least notion of tact, discretion, delicacy, or sense of timing. He abused his position most odiously. Who did he think he was?

Stephen shrugged and walked on. 'Salubrity Boswell,' he said, 'what are you about? How comes a woman of your sound judgement to act so thoughtlessly as to tell a mariner he is in an unlucky ship? Do not you know, ma'am, that your mariner is the most superstitious soul that ever breathed? That by telling him his vessel is unlucky, even haunted, you cause him to neglect his duty, to hide away in the dark when he should adjust the sails and pull the ropes? That in consequence the ship becomes indeed unlucky—it turns upon the unseen rock, it bursts, it is taken all aback. And then where are you, ma'am? Where is your baby, tell?'

He was told that if people crossed her palm with false silver, they must expect a dark fortune for their pains: he left her sullen and remote, muttering crossly at her pack of cards, but he knew that his words had gone home, and that what little she could do to remove the phantom bailiff would be done. It would not be enough, however: the ghostly bum would probably resist all common exorcism.

'Bonden,' he said, 'pray remind me: where is the bowsprit netting?'

'Why, sir,' said Bonden, smiling, ' 'tis where we stow the foretopmast staysail and the jib.'

'I shall desire you to carry me there, after quarters and the exercise.'

Bonden smiled no more. 'Oh sir, it will be dark by then,' he said.

'Never mind. You will procure a little lantern. Mr Benton will he happy to lend you a little lantern.'

'I doubt it would ever do, sir. 'Tis right out there, beyond the head, right plumb over the sea, if you understand me, with nothing to clap on to, bar the horses. It would be far too dangerous for you, sir: you would surely slip. The most dangerous place in the barky, with all them old sharks, a-ravening just below.'

'Stuff, Bonden. I am an old sea-hand, a quadrimane. We shall meet here, by this—what is its name?'

'The knighthead, sir,' said Bonden, in a low, despondent voice.

'Exactly so—the knighthead. Do not forget the lantern, if you please. I must rejoin my colleague.'

In fact neither Bonden nor Dr Maturin was at the rendezvous, let alone the lantern. The coxswain sent his respectful duty by a boy: the state of the Captain's gig was such that Bonden could not be allowed the least liberty.

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