Desolation island

by Patrick O'Brian

  "I will, too. But Jack, I hope you will be able to let me have Bonden, in spite of the rudder? I very much wish to be on my island."

  "Oh, one more or less don't signify. But surely, Stephen, you don't mean to miss the hoisting up of the rudder? To miss such a glorious sight?"

  "Is this the definitive, final, triumphant move?"

  "Oh, of course not. This is for the pintles, Stephen. The pintles, not the gudgeons. But it is pretty triumphant for a sailor, upon my sacred honour, it is."

  "My sacred honour," said Stephen, closing the door. "Tantum religio potuit saudere malorum.' And to Bonden, "Barret Bonden, pray be so good as to accompany me to my island in the canvas boat. I must make observations in the afternoon, and later I wish to see my chicks by the light of the moon."

  "She rises a little after dark tonight, sir," said Bonden. "Maybe I had best bring a bite and some furs. There will be a rare old frost, once the sun has dipped. Mr Herapath was asking for you just now, sir. He's gone off with the raft, to see if you're in the sickbay."

  "Aye. Well, buckle to, Bonden; we must be off. Leave

  word that I am not at leisure today, but will see him tomorrow."

  Bonden had accompanied the Doctor on many a curious expedition. He made no comment when Stephen concealed himself on the island and trained the powerful glass on the shore, where all hands were assembled to be ferried aboard on the raft. After an hour Herapath appeared in the objective, alone on the beach. He looked thin, worn, sad and tormented. He had a large bundle wrapped up in a cloak, and he carried it across the strand, deserted but for Mrs Boswell and her baby, past the still-smoking forge, to one of the whale boats that were waiting to carry the whole smithy away. The boat-keeper was lying with Peggy under the lee of a rock, out of his sight but within the telescope's view. Herapath hesitated, heard a hall from the cliff where Reuben and his men were gathering their last cabbages, nodded, put the bundle into the bows, and paced up and down for a while before disappearing into Mrs Wogan's hut. A sweep of the glass showed the Leopard, every man aboard staring intently at the massive great rudder as it mounted into the air.

  From then on the glass remained fixed on the hut, as though by staring at the door and the oiled-paper window Stephen could learn something of the doubtful battle raging within. "Surely she must overcome him," he reflected. "She has this baby to wield, and the war, and tears, as well as all common sense. But when it comes to honour, dear Lord . . . I could not love thee, dear, so well, loved I not honour more: and so on to the foot of the stake. And there is the infinitesimal fact that he owes me seven guineas for his uniforms: it might prove the ludicrous sticking-point. Who can tell just where another man will Jib? All shame, all ignominies, but not this one. Which one, though? Hardest of all to tell in men that are weak; or weak in places, like Herapath. If she overcomes him, perhaps he will never forgive her: if she does not, she will certainly never forgive him. She will certainly win the day.

  Maturin, friend, you are protesting too much: you do not know."

  "Sun's dipping, sir,"said Bonden at last. "You'd best put on your cape.

  Dipping already. The time had passed with extraordinary speed. Twice Herapath was seen in the twilight: but still Stephen could not tell what was in his mind, apart from conflict.

  "They are having a high old time with the rudder," observed Bonden, putting the sealskin over Stephen's shoulders. "The Marines have hauled it into the larboard shrouds, the lubbers."

  There were lights all over the Leopard now: Jack did not intend to lose a minute. The stars were beginning to show, dimmed in the south by the aurora australis, waving down there towards the pole, a great arc of increasing splendour: and the frost had begun to fall.

  Darkness now, and the barking of seals: the vague forms of petrels in the starlight. "What is that you are smoking?" asked Stephen.

  "The best Virginny," said Bonden, with a contented laugh. "There was an old shipmate of mine on shore from the whaler this morning. A bit leary at first, when Joe Plaice and me tipped him the wink, because there is an R against his name. Run, sir. But then we got talking, and he gave us a keg. It don't matter my telling now, because they're winning their anchor, and he's as safe as the Tower. Do you see how the brig's crept across? Now she's signalling. Lantern to the peak: up and down, up and down. Has she left someone on shore? Yet I never seen no boat. Now she's at single anchor, and they're shifting the messenger for t'other. Stamp and go, stamp and go: you hear 'em, sir?" In a deep rumbling undertone Bonden echoed the shanty: Stamp and go, stamp and go, the lady comes from Mexico. "Now the cable's up and down: she's right over her anchor - hear the skipper call for nippers thick and dry."

  The moon rose, huge and very little past the full, flooding the sea with her pale fire. Clear of the horizon now: higher still, and somewhere on the left a battle broke out among the sea-elephants.

  "Maybe they've fouled a fluke, hanging about so long," said Bonden at last. "No. She's loosed her foretopsail. She'll weigh any minute now. Soon be gone, with the ebbing tide; and she'll cast pretty on this breeze. Soon be gone, and so shall we, thank God. Gudgeons in and rudder shipped tomorrow, and homeward bound maybe, once the hold is stowed. The lantern again. They'll lose their tide if they keep hanging about like this: what a rum way of carrying on! Do you hear that, sir? No, not the old seal. A boat, a-pulling for the brig. There, I see 'un, coming from behind the pointed rock. Why, our jollyboat. I dare say it is Mr Herapath to say good-bye, he pulls so awkward. Yes, so it is. But who's his mate, the black-haired boy? I don't know that phiz. Sir, sir, it's Mrs Wogan! She's skipped her ball! Shall I shove off and bring 'em back?"

  "No," said Stephen. "Sit still and keep quiet."

  The boat came nearer still, passed within whispering distance, and the moon shone on their faces, delighted, ingenuous, and absurdly young. It passed on; swung into the black shadow of the whaler's side. Some low cries from the La Fayette -'Get a good hold on the lines, ma'am, and mind your petticoats easy, all, as she rises'- and then, as the brig swung to the breeze and gathered way, Mrs Wogan's laugh, floating clear across the water, very cheerful and amused, more amused than ever, so amused that both Stephen and Bonden chuckled aloud; and now, for the first time, it had a fine triumphant ring.

  The End

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