The Surgeon’s Mate is the seventh book in the Aubrey-Maturin series.
Stephen reflects on the reality of coincidence in the world:
This was not a welcome subject, and the light, the fine glow died out of Diana’s face, which had been alive with the happiness of freedom recovered, the excitement of Paris regained and of new clothes. She said, ‘That was a very curious coincidence, the Hotel d’Arpajon, was it not?’
‘Prodigious,’ said Stephen. ‘And yet in a way one might say that the whole of life is a tissue of prodigious coincidences: as for example that at the very moment we attempt to cross the road this particular coach and six should come by; yet though extremely unlikely, it is a fact. And the glabrous face within belongs to Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord.’ Stephen took off his hat: the glabrous face returned his bow. ‘ It is a most improbably coincidence that as we enter La Mothe’s courtyard, and it is just here, on the right – take care of the excrement, Viliers – some merchant should walk into his counting-house in Stockhold, or that Jack Aubrey should mount his horse to pursue the fox. Though now I come to think of it, Jack would scarcely pursue the innocent fox at this time of the year: yet the principle remains. You may object that the overwhelming majority of these coincidences are undetected, which is eminently true; but they are there for all that, and as I raise this knocker, some man in China breathes his last.’
(p. 128, HarperCollinsPublishers, 2003)
Stephen, once again demonstrates his (lack of) navigational knowledge:
‘Stephen, a damned thing has happened: the timepiece is broke. Will you lend me your watch?’
‘You are welcome to it, sure,’ said Stephen, producing his severely beautiful Breguet. ‘But what is wrong with the other chronometers?’‘There ain’t any other chronometers.’
‘Come, brother, I remember to have seen a whole array in our various ships, and distracted young gentlemen trying to find the mean of them all while you bullied them, holding your hack-watch in one hand and peering at the celestial bodies with the other.’
‘Yes, but that was because I have always had my own, ever since I could afford it; and if a captain buys one, the Admiralty lets him have two more. Otherwise he carries just a single timekeeper, and then only if he is going foreign in most cases.’
‘The machine is used for finding out the latitude, I believe.’
‘To tell you the truth Stephen, most people rely on the sextant for their latitude: the timekeeper is more for the other thing – east and west, you know.’
‘East and west of what, for all love?’
‘Why of Greenwich, naturally.’
‘I am no great navigator –‘ said Stepehn.
‘You are far too modest,’ said Jack.
‘—though I have wondered how you mariners find your way about the dank wastes of ocean. But from what you tell me I see that for your countrymen Greenwich rather than Jerusalem is the navel of the universe – lo, Greenwich where many a shrew is in, ha, ha – and secondly that whereas a poor man can fix his position only with regard to north and south, to up and down, his wealthy brother is secure to right and left as well. There is no doubt a logic in this, although it escapes me, just as the use of the timepiece escapes me, with its peevish insistence upon accuracy in the measurement of what is after all a most debatable concept, quite unknown, we are told in Heaven. Tell me, is it really capable of telling you where you are, or is this just another of you naval – I must say superstitions – like saluting the purely hypothetical crucifix on the quarterdeck?’
‘If you have exact Greenwich time aboard – if you carry it with you – you can fix your longitude exactly by accurate observations of local noon, to say nothing of occultations and the finer points. I have a pair of Arnolds at home – how I wish I had brought ‘em – that only gained twenty seconds from Plymouth to Bermuda. In these waters that would tell you were where you were, east or west, to witin three mles or so. Oh, the lunarians may say what they please, but a well tempered chronometer is the sweetest thing! Suppose you were riding along, with your watch set to Greenwich time in your pocket, and suppose you happened to take a noon observation and found that the sun southed at five minutes after twelve, you would know that you were almost exactly on the meridian of Winchester, without having to search for a finger-post. And the same applies to the sea, where finger-posts are tolerable uncommon.’
‘Heavens, Jack, what things you tell me. And I dare say this would answer for let us say Dublin and Galway?’
‘I should not care to affirm anything about Ireland, where people have the strangest notion of time; but at sea, I do assure you, it answers very well. That is why I should like your watch.’
(p. 259, HarperCollinsPublishers, 2003)
