Shortly after two bells of the second dodge had rung, Olivia led Doctor Stevens across the great cabin, and when he had neared, Charles said to him, "We shall sit in the windows and sip wine while we await supper."

As we settled, I asked, "What might I call you? Doctor Stevens is too formal, and Doc is insufficiently so."

"I was christened Nathaniel, and as a youth, I was called Nat and Natty." He chuckled. "With maturity came Nutty and Naughty, but of all, I prefer Doc."

"Fine then, Doc it shall be. And please, forego my title; I have done nothing to earn it except being born." I smiled and shrugged. "And even there, mine was none but passive involvement."

"And call me Charles; there is no need among us three for either titles or honorifics."

As I had earlier instructed, Olivia arrived with three glasses of wine, and Charles raised his to us, proposing, "To our continued health and success."

After Doc had savoured a sip, he said, "This is much like the Irish wine I favoured at Oxford."

Charles looked up from his glass. "Irish wine? I was not aware they made any of this quality there."

Doc took another sip, nodding as he tasted it. "Very similar. The depth and complexity, the concentration of fruit, the persistence of flavours on the palate. Quite like the O'Brian."

"Oh!" I said, "It is likely the same. But the with the cask branded Bordeaux, I had thought Haut Brion comes from France."

"It is French." Charles chuckled. "I had called it Hot Brian until Camille corrected my awkly pronunciation. But, yes, we had stopped in Bordeaux last year to load wine, and Captain Angus had purchased four barrels of this for his pantry. Two remain beyond this one, and it seems to improve with the passage of time."

Charles took another sip, then he asked, "Speaking of French, how is Gerrard?"

"He is now more comfortable with the bone reset, splinted and bound. I shall keep him in sickbay for a few days to monitor his need of laudanum."

"Excellent! What have you learnt about him?"

"My earlier assumption was in error; he had been involved in directing the ship, or at least, he had tried to be."

Charles tilted his head in question. "Tried to be?"

"He was posted up the mast as the lookout, and he reported land off the bow to babore, which I determined from his gesticulations was to the left. The reply from the watch officer was that there should be none there; the only land will be on the other side. He was seeing only the dark storm clouds."

Charles shook his head. "What an idiotic response!"

"Indeed! As Gerrard's cursing demonstrated. He told me that he continued to report land as it appeared and disappeared in the storm clouds at the horizon. With none others seeing it, the watch officer finally told him to desist. A long while later, he reported white water ahead, and as the ship began altering, they struck the submerged rocks. In very short order, the pounding of the seas and the press of the wind had rolled them over onto their side and into the deeps beyond the reef."

"Caused by a pigheaded officer." I shrugged. "Mother often accused her father and grandfather of that, saying that being obstinate is a common trait among French men."

Charles nodded, "Likely about the arranged marriage." Then he turned to Doc and asked, "How much time passed from Gerrard's first sighting until they wrecked?"

"Well over an hour, he said. Time for the gathering storm clouds to have finally obscured it and for it to have grown dark."

"Well enough time. A quarter-hour would be sufficient to bear-up across the wind and move clear of danger – even if the danger proved to be nonexistent." Charles stroked his beard. "This is a fine lesson to relate to my officers and mids. Never dismiss a lookout's report."

I nodded. "How might they have found themselves where they did? The watch officer seemed confident in their position, insisting land would be to starboard, not to port."

"From the description of the wreck site given by François and Louis, it appears they were ten or twelve miles north of the safe latitude." Charles paused, slowly bobbing his head for a while, then he continued, "And ten or twelve miles is the offset distance if they had applied the compass variation to the wrong side. From their confidence with a good noon sight, one compass point would take them off track two miles every hour at ten knots, so from noon to sunset, that would be more than twelve miles."

"Very plausible," I said. "The variation here is half a point, so a full point if added rather than subtracted. A simple calculation error with huge consequences. A great lesson."

Doc chuckled. "Mathematics has never been a strong point for me."

Charles looked up from his wine glass. "Nor does it seem to have been for their watch officer. His error cost the lives of hundreds. Did Gerrard explain how he had managed to survive?"

"He said the only good thing with his being up the mast was that as they overset, it allowed him to be clear of the tangle of sails and rigging and away from the tumble of everything aboard."

"Yes, well clear of the chaos. How old a man is he?"

"Twenty-two. He had apprenticed as a coppersmith, and with a small purse, he had signed on to work his passage to Saint-Domingue, hoping to jump ship there and establish himself in the new colony."

"The purse now lost in the wreck."

"Not so, Camille. He trusted none in the ship, so he kept it tied about his waist. He still has it."

I turned to Charles. "Might we employ him aboard, that he earns even more?"

"Most certainly. In the hulks, there will be much copper and brass which can be recovered for him to render into useful items, possibly even some to sell."

We turned to discussing other matters, and Doc was expounding upon the overall fine health of Zeelandia's crew and his thoughts on how the fresh fruit and vegetables contributed to this, when Olivia arrived to announce supper was ready.