Author's note: The dialogue of many characters, and indeed of the narrative itself in places, may strike some as quite stilted, long-running and confusing. It most definitely may seem different than most of my other writing. You should know that this is an attempt to emulate the style and tone of the books of Patrick O'Brian; while I will not hope to truly emulate the master at his craft I cannot write a story about his characters without trying, in some way, to capture some of his flavor. For those who have trouble understanding the language of a bygone era, I would recommend reading the 20 and a quarter novels of the Aubreyad; after you get through the first two or three books the writing starts to feel normal. I admit that it is most definitely an acquired taste, unless you have had the good fortune to be born in the 18th century and still be alive in the 21st, like some good friends we shall meet presently.

The Defeat of History

Chapter One

"I never thought that I could find compassion in my heart for that foul tyrant Bonaparte, yet still, I must confess, should he come to be confined in this God-forsaken wasteland, I shall reluctantly concede that perhaps death would be less cruel than to banish him here."

Doctor Stephen Maturin's voice was soft, yet Admiral Jack Aubrey caught every word, despite the fact that both the Admiral and the speaker were swathed in more clothing than either had ever worn.

Aubrey chuckled. "Sure, brother, the cold is more severe than anything I have yet felt, but I would think that you, of all people, would understand that perhaps a little cold might do the former Emperor some good before he feels the fires of hell. I don't know what is worse, his actions that caused a bloody war and untold death or his incompetence that led to that war's sudden ending, and stranding so many good officers on the beach at half-pay, no prospect of employment, no time to prepare. Of course, I must give thanks to the Almighty that I am not one of them, although it is quite curious that I fly my flag, my glorious flag, in the frigate that I served in as a boy."

At that moment, Captain Tom Pullings approached the two friends on the quarterdeck of HMS Surprise, a fine but ancient frigate of 32 guns, a fine sailer, fast – very fast, if well handled – but certainly no match for the modern frigates, and normally not a ship that would boast the proud flag of an Admiral of the Blue. Tom Pullings was not a normal subordinate; both the Doctor and the Admiral had known him since he was an eager midshipman, and both men esteemed Captain Pullings for his good nature, intelligence and fierce loyalty, to say nothing of his suburb seamanship. The Admiral was very approving of the skills and style of his Captain; it was only right that it was so, since for the most part the overwhelming foundation of the sea-knowledge of Captain Pullings had been formed ever so careful under the firm yet fair tutelage of Jack Aubrey.

"Why, look at the two of you, conspiring together on the quarterdeck itself!" Despite the extreme cold, Tom Pullings still had a strong sense of humor, and it was this humor that was one of the reasons that both Jack and Stephen loved him so; perhaps there was still something of the air of a treasured son between Jack and Tom; perhaps, still, Stephen sometimes looked upon Tom as one would upon a most favoured nephew.

"Indeed, Captain Pullings, if it were possible for an Admiral to conspire against a Captain, which of course it is not, it ain't the natural order of things, but say it was possible, I dare say that you would feel nothing but relief were I to seize command of this vessel and thereby allow you to go below and catch some warmth. Perhaps I shall, and I shall make Stephen here my First!"

Tom laughed at the mental image of Stephen Maturin as first lieutenant of a frigate. "All my respect to the good Doctor, but I fear if that were that to happen my sleep would be everlasting were the Doctor on the deck during a good blow. I fear he would be as lost amongst the rigging as I would be rooting around in old Joe Plaice's skull-pan."

Stephen looked offended. "Laugh while you might, you infernal keepers of naval secrets, but I have not sailed these many years in vain. I have learned much of your secret world, of your hidden language and your God-forsaken rituals and customs that seem to defy all reason and logic. Why, just the other day I was instructing our passenger on the difference between starboard and larboard!"

Jack chuckled. "Still, Stephen, while we all remember with fondness when you opened up Plaice's brains, scrambled them up and put them back to rights on the deck of this very ship," - at this, Tom Pullings nodded - "I must ask, how would you practice your arts in this environment, where breathing the air unprotected is mortal and surely blood must freeze even as you cut?"

Stephen looked around, suddenly lost in thought. "Truly, Jack, sometimes you do strike upon the most interesting thoughts. There must be something in what you say; how would this extreme cold affect the organs in a living yet open corpus? Cold has been shown to preserve meat, after all, would the extreme cold slow the escape of blood during an operation? Would it slow the onset of the complications that invariably beset us when we slice open that which was never meant to be sliced open? It might be worth a paper, at least. Not that I would wish the need for my services upon any member of the crew, of course, but perhaps if an unfortunate accident should befall the former Emperor should he come to be transported here..."

Jack turned grim. "Do you think they will do it, Stephen? Are we here on a whim or is there something to this business? It is glorious, to be sure, to see Surprise bought back into the service for this mission – I never thought to see a man-of-war's pennant at her masthead again – but it seems a bit, shall we say, unorthodox."

Stephen nodded. "The Danes are tired of war, and with the Treaty of Kiel assuring their continued possession of Greenland, they are willing to grant us this area for our purposes. After Elba, there is great concern that Napoleon will escape from Saint Helena in much the same manner; there are fears – quite well-founded fears – that Saint Helena is much too accessible – and that the very remoteness and difficulty of getting to this location would in itself be a major impediment to an escape attempt assisted from the outside. It is said that only the Royal Navy, and perhaps the Americans, could traverse these waters unscathed. The skill to do so is simply lacking elsewhere."

Jack agreed. "I would never have wanted to attempt passage here without those charts you provided. They are magnificent. Where did you procure them?"

Stephen shrugged. "I'm not quite sure of their origin, I just know their veracity was vouched for by men who I have every faith in. I suspect, moreover, that there are parties that feel banishing Napoleon to this frigid wasteland would hasten his unavoidable appearance at the Throne of Justice."

Tom and Jack stood in silence. Both men knew that Stephen was certainly far more than a surgeon, he was a true Doctor who would have enough to furnish a carriage after a week's worth of practice in London – but more than that, he was an intelligence agent, a very sharp old file whose opinion was greatly valued in the hidden halls where power is directed and exercised. He had never taken payment for his services; acting instead out of a sheer hatred of tyranny in all its forms and Bonapartism in particular; he could overlook the excesses of the English King by simply looking around at the lack of anything much better. He esteemed certain theories, perhaps, of the American governmental system, but he feared that he might never set foot on American soil again as he had greatly angered one of the more ruthless heads of their embryonic yet quite effective intelligence system, not in the least by not only destroying a far-flung intelligence network of his rival, but indeed of capturing and marrying his rival's lover, the late Diana Villiers, who died as Diana Maturin in a tragic carriage accident. Admiral Jack Aubrey had been commissioned to survey this site as a possible prison for the deposed French Emperor, and he was instructed to ,in the words of the Admiralty, "at all times bear heed to the counsel of Dr. Stephen Maturin, who shall be acting as an advisor in these matters." Aubrey's orders had contained similar words before and they did not surprise him; and gradually, despite extreme discretion on Stephen's part, Tom Pullings had become somewhat aware of Stephen's secret life.

Tom spoke next. "Is it true, Doctor, that the charts of these waters that you provided are the only one in existance?"

Stephen never had to answer; at that moment, there was a sharp crack, so loud as to be painful to his ears, and there was a confusing burst of disorder; he had a dim sensation of Tom Pullings pushing both him and the Admiral across the deck as some sort of giant curtain fell on the ship, and then all was dark.

"He's awake."

Stephen lay there, on a bed – a bed, for the love of God! - that was softer than any he had known. He was conscious of a complete lack of pain throughout his body; many of the aches and irritations he associated with normal existence seemed to be absent as well. He wondered, briefly, if the absence of all pain indicated that he was dead and waiting for judgement.

"Dr. Maturin? Can you hear me?"

Stephen relaxed; somehow, the strange voice carried an absolute confidence that he was truly awake; clearly, there was nothing to be gained by feigning sleep. His eyes snapped open, and he was treated to the sight of a plain, simple room occupied by four people. Two men were resplendent in full naval dress uniforms – although one was clearly not English – and two others were wearing identical, simple black long coats of what appeared to be a rather old-fashioned style. One of these figures was female; a strikingly beautiful, petite figure that seemed to gaze upon him with extreme concern – this surprised Stephen, for he knew he was not much to look at, often unkempt, certainly shockingly white-faced, with reptilian, pale eyes that seemed to not invite familiarity, which was just the way Stephen preferred it.

He looked around, but there were no further clues to be gathered from the room other than a large mirror facing him on the opposite wall. The room was well-lit with oil lanterns of some sort, but he had no idea where he was – judging by the evident age of the wood and the pleasant warmth that suffused his body, he certainly was no longer in the far north of Greenland.

"Yes, I'm awake, thank you."

The strength of his voice seemed to surprise his hosts. They looked at each other and smiled.

The tall man in the black coat stepped forward. "I would like to verify your identity, sir. Would you be kind enough to state your full name, please?"

The slightly legalistic request raised alarms within Stephen, but they clearly knew who he was; if he was in the presence of the enemy – whoever that might be – the best defense would be to wear his surgeon's status as a shield.

"I am Dr. Stephen Maturin, ship's surgeon attached to His Britannic Majesty's frigate Surprise. Would you do me the honor of introducing yourself, sir?"

"I am Doctor Charles Woodruff, my colleague here, "-at this, he gestured to the female who was still seated, "is Doctor Evelyn Wallace. This gentleman is the Captain of HMS Victory, Sir William Stillwater, who is here by direct command of the Crown, and his fellow naval officer is the Captain of the USS Constitution, Robert Wright, who is here as an advisor."

Stephen took another look at Dr. Wallace, and saw the sharp intelligence mixed with the obvious worry in her eyes. Perhaps she was concerned with his health; or perhaps she had some knowledge that he had an appointment with a firing squad somewhere and felt the normal sadness any woman would feel when looking at a condemned man.

Still, the presence of a British officer – if that was what he was, and this wasn't all some monstrous deception – was comforting.

"And may I ask where I am and how I came to be here? My memory is somewhat uncertain about that."

Charles looked closely at Stephen. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I was aboard my ship and there was a terrific crash. I had an impression of something falling, and Tom Pullings trying to protect me, and then nothing."

Charles nodded, as if this was confirming some previous thought of his.

"Indeed. You are most fortunate, Dr. Maturin, most fortunate indeed. You were seriously injured when the ice sheet parted from the glacier and struck you down on the quarterdeck of the Surprise; you have been in a sort of coma ever since."

Stephen frowned. "It is curious, then, that you are all here, expectant and waiting for me to awake, for how could you have predicted so accurately the hour of my return to the world? And I still would be most gratified if you would tell me where I am."

Charles said simply, "You are in Boston, as my patient and as an honored guest of the United States government."

Stephen looked alarmed, even as Evelyn leaned forward and put a hand on his – a firm hand, meant to reassure, yet despite its firmness Stephen was acutely conscious of the delicacy of her fingers, and above all her unquestionable femininity.

She spoke, "It's ok. You're with friends; Johnson is long dead; no harm will come to you here, and we are looking forward to returning you to England as soon as your recovery is complete."

At that, Stephen remembered something that he cursed himself for forgetting.

"And Admiral Aubrey? Where is he? Why is he not here?"

Charles replied, "He is sleeping, recovering from his injuries. We will awaken him soon."

Stephen looked with suspicion at the doctor. "More than once now, your comments have indicated that you possess a technique for awakening people from coma. I know of no such theory that would begin to predict the emergence of such patience from their sleep with such precision. What are you not telling me?"

Charles sighed. "You have been asleep a very long time, Dr. Maturin. I will explain it as best I can."

Stephen merely looked at Charles, who seemed to be waiting for some sign to continue. Charles glanced at Evelyn, and then resumed speaking.

"You are, of course, familiar with the extreme slowness and lethargy that can accompany advanced hypothermia?"

"Indeed." Stephen said nothing more; he did not know if these strange people knew he had been in Greenland and certainly was not going to enlighten them until he knew more.

"Perhaps, indeed, you are familiar with electricity, and of the profound spasms that can result when it is applied to a living body?"

Stephen nodded. "Once, in London, I saw young Faraday, who was acting as an assistant to Sir Davy of the Royal Institute, when he applied the electrical fluid to a cat in such a way that there was none of the burning nor odor that we associate with accidental electrocution, but rather a most energetic contraction of the muscles that seemed to defy possibility with its sheer speed."

Evelyn interjected, softly, "And can you imagine a muscle, a most vital muscle, that could benefit from the application of electricity?"

Stephen thought a moment, and then realized. "The electrical fluid causes muscular contraction. It stands to reason, then, that the removal of the fluid would allow a natural expansion to the muscle's original size. This means...by controlling the fluid, would could cause a muscle to expand and contract on cue. For the love of Mary. If you could avoid the ill effects, the terrors, the burning...you could restart a human heart that has ceased to beat, could you not? Is that possible?"

Charles nodded. "Yes. It is very possible. We have done it to you."

Stephen paled. "But how? How can that be? There was no electrical equipment with a thousand miles of Surprise!"

Charles spoke. "You will recall our discussion of hypothermia?"

Stephen paused. "Are you saying that I was in a hypothermic state with my heart stopped? Is that what you are saying?"

Evelyn locked eyes with Stephen, and he saw the truth. "No, Dr. Maturin, beyond hypothermia. You were frozen, locked in ice."

Stephen closed his eyes. "Then I was dead, dead, dead, and you have somehow brought me back. Once one has passed beyond death, what of one's soul?"

At this, Captain Wright of the Constitution spoke. "Surely it is not much more shocking to believe that the Almighty, who knows all and is surprised by nothing, would know if a person is destined to be awakened ? That perhaps they are not truly dead, after all, and that he would see to it that the soul of that person would be kept here on earth rather than being allowed to enter the heavenly kingdom?"

Stephen seemed to have trouble with that. "I think I understand; perhaps my brain is still somewhat frozen; could you please say that in a more succinct fashion?"

Robert smiled. "Of course. God knows the future; he knows if someone is going to be brought back or not and thereby knows not to separate your soul from your body until your final, absolute death."

Stephen considered that. "Sure, that makes perfect sense, but I dare say, with no disrespect, that there is a rehearsed quality to your words, as if you have been waiting to deliver them for a long time, a very long time perhaps, like an understudy who practices his lines unceasingly, and longs for the day when he can actually speak them in their appropriate setting."

Stephen paused, working the problem in his formidable mind, before coming to the inescapable conclusion.

"How long was I frozen?"

Charles spoke quickly. "Years."

"How many? What year is it?"

Evelyn's eyes were filled with the sadness of the ages as she softly said, "The year is 2017."

Stephen closed his eyes. "And you say Jack is going to be revived, as I was?"

Charles answered, "Yes, as will your entire crew. The Surprise was lost 201 years ago. Frozen solid in the uncharted north. Many of the officers are already animate again; we are keeping them sedated until we can wake them up, one by one. You are the first to be awakened."

Stephen opened his eyes, and they were wet with tears. "You did well to wake me up first. It will be hellish to explain this to Jack. Dear God. Christine. Sophie. All gone! Brigid...my sweet Brigid...she would be ancient twice, three times over by now. Jesus. I beg you, may I be alone for a moment?"

Charles nodded, and he and the other men left the room. Evelyn stood, and said, "I would be honored if you would let me stay with you for a few minutes. I can't imagine what you're thinking and no man should be alone with such a revelation."

Stephen squeezed her hand firmly, and emphatically declared, "By all means, stay, stay!" After a moment, he spoke more softly.

"When one must face that which can barely be contemplated, when nearly every one I have ever known is long since dust, when I have the duty, the monstrous duty, of doing my best to ease my shipmates into this undoubtedly alien world...then, perhaps, I should be most grateful for the kind hand of a beautiful stranger."

And with that, Evelyn Wallace, a stranger to Stephen Maturin although she knew him well, held the Doctor's hand as his muffled sobs echoed through the barren room.