Excerpt from Morgan's Run by Colleen McCullough, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Cousin James-of-the-clergy was overwhelmed with burials. But the Morgans had kinship rights, so despite the calls on his time he interred Mary Morgan, aged three, with all the solemnities the Church of England could provide. Heavy with exhaustion and near her time, Peg leaned on her aunt and mother-in-law while Richard stood, weeping desolately, quite alone; he would not permit anyone to go near him. His father, who had lost children -- indeed, who had not? -- was humiliated by this torrent of grief, this unseemly unmanning. Not that Richard cared how his father felt. He did not even know. His bubba Mary was dead and he, who would gladly have died in her place, was alive and in the world without her. God was not good. God was not kind or merciful. God was a monster more evil than the Devil, who at least made no pretense of virtue.


An excellent thing, Dick and Mag Morgan agreed, that Peg was about to birth another child. The only anodyne for Richard's grief was a new baby to love.

"He might turn against it," said Mag anxiously.

"Not Richard!" said Dick scornfully. "He is too soft."

Dick was right, Mag wrong. For the second time Richard Morgan was enveloped in that ocean of love, though now he had some idea of its profundity. Knew the immensity of its depths, the power of its storms, the eternity of its reaches. With this child, he had vowed, he would learn to float, he would not expend his strength in fighting. A resolution which lasted no longer than the frozen moment in which he took in the sight of his son's face, the placid minute hands, the pulse inside a brand-new being on this sad old earth. Blood of his blood, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh.

It was not in the province of a woman to name her babies. That task fell to Richard.

"Call him Richard," said Dick. "It is tradition."

"I will not. We have a Dick and a Richard already, do we now need a Dickon or a Rich?"

"I rather like Louis," said Peg casually.

"Another papist name!" roared Dick. "And it's Frog!"

"I will call him William Henry," said Richard.

"Bill, like his uncle," said Dick, pleased.

"No, Father, not Bill. Not Will. Not Willy, not Billy, not even William. His name is William Henry, and so he will be known by everybody," said Richard so firmly that the debate ended.

Truth to tell, this decision gratified the whole clan. Someone known to everybody as William Henry was bound to be a great man.

Richard gave voice to this verdict when he displayed his new son to Mr. James Thistlethwaite, who snorted.

"Aye, like Lord Clare," he said. "Started out a schoolmaster, married three fat and ugly old widows of enormous fortune, was -- er -- lucky enough to be shriven of them in quick succession, became a Member of Parliament for Bristol, and so met the Prince of Wales. Plain Robert Nugent. Rrrrrrrrrolling in the soft, which he proceeded to lend liberally to Georgy-Porgy Pudden 'n' Pie, our bloated Heir. No interest and no repayment of the principal until even the King could not ignore the debt. So plain Robert Nugent was apotheosized into Viscount Clare, and now has a Bristol street named after him. He will end an earl, as my London informants tell me that his soft is still going princeward at a great rate. You have to admit, my dear Richard, that the schoolmaster did well for himself."

"Indeed he did," said Richard, not at all offended. "Though I would rather," he said after a pause, "that William Henry earned his peerage by becoming First Lord of the Admiralty. Generals are always noblemen because army officers have to buy their promotions, but admirals can scramble up with prize-money and the like."

"Spoken like a true Bristolian! Ships are never far from any Bristolian's thoughts. Though, Richard, ye have no experience of them beyond looking." Mr. Thistlethwaite sipped his rum and waited with keen anticipation for the warm glow to commence inside him.

Excerpted from Morgan's Run, copyright (c)2000 Colleen McCullough. Reprinted with permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.