“Not really. I would rather be two points up on the wind, but it will make the motion rougher.”
“I hardly noticed, being so focused on the work. We have a broken arm to set, but afterwards we can tie them down. Do as needs must, and I shall finish my work below. Shall I send Ellen up as soon as we can spare her?”
“I should love to see her, but tell her it will be rough and wet, so if she is concerned or exhausted, she should not brave it, and I will see her for breakfast.”
“Aye, Captain,” Neville said, and went below. The yelling and noises of tightening sail had already begun as he descended the stair.
He found Ellen slumped forward with her cheek against Marion’s. To have such a friend is a beautiful thing. He decided to leave them be and proceed to the setting of Kirklay’s arm.
Kirklay was near drunk by then. The procedure went quickly. Lowder had indeed seen much of this. A quick pull and twist, followed by tight bandaging, brought them to a temporary end.
Neville now turned to sewing – first Marion – then Kirklay. He woke Ellen. “Dear, sweet Ellen,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the boat sounds, “Do you think you can sew the wounds? I’m sure Marion would appreciate your dainty stitch far more than the quackery I will certainly make of her fair leg.”
“Neville, I have never sewn more than stuff.”
“Sewing is sewing, and I know you are good at it. I have sewn my clothes and I have sewn a man’s arms. Other than some blood, the big difference is mental state of the sewer. Think of it as a pretty dress and remember not to make it too tight. You don’t want the skin to bunch up, or it will leave a mean-looking scar. I’ll be right with you for threading needles and snipping threads.”
Ellen bit her lip. “I’ll try, Neville. I love her, you know.”
“I know you do – as much as I, perhaps. Let’s set her to rights.”
They returned the leather stick to her mouth and began. The activity immediately woke Marion. She screamed when the bandage was removed and Ellen touched her leg. Neville had to resume holding her leg still, which he found more difficult with the increased motion of the ship. Mr. Moffitt, the new man, held her ankle, and Lowder, her shoulders. Ellen sewed – one stitch after the next, pulling loose flaps of skin together and making a neat patchwork of it. A small dash of turpentine brought another shriek.
But the process wasn’t over. Next, in order to tackle the smaller wound on the back of her leg where the splinter had come through, she had to be turned over. The “surgeons” lost a half minute while Ellen composed herself and wiped away tears. Neville, himself with a quivering chin, threaded the needle anew and Ellen resumed.
The entire procedure, including the dosing of turpentine, was completed in another twenty minutes. Neville relayed Joseph’s message, and Ellen rose stiffly to her feet.
“Take a tarpaulin jacket if you go topside, Mrs. Dagleishe,” Neville cautioned. “There’s one.” He pointed.
He and the other two men turned their attention to stitching up Mr. Kirklay. After watching Neville make only a few crude stitches with a shaky hand, Lowder requested he be the one to sew. Neville demoted himself to holding. He heard the ship’s bell strike midnight. Five hours he had been in sick bay – he was exhausted.
Following the surgeries, Neville went topside for some fresh air. Lowder had volunteered to wait for his return. On deck, he found Ellen snuggled under Joseph’s arm. Lieutenant Mason arrived to take the watch.
“How is Marion?” Ellen asked.
“Sewn up and sleeping. She will feel awful in the morning.”
“I plan to sleep next to her tonight, Neville.”
Both Joseph and Neville thought to protest, but Ellen would hear none of it. “You must both be exhausted,” she said. “We need you tomorrow. We don’t want to be caught by the French. I don’t want to go back, and you two would probably not survive. After this, I do not plan to leave my husband’s side for a long time.”
“I will find you blankets,” Joseph said. They all turned their faces downwind for a moment to let spray from a large wave blow past.
“Come find me, Ellen – for any reason.”
The three went below.
Marion and Ellen were both asleep when Neville looked in at first light. The motion of the ship had not changed much. Mr. Kirklay moaned softly, but not enough to wake up the women. He did not seem coherent, either, so Neville left in search of a morning coffee. He found Joseph looking at the chart with Lt. Mason.
“Good Morning, Neville. Have you looked in on our ladies?”
“I have. They are still asleep. Where are we?”
“Here, off the southern tip of Dominica.”
“Are we not going in to anchor?”
“I have decided we should continue to Saint Lucia. Dominica is far too close to Guadeloupe. If we are being chased, they may be on us in hours.”
“Is there no protection from shore?”
“Unlikely. I am told the French burned Roseau to the ground a year and a half ago. We approached as close as possible without taking too much time. The lookout reports a sail coming out. I believe it is Elizabeth. He also reports a likely sail ahead, though he’s not sure yet. It may be Fleur de Lorient. If this is all true, I believe we have done well, yet we must still avoid Martinique.”
“We might still be caught by some lucky Frenchman by pure chance, I suppose.” Neville said, “but if we can catch Lorient, we’ll have our eight guns and their four.”
“Right you are. I am going to look in on Ellen before I retire. Lieutenant Mason has the watch. Take the next, will you?”
“Aye, Captain,” Neville answered with a wry smile. He went to request a coffee from the galley, and then on deck to see the situation for himself.
* * * * *
From where Neville stood on Penguin’s deck, he saw the peaks of Dominica to the northeast and Martinique to the southeast. The sight alarmed him. Dominica, being British, presented no problem, but Martinique did.
“Lieutenant Mason, do you not think we will pass too close to Martinique, risking being seen from shore?”
“I had the same thought. Personally, I think at least three leagues to the west of French shores, if not more, is the better alternative. We are no tall-masted man-o-war, but a sloop of war or some such thing part way between us and the island might see us.”
“The wind favors us by remaining from the east. I recommend a change of course three points further west.”
“I agree. I would make no such change without consulting Captain Dagleishe, were you not such a friend of his, and a captain yourself. The change would comfort me immensely.”
“Please do so.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” Mason called the acting boatswain over and passed the order.
“Have we seen any sail ahead, Lieutenant Mason?”
“Aye, Sir. Only about a league now. Our lookout is sure it is Fleur de Lorient.” He raised a flat hand to indicate a point off the larboard bow. “There, you see her?”
“Aye. Any other? Elizabeth?”
“No Sir. Not seen.”
“Carry on. I’m going…”
“Sail, ho!” cried the lookout.
“Where away, Mister Sanders?” yelled Mason.
“Larboard beam, Sir. Martinique. Royal or t’garns’l, mebbe.”
“Course?”
“Sailing large, Sir. Right at us. At least two leagues.”
“Say your prayers, Lieutenant Mason, and keep me advised.”
Below, in sick bay, he found Ellen sitting by Marion, dabbing beer onto her lips with a damp cloth. Marion’s eyes were droopy, but she cooperated. Neville remembered being in her state – his leg broken and splinted – and a vision of a white angel coming toward him. He wished he could be the angel for Marion. Maybe he was… her eyes fluttered and a hint of smile crossed her lips.
“I’ll return in a moment,” Ellen said. “She seems to be enjoying the beer.”
Neville leaned close and lo
oked into her eyes. “Marion, my love. I am so happy to see you.” He leaned closer and kissed her lips.
“Where – were – you?”
“Ship’s business,” he said. “I’m here now. Ellen has not left your side, you lucky girl.”
“Not – lucky. Hurts.”
“I know. But you’ll be right as rain…”
Marion drifted off to sleep again. Neville waited for Ellen’s return. It took quite some time, which caused him to assume she had gone to see Joseph. He sat holding Marion’s hand, simply pleased to know that no one had been sent to update him on an oncoming French ship.
When Ellen returned, they talked for a few minutes about Marion’s condition and Ellen’s intention to change the bandage. Neville thanked her again for her devotion and returned topside. His worry returned at the sight of the sun low in the sky. Evening sun silhouettes the sails of any ship to the west.
“Where is the sail out of Martinique?” he asked Mason.
“There, aft,” Mason answered. “She must either be a merchant, who doesn’t care about us, or a navy ship with a poor lookout or no time for small fry. No change in her course to the east that I can tell.”
“The Good Lord loves us, after all. Where is Lorient?”
“Look forward. She’s big as life, half a league away. It appears she’s spilling wind to let us catch her and speak.”
“Excellent. I didn’t see her behind the jib. I’ll take the watch. Enjoy your supper.”
Penguin and Fleur de Lorient dropped anchor near Elizabeth in Saint Lucia’s Rodney Bay the following day, shortly before sunset. Elizabeth had made the same decision about stopping at Dominica, and also sailed straight to St. Lucia. The three ships rested there for three days, bartering excess ship’s equipment for anything to eat and drink they were offered. They deposited their prisoners with the local naval authorities and reinforced Elizabeth’s men with a few from Penguin. Marion’s leg improved, as did Mr. Kirklay’s arm. The leg swelled horribly and turned a sickening black and blue around the wound – an expected result of some internal bleeding and being battered by the splinter – but not green. On the second day she began talking, but still slept more than she stayed awake. In the evening she took some burgoo. By morning, swelling of the leg had decreased, and she took an egg for breakfast with Neville. The sheer joy of it made tears run down Neville’s cheeks.
“If we have the supplies we need, Joseph, I say – as ship’s doctor – that Marion is ready to sail. God grant we do not encounter a gale or hurricane, a downwind passage of three hundred leagues should be smooth. I have spoken with Mister Rawkins and he is confident I am not needed aboard Elizabeth. He will stay close anyway, since Elizabeth is the least armed of the three. Master Carstens is certainly capable of commanding Fleur de Lorient, so we await your orders.”
“Anchors up after dinner, then, Doctor Burton.”
25: Jamaica
Clouds gathered high to the west on the tenth day of the passage. The breeze had also increased – above force three or maybe four.
Neville stood with Joseph at break of day, observing the rising seas. Neville had his customary tankard of coffee, and Joseph a cup of tea. He had apparently not converted from his English ways to the islands’ customs.
“That’s Jamaica there, Joseph, under the clouds.”
“Not officially. The lookout hasn’t hollered…”
“Land ho!” yelled the man above. Joseph waved at him.
“A shame,” Neville said, “… Not even enough time to get in a wager.”
“You could scarce believe how much I am looking forward to sleeping in my own berth.”
“With your wife, of course… if she’ll leave Marion.”
“We’ve talked about it. She will, although she will need to visit Marion’s house to borrow some clothes. Marion is doing quite well now, thanks to a smooth passage.”
“She is. She may insist on standing – or even walking – when she meets her father. I’ve told her he also has a broken leg, by the way, so she will probably want to show him she’s stronger than he is. In any case, I’ll be forced to take a bed at Independence Hall.”
“Such hardship. Quite like the poor house in England, is it?”
Three anchors were down, close by the British frigate Galatea in Port Royal Bay, before dark. Within half an hour, the frigate dressed from bow to masthead to stern with ‘welcome home’ flags for her captain – a moving scene for every sailor on all four ships.
Despite the growing darkness and threat of rain, Mr. Chester Stillwater came personally, with two carriages, to convey his daughter and her friends to his home. Joseph and Ellen Dagleishe gave their sincere apologies and promised to visit the next day. Mr. Rawkins and a couple of his married men agreed only to be transported to their homes. The remainder were Chester, Neville, and Marion. After being delicately carried to shore by barge and lifted carefully to the pier by sling, Marion did exactly as Neville expected and walked to her father using a crude crutch. He waited by the carriage, observing her arrival.
“It’s been too long, my precious little girl,” he said. “What’s happened to you?”
“Enemy fire.” She hugged and kissed him. “But my life was saved by Doctor Burton – and your ships. Let’s go home.”
Nobody woke early enough the next morning at Independence Hall to bother with breakfast. Neville first downstairs. He found his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and took it to a small table in the back garden. There he sat amongst the flowers, observing the clouds – now even more seriously threatening rain than they had the previous morning. The breeze rustled the larger bushes in the garden and not long after before ‘threatening’ turned to action. Small drops of rain began landing on the little table and rattling the large leaves of the Anthuriums. Neville took another sip of his coffee, thinking the weather nothing like offshore, but the drops quickly increased in size. He was drenched before reaching the door. A full gale had landed upon the island in moments.
Neville sat in Chester’s study after drying himself with a towel provided by Mr. Fries. A clunk, clunk, clunk sound soon approached, which he wished to be Marion’s cane.
Neville jumped to his feet when Chester appeared, and the two embraced.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Neville said.
“Nonsense, Captain… or is it ‘Doctor’? Thank you for my daughter’s recovery… or her life.”
“No, Sir. It’s still Captain. It is I who thank you for your daughter. Such a person is a true blessing to meet, let alone to love. And we couldn’t have done it without your ships and Joseph’s devotion to Ellen. As the Spanish and Italians say: ‘A thousand thank-you’s.”
“I have some post for you,” Chester said. He clomped to his writing desk, opened the drawer, and removed two canvas-wrapped bundles tied with wide red English naval ribbon. He handed them to Neville.
“I honestly don’t know if I wish to read these,” Neville said, and dropped them in his lap. He took another sip of his coffee, “…but I suppose I must.” They were both addressed with a familiar hand. He untied the first, popped off the red sealing wax, opened the envelope and read. A smile came to his face.
He opened the second, and the smile went away. “I shall read these aloud when Marion is here,” he said.
“I hear her now,” Chester said. The clunk, clunk, clunk of another cane echoed along the hallway. The two stood before she entered.
“What is this?” Marion asked when she entered the study. “Am I now the queen? When have you stood for me, Father?”
Instantly annoyed, Chester said, “I have always been…”
“The most wonderful father ever,” Marion said. “I’m sorry. I jest. How are my two favorite men this morning?”
“Hungry,” they both answered.
“You haven’t had breakfast? What time is it?”
Conveniently, the clock chimed 11:00… the doorbell rang.
“I’m expecting nobody,” Chester said.
>
They waited for Mr. Fries to answer the door and return. “It’s Captain and Mrs. Dagleishe,” he said. “They’re a bit damp.”
“No one minds,” Marion said. “Please show them in and ask Mrs. Potter if she will bring us lunch in the dining room.”
While the rain pattered on the windows, the group enjoyed a small meal of pork, rice, and tropical fruit. Neville eventually decided it was time he read his letters. He stood and showed the envelope to Marion and Ellen. “I trust you recognize the hand?”
Their smiles immediately shrank. Neville read:
Whitehall, London
3rd May, 1807
My Dears Neville and Marion,
I pray this finds you in the best of health as you prepare for a most glorious wedding. I am only sorry I cannot attend.
I shall leave a gift with your mother in the hopes you will return to England soon and perform an anniversary celebration here with your family. I shall certainly attend.
I wish you the best of everything.
Your proud ‘Stepfather’,
Wm. Mulholland
“Oh, lovely,” Ellen said. “It’s not what I had expected at all.”
“No?” Marion said, “What did you expect?”
“Same as you, I think.”
“This,” Neville said. He showed the second envelope, addressed in the same hand.
At that, the smiles faded..
Whitehall, London
23rd May, 1807
My Dear Neville,
I have waited another three weeks in the hope my timing is not untoward.
I understand why you left hurriedly, but the Navy will not be misdirected for long. At their enquiry, I have advised them of your location and reason. In return, they asked if I might send you this, so as to make your receipt of this news a little more polite than a formal summons.
Since you are in Jamaica, they request you report at your earliest convenience, but by 15th August at the latest, to the Commanding Officer of the Jamaica Station for assignment as he may need.
The Delirium Passage Page 23