“Help me!” William screamed, and a burly sailor grabbed Mr. Lancaster’s other arm, propelling both William and the carpenter up the companionway and out through the hatch, sprawling onto the main deck.
Voices screeched and howled in a mixed jumble of commands, and legs rushed by in a blur from every direction, obscuring William’s view of Mr. Lancaster. A heavy foot landed squarely on William’s upper back, knocking the wind out of him as he lay momentarily splayed out on the deck. As he lay gasping for a full chest of air, he could see tiny goat legs from where he was. The poor beast had pressed herself against some rough rigging in absolute fear of the mayhem going on. William crawled over to her, heedless of scraping the skin on his knees open on the planking. Untying the small animal, he cradled her in his arms, and felt her heart beating wildly against her chest wall.
William scanned the area, frantic to catch sight of his father. There was no sign of either him or of Mr. Lancaster in the boiling mix of bodies before him.
“Load on, men! The Mary Jane’s alongside!” With this new command, sailors began to swing from ropes on the HMS Argus over to the safety of the merchant ship’s deck. William saw horizontal packages swinging wildly in the air, as they were propelled over to the other ship. Squinting at one, he recognized the face and shoulders protruding out of one end of it as that of Mr. Lancaster. William let out a whoosh of air as the carpenter landed on the Mary Jane’s deck. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding his breath. Quickly lashing the trembling goat to his own torso before taking his turn at a rope, William sent up a silent prayer. Oh God! Let Da’s arms be strong enough to carry him over this way! Hanging on tightly to the rope, he hobbled a few steps forward then jumped and swung out between the two ships.
He landed with a thud on the deck of the Mary Jane, rolling sideways in an effort to cushion the tiny goat from injury. Staggering back up onto his feet, he looked back at the Argus just in time to see her begin her death roll as the incoming sea water changed her ballast, tipping her far over to her portside. The remaining men on board made desperate jumps across the widening chasm, with only three of them having stride enough to reach the Mary Jane. William watched helplessly as the others surely plunged to their deaths, disappearing into the churning sea between the ships. The HMS Argus followed them within minutes, expelling her remaining cargo into the choppy waters, littering the sea’s swells with her remnants before slipping forever beneath the surface.
Word spread quickly that an unofficial roll call had revealed that thirty-five men had been lost. Clutching the goat like an oversized talisman to his chest, William limped through the crowd of transferred crew, most of whom were already milling amongst the merchant’s ship crew. Some faces were familiar, some were not. His father’s was not among them.
“Da’!” he called, his voice breaking. “Da’! Where are you?”
“Mr. Taylor!” The voice was strained but recognizably Mr. Lancaster’s. “Over here! Calm down, boy. Who do ya’ seek?”
William stared at Mr. Lancaster’s bloodied foot. It was crushed into an unrecognizable pulpy mass. “The one they call the Gimp! The one who saved you! Where is he?” William blinked hard to hold back the tears.
Mr. Lancaster’s face softened and he grabbed William’s hand with his own. “’He’s gone, lad,” he said softly. “The cannon rolled back on him when he set me leg free. He never made it outta’ the hold.”
William stood still, stunned by what he was hearing.
“No, that can’t be! He was right behind me! I heard his voice telling me to go! I heard him!”
Mr. Lancaster gently shook his head. “He sacrificed himself so’s we could make it out. You an’ me. He’s gone now, gone down with the Argus.” A tear slowly rolled down the craggy carpenter’s face, and he brushed it brusquely away with the back of his hand. “The Gimp’s gone.”
At that moment William felt the crushing loss of everything that he had ever loved in his life. He slowly sank to his knees, bent under the weight of such sorrow, his body shuddering as he silently cried, his own tears running freely. As if sensing his grief, the little goat still tucked in his arms, timidly stretched her neck out, lifted her soft muzzle up to William’s face, and began to ever so gently lick the tears as they fell.
Crewmen from both ships worked furiously side by side, to salvage what they could of the HMS Argus’s remains. The heavy guns–all ten of the cannons–had been lost, along with most of the ammunition that the Argus had carried. The Mary Jane’s two jolly boats were immediately dropped over her side into the roiling waters, manned with sailors who frantically retrieved barrels, bobbing boxes, and whatever floating items they could reach with the long gaffs. It was no small relief that a few Argus crew members had managed to stay afloat after her sinking, and they too, were plucked from the ocean’s deadly grasp.
William saw none of this. As he squatted down by Mr. Lancaster’s side, his own grief was brought up short when his hand came to rest in a warm jellied puddle. The carpenter’s mangled foot had continued to bleed heavily onto the decking. Letting go of the goat, William sprang up and stripped off the remains of his shirt. Twisting it into a crude tourniquet, he tied it around the carpenter’s mid calf and twisted the ends into a knot.
“Help! We need the Surgeon!” he yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the continued chaos around him. William frantically scanned the deck for the Surgeon. He saw no one familiar to him but as he continued to yell for help, a large, neatly dressed man approached with purposeful strides and reaching the carpenter, quickly crouched down and examined the injury.
“Are you a surgeon?” William inquired. The man appeared to know just what and how to examine someone, as though he had done it all of his life. Mr. Lancaster groaned with the increasing pain of his wound. Ignoring William, the stranger stood and called out to two sailors who were struggling to skid a rescued trunk across the deck.
“Here! You two! Transport this man immediately to the surgical quarters! This leg must be squared off and the wound cauterized before he bleeds out! His life depends now upon your haste!” Leaving the trunk where it was, the men grabbed Mr. Lancaster and half dragged, half carried him down into the lower deck.
“Wait!” William cried out in challenge. “Where are you taking him? He needs the Surgeon!”
The stranger spun around to face William, assessing him with a disdainful glare. “ I am a physician, trained in the practice and science of human medicine, and not just a surgeon, as you are so inclined to call the human butchers who masquerade as men of medicine aboard ships such as yours. Therefore, in the future, if you are to speak to me at all, you may address me as Dr. Willoughby.”
The surgical area of the Mary Jane was an actual room, partitioned off from the rest of the second deck and secured by a door equipped with a heavy sliding bolt. The walls were lined with shelves and with cabinets whose doors were secured shut with hooks and locks. In the middle of the small room, there was a sturdy table upon which the sailors deposited Mr. Lancaster. William pushed his way into the room on the heels of the sailors. The doctor was already choosing his surgical tools from a shelf that had been built into the wall.
“Call my daughter in to assist,” he instructed the men, “and heat the broad knife in the fire.” Without so much as looking up, he thrust a small glass vial towards William. “Mix this in with a half mug of rum from the bottle in the first cupboard, and make sure he drinks it all. Then give him this leather thong to bite down upon, if he remains of present mind for the procedure.” For the first time since William had entered into the room, the doctor looked up.
“You! By whose authority are you in here?”
Only half conscious and showing increasing signs of the extent of his blood loss, Mr. Lancaster spoke up in William’s defense. “Leave the lad be, Sir. Don’cha know that without his help I’d have lost more than me foot? ‘Course ya’ don’t.” He spoke between teeth clenched against the pain. “He’s me mate, he is.”
> Glancing from his patient to William, Dr. Willoughby snorted. “Very well, if you are to stay, be useful. Administer the rum and laudanum, immediately.” William quickly poured the vial’s contents and two glugs out of the rum bottle into a battered tin mug and offered it to Mr. Lancaster.
“Ya’ won’t be lettin’ him take off more than what seems necessary, will ya’ now?” Mr. Lancaster whispered. His eyes searched William’s face. “ ‘Course ya’ won’t,” he murmured to himself as he tipped the cup back to drain the last few drops. Within minutes he closed his eyes, the powerful mixture having done its job.
“Father? You sent for me?” A young woman, her hair in a thick shank of auburn ringlets gathered loosely to one side, stood in the tiny doorway. William looked up and froze in an all-out stare. It had been weeks since he had seen a woman, let alone one of his own age group. Her eyes were as deeply green as the ocean and her pupils threatened to swallow him up in their intensity. Her eyes locked with his, as they momentarily assessed each other. Wisps of copper curls framed her face and a faint smattering of freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose. Her lips were full and pink and set in a determined line as she stared back at him. He stole only a glance at her thin figure before the doctor’s voice sliced through the air.
“Tess, you will stand to my right, please, and hand me the tools. Men,” he continued, instructing the sailors, “bind the patient’s arms to the table and hold him down should he come to. And you,” he nodded toward William, “will apply the cautery blade from the fire to the vessels to seal them as they are cut through.” And with that, he set about to work with the curved blade of the amputation knife.
Soft skin, muscles, nerves and blood vessels were severed to the bone with just a few deft slices.
“Seal that,” the doctor ordered, gesturing towards the sanguineous gush.
The smell of seared flesh in William’s nostrils brought back the horror of the fire all over again. He swallowed hard to keep his stomach steady. The young woman stood by her father, showing no signs of discomfort or disgust as the doctor placed the bloodied tools into her hands.
Peering more closely at the injured limb, the doctor peeled back the tissues to reveal the shin bones, one larger, one thin, until he had exposed a hand’s width of raw bone.
“The bone saw now, Tess.” He thrust an outstretched hand towards her and she placed it in his grasp. With a few hard rasps of its blade, the bones were cut through, and Mr. Lancaster’s lower leg and mangled foot tumbled to the floor. William’s head filled with the rushing sound of his own blood, and he leaned heavily into the table to steady himself. The young woman stood beside him, showing no sign of emotion.
Her nearness was a welcome distraction. She is beautiful. Shapely. He inhaled a slow breathe to clear his head. Her scent struck him like a club. She smells so good! And –
To his horror he felt an unbidden stirring in his loins. For Chrissakes! Settle down! he scolded himself. You’ll impress no one with a telltale bone in your pants! Least of all her father! Especially while he’s got a weapon in his hands that just sliced a man’s leg off! This last truth had its desired effect on his budding erection but William leaned a few seconds longer against the table edge just to be sure.
“Seal off the last of that, and we’re nearly done,” Dr. Willoughby ordered. William grabbed the knife handle from the edge of the embers and applied the glowing blade broadside to the bleeding stump. He winced as the skin and bloodied tissues crackled and hissed.
Satisfied that the bleeding was under control, the doctor pulled the retracted tissues back down and quickly laced the skin flaps tightly together with a dozen stitches. He finished the procedure by sprinkling the end of the raw stump liberally with flour before covering it with a layer of cotton lint and a cloth dressing.
“We are done.” Dr. Willoughby looked at William. “Thoroughly cleanse these tools, and dispose of the droppings of flesh and bone.” The doctor then beckoned to his daughter. “Tess, let us wash up.”
The amputation had taken only minutes. Although the doctor’s demeanor towards William and the sailors had been aggressive, his skill level was impressive. The stump wound had not bled through so far. William checked Mr. Lancaster’s face for any signs of discomfort, but the carpenter remained unconscious, breathing in blowy, gurgling breaths. William looked up and caught the pair of deep green eyes staring at him again. A building fullness in his crotch warned him that the attraction he felt was about to rise again. Goddamn it! He clutched the knife in front of himself with both hands. Why won’t she quit looking at me?
Tess? Is that what her father called her? She continued to stare. Probably judging me to be of a status well beneath her, just like her father did. William returned the stare, partly in defiance and partly in open admiration of the young woman.
Holding out one hand, he motioned for her to hand over the saw and amputation knife. A look of surprise flitted across her face and was quickly replaced by a hint of a smile. Perfect teeth behind perfect lips. A small bolt of heat shot through his fingers as her hand momentarily grazed his. The bloodied tools clattered onto the floorboards.
“Take more care or I’ll have you whipped, boy!” Dr. Willoughby spun around at the noise.
“It was my fault, Father,” his daughter quickly interjected. “I accidentally dropped them before he had a chance to take them from me.”
William dropped down onto his knees and quickly grabbed for the tools with his left hand. Again, a soft gasp from her. William did not dare look up, but gripped the items tightly in his hand. He struggled to his feet, trying not to put full weight on his injured ankle which now throbbed anew. “I’ll clean up, Sir, right away.”
“What is your station?” The doctor’s voice was commanding.
“My station, Sir?”
Dr. Willoughby sighed in exasperation. “Yes, your station. What is it that you do?”
“I cooked. And I helped Mr. Lancaster there, with the boat’s repairs. And….” The doctor’s glare was withering.
“And?” the doctor asked impatiently.
“And … I entertained the men in the evenings,” William finished in a rushed breath.
The sudden silence in the room was nearly palpable.
A deep and disapproving frown on the doctor’s face and the blush in his daughter’s cheeks marked William’s poor choice of words.
“Uh, I mean, that is to say, I entertained them with my instrument!” he flustered. “I mean, I was also one of the musicians–I play the flute ….” William’s voice trailed away in embarrassment.
The doctor locked William in his gaze for a moment while stifling a small smile. “Well it seems that you are rather skilled with your hands. What is your name, should I find the need to call upon you for assistance again?”
“William Taylor, Sir.”
“Mr. Taylor. Very well then. Clean these quarters with haste and diligence as I’ve no doubt there will be others requiring our true medical care. May I present Miss Willoughby, my daughter. You will be working alongside of us both. Perhaps she could apply a wrap to that ankle of yours.”
William nodded his head in introduction. Miss Willoughby. Tess. She was still smiling at him.
A loud crash from outside the cabin on the deck brought William out of his reverie. He bolted out the door, unheeding of his ankle pain as he recognized the panicked bleating mixed in with loud shouting and the heavy slaps of many feet.
The goat! His Da’s goat! Out on the deck men were bunched up, their bodies creating a thick wall in front of William. He could hear the terrorized animal and realized from the laughter that the little she-goat was somehow the focus of it all. In a panic, he pushed and tore at the arms and bodies in front of him, working his way through the crowd. Tiny hoofed legs flailed helplessly in the air above the heads and shoulders of the men in the front of the gathered mass. They’re throwing her in the air!
“Stop it, you bloody bastards! Stop!” William screamed, his voice only
diluting in with the rest.
Amid the shouts and laughter, William realized the Mary Jane’s sailors were jeering and hurling insults at something else. William listened. No, not something. Someone.
“Hey! You! Ya’ Lame Brain! They shoulda’ left ya’ bobbin’ in the sea! Christ! Ya’ look like a sea monster anyhow! What’s the matter, huh? Ya’ son of a sea cook! Ya’ still got a water-logged brain? Ya’’ want this goat? Let’s see ya’ come an’ get her then! Over here, boys! Catch!”
“Na-o-ogh!”
William froze for just a heartbeat. In the next moment, he was crashing through the wall of bodies, a roar of outrage exploding from him, the bloodied surgical tools still in his grasp. Mindlessly, he slashed and hacked at those around him, slicing through the air with the amputation knife in one hand and the bone saw in the other, immediately clearing a path to the centre of the melee.
“Da’?” William gasped for breath, the pain in his ankle forgotten, blocked by the surge of hope coursing through him. William watched as the sodden, rumpled giant in the centre of the crowd grabbed Gerta from the hands of an equally large and fierce looking sailor. Clutching her to his chest, he slowly turned around in an awkward, swaying pirouette.
“Wee-um!” John Robert smiled his lopsided grin.
Initially caught off guard, the sailors had widened their circle, but they quickly recovered and like a pack of wolves sensing easy prey before them in the form of a disabled man with an armful of young goat and an unknown young man looking back at him wide-eyed in confused disbelief, they began to close in on the pair.
“Get back, you goddamn scabs! Get back, or I’ll open you from stem to stern, I swear to Christ, I will!” William brandished both weapons in slow deliberate passes in front of him. From the corner of his eye he saw an arm move, saw a pistol–or was it a knife?–being unsheathed from a belt. Instinct took over and in a flash, William spun on his good foot and sent the amputation knife whizzing through the air. A scream from the target told William that the wickedly curved blade had found its mark, pinning the would-be assailant’s forearm with a solid thunk to the mast behind the man. William heard a loud gasp from beside him.
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