We now sailed with all speed towards the place where our leader hoped to find riches to plunder, and it was not long before a small merchantman hove into sight. Once both the Revenge and the Black Angel raised the black flags, not even a warning shot was needed to bring her to heel. She dropped her sail and waited while we approached. She had no gun ports and but one small cannon I could see on deck. Even so, I felt the same pull in my guts that I had felt whenever the Angel, as a privateer, had taken a prize. There was always the risk of hidden weapons or some hothead who would defy us against all reason.
We drew alongside while the Black Angel stood a little way off with several of her gun ports open. Our boarding party swarmed over the side and we took her without a shot being fired. As surgeon, I was not expected to take an active role, so I had been standing well back, but once she was safely secured I moved closer. The captain of the vessel and his crew had been herded near to where I stood and were being guarded while their ship was looted. I looked at them curiously. No doubt they were happy to have their lives spared, if not their livelihood. I wondered if we might keep their ship and add more to our fleet.
‘She is too slow for us,’ Rowan told me when I asked. ‘And even if she were right for us, the crew might give trouble and we would most likely have to toss at least some of them overboard. You may think us bloodthirsty dogs, young Sawbones, but it always unsettles us to do that.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ I said.
‘I remembered your quest for books,’ Rowan added, handing me a salt-stained volume. ‘Another for your library. Are you not now a very well-set-up young fellow?’
I agreed and congratulated myself for the decisions I had lately made. I had become my own man. My decision to abandon my shipmates and go willingly with the pirates had been excellently made. I had impressed the pirates by saving Black Tom’s leg and now I found myself surgeon not just to one ship but two. My only enemy sailed in the Black Angel while I kept company with my friend the captain in the Revenge. Being surgeon, I would be obliged neither to climb rigging nor risk my life in a boarding party. In short, I had fallen like a cat, on its feet.
What was more, my share of any prize was generous, whereas I had hardly a penny to my name as Ptolemy’s mate. And, when we had called at Port Royal and the other places where a privateer was welcome, Ptolemy had not allowed me ashore. He had kept me innocent of women and that had rankled. Now I looked forward to joining my new shipmates in the stews and inns that I had heard so much about. And when I was rich, I told myself, I would give up this life, sail home and lord it over the village from whence I had come. I would avenge the death of my father, drive out the Johnsons and make Charlie, my childhood friend and milk brother, my general factotum. How everyone would admire my fine clothes and carriage!
In spite of dreaming of being lord over an English village, the pirates’ democracy is something I still greatly admire. I wish society could aspire to it, though how such a device could work well for more than a few dozen men I am at a loss to explain. For pirates consider that each man is equal to the other and all debate the articles until agreement is reached. The leader is voted for and is followed only for as long as he has the support of his fellows. My one-and-a-quarter share of the booty was awarded to me in recognition of my value as surgeon and physician. Sums are awarded to the injured for their hurts and all share equally the food and drink available. Work is done when needed and the rest of the time all take their ease. I would the world was thus for every man. It is, however, impossible.
We were not far from that island they call Jamaica and all on board were minded to sail at once for Port Royal to change goods into gold and gold into entertainment.
‘It will make a man of you,’ said Rowan, who seemed to take it for granted that I had not been there before. ‘I will take you myself to my favourite inn and get you a willing girl. Only the best will do for our young Sawbones!’
I remember so clearly land being sighted and the long hours that dragged until we finally arrived at the busy harbour. I remember the beauty of the island with its wooded hills and the stone buildings, like those in an English town. I was, however, given little time to admire the place. Rowan’s offer to make a man of me was a popular suggestion and it seemed most of the crew wished to be involved. As a result, I was almost entirely swept from my feet and carried ashore by a laughing wave of pirates. The cry went up to take me into the first inn on the quayside, but Rowan refused.
‘D’you want a surgeon riddled with the pox?’ he demanded to ribald laughter. ‘I say we take him to the Serpent.’
He got his way, and so they carried me on, half laughing and half protesting until we arrived at the door of an inn several streets back from the harbour. I recall the first few drinks, the back-slapping and the jokes, half of which I understood. I became as merry as the best of them, loquacious and with a feeling of such belonging as I had never before felt with any other group of men. I was finding it hard to focus and harder to sit upright, but I do remember Rowan asking me what sort of girl I would like.
I looked up and saw, collecting the used tankards, a girl with long, tangled black hair, eyes as bright as ripe currants on the bush and skin the colour of rich mahogany. My hand felt weighted, as if it held a heavy stone, but I did my best to raise it and point at the girl.
My friends shouted in what I supposed was approval and I remember smiling at them as if I had said something clever. One of them must have gone over to her, for in a few minutes she was standing in front of me, holding a brimming mug. I don’t remember if she spoke English to me – I think not – but she offered me the drink.
‘What is it?’ I asked. I hadn’t asked what I was drinking before, but perhaps I thought this drink, offered by the girl of my choice, might be some sort of love potion. She replied, but I didn’t understand. My friends were roaring at me to raise my mug, but I roared my question back.
‘WHAT IS IT?’
Black Tom took my arm in his hand and shook it in high good humour. ‘Just rumfustian,’ he told me. ‘Drink it down. Rumfustian is good.’
Immediately, and with no warning, the tears began to spurt from my eyes. I don’t think I made a sound, but I stared at the mug with the tears blurring my sight. A slow silence fell over the group as they all noticed that I wept.
‘What ails him?’ asked one.
‘Is he a maudlin drinker?’ said another.
After a moment, Rowan put his arm about my shoulder and helped me to rise. ‘He weeps because she is too beautiful for him,’ he said, and laughter was restored. But he and the girl took me upstairs between them, and Rowan made some financial arrangement with her while I continued to weep into the bed.
‘Are you ill, lad?’ he asked at last. ‘Do you wish to return to the ship?’
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak for grieving for my dead father and the rest of what I had lost.
‘Drink and women combined make some men weep,’ he went on. ‘Think nothing of it. Talbo will look after you, and if you want me I shall be downstairs. All right?’
I must have nodded because I felt his hand briefly on my shoulder and then he left. I remember nothing of the rest of the night and have no idea if I lost my virgin state or not. In the morning, there was terrible pain in my head and I was alone in the bed. I was grateful to get back to the ship and collapse into my bunk. I was in no state to rebuff the jibes and teasing that came my way, but I bore it all in good part, knowing that from my friends it was fondly done. I was glad of a few days’ peace at sea to mend my head and stomach before we fell upon our next prize, for, unlike the small merchantman, this vessel gave me work to do.
21
In search of a prize, we sailed close to a route many traders took. There was the risk of meeting navy vessels or privateers, but we had two fast ships and Rowan was confident we could repel or escape should the need occur. Even so, remembering Ptolemy’s instructions, I set out my table for the treatment of any wounded whenever Rowan dec
ided to engage.
I was on deck when the call came from above. ‘Sail ho!’ There was tension while we waited to see what sort of vessel she was. At last it was decided she was a merchant ship and a large one at that. With the Black Angel we changed tack and with full sails sped to catch her. At first, she did not seem to have seen us or thought us harmless traders, but then she hoisted more sail and increased her speed.
Rowan chuckled. ‘She thinks to outrun us. But we will have her.’
It took us a while, but by afternoon we were much closer. Rowan ordered our gun ports opened and the cannon made ready. I went below to light the lantern and check the instruments but couldn’t resist going back on deck when all was done.
Once we were within reach, Rowan ordered our black flag raised and the Black Angel did the same. We were soon in a position to steal the merchant vessel’s wind and our prize had to accept the inevitable. It seemed the captain was minded to be pragmatic and give in without loss of life. Their ship’s several gun ports stayed closed and the crew waited, hands at their sides. The Black Angel was closest to the prize, so she drew alongside while we kept watch.
Merry-eyes led his boarding party. He leapt aboard first and made for the captain, with his men beside him. At that moment some several members of the merchant vessel let fly with the pistols they had hidden about their persons. And more, a small cannon, which we had not seen, was fired directly at the boarders.
Our company was not so naive that we would send a boarding party without the means to protect themselves. However, damage enough was done by the time they could retaliate. Three of the Black Angel’s men lay wounded upon the deck with several dead. Rowan immediately sent our own boarding party to secure the prize. They swiftly dispatched the merchant’s crew – everyone – without mercy and tossed the bodies overboard.
I went below and packed up my instruments. As soon as the prize was secured, I called for my box to accompany me while I boarded to assess the wounded. One man had taken a shot to his arm, but the ball had exited cleanly. After pouring soothing oil into his broken flesh, I told him to go back to his ship, to await my further attention. Another had been unfortunate enough to receive at close quarters the ball which the small brass cannon had fired. It had mangled both his legs above the knee and I knew they would have to come off, if indeed I could save his life, which I doubted. There was no point in trying to move him. The other wounded man was Merry-eyes. I went to him with a heavy heart. Ptolemy had always told me that I should never let enmity stand between me and a wounded man, but I knew I could not do it. I would be professional, but no more.
He was conscious and told me he had slipped on another man’s blood. While down on one knee, he had been fired upon by the captain. Indeed, I could see that a pistol ball had entered at his neck and gone down into his chest. If it hadn’t gone too far, I thought I had a reasonable chance of saving him.
‘These two must be treated here,’ I told Black Tom, who seemed the most in command of himself and the others.
The man with the shattered legs was looking grey and his breathing was slight. ‘Give him some brandy,’ I said, hoping it might stimulate his heart. ‘But I cannot promise it will help.’
When I cut away his trousers, I found the damage to his lower body was far worse than I had first thought. Maybe a man with more experience might have been able to save him, but I knew I could not. I called for something to cover him and someone brought a fine woman’s shawl of embroidered silk. I took off my coat and made of it a pillow for his head.
‘I will stay with Sam.’
It was Black Tom. I could see that he knew, as I did, that the man would not live long. Tom eased himself down onto the deck beside Sam’s head. I made a strong draught and gave it to him.
‘If he is in pain, give him this. If he prefers to stay awake, hold off.’
I went then to Merry-eyes. I found my hands shaking as I examined my adversary.
‘I won’t bite.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. His collarbone was shattered and he must have been in terrible pain, but I could not feel pity. His comment irritated me. Could he not see that he needed to be respectful, not sniping?
Our faces were as close as lovers as I examined his wound. I tried to concentrate on my skill as a surgeon. ‘I need a probe,’ I muttered. I took one from my box and a cloth to mop the blood so I could see more clearly. I laid the bullet extractor ready, too, though I could not yet see the bullet.
I confess it: the wound was a tricky one. I could remember Ptolemy cursing over a similar case. Splinters of bone must be taken away or they would cause constant pain. Every scrap of cloth driven into the wound by the bullet must be removed or it would fester. The bullet must at all costs be found so I could be sure all the cloth had been taken out. Ptolemy had told me to look at the angle of the wound to estimate where the bullet most likely would be. I was trying, but it was difficult. He’d had me to mop the blood and hand him his instruments, but I must be my own apprentice when I needed most to keep my eyes only on the wound.
Then, as I mopped away another seeping of blood, I was sure I spied it. Ignoring the groans of my patient, I took up the probe again. If I could touch it and feel metal on metal I would know I had it right. It was then it happened.
A sudden spouting of blood occurred, like the foetid spray from a whale. It was the bright gushing of his life’s blood and it refused to be halted. For a few moments I could see nothing for his blood in my eyes. I pulled back and wiped them clear. He looked up at me and such an accusation filled his dying eyes that it chilled my heart. He blamed me for his dying. He was saying I had not taken enough care. It was my fault. He could not speak but said it all with his eyes in those last few moments. Then it was over. His life’s blood had drained almost all from him and his eyes no longer held any spark of life. I closed his eyes, but there was no relief for me in that act, for his unspoken accusation lived on in my mind.
Sam, too, was dead of his wounds. As I collected my instruments I didn’t look at Merry-eyes’ body. Both men’s friends would grieve for them, but I could not feel sorrow for Merry-eyes. They would sew him into his hammock and send him to the deep, but I was afraid that his eyes would haunt my sleep. I had sluiced as much of his blood from me as I could, but it would take more than a bucket of water to make me clean.
I heard one man mutter to another, ‘We are doctored by a mere boy. When will Rowan find us a proper surgeon?’
Back on the Revenge I couldn’t think of anything but the dead man’s eyes. His wound had been severe, it’s true. That great artery which lies in a man’s neck could have been damaged by the bullet. But I had treated him with less gentleness than I might have done because I disliked him and that might have hastened his demise.
I needed to wipe the instruments, dry and oil them well before putting them away, but as I did so I felt a great weariness of spirit. All my optimism had left me. I had lost two of the three injured men, one the captain of the Black Angel, a man who had been popular, though not with me. Would the men decide they did not want me any more? Was I to be tossed overboard with as little ceremony as any other untrusted man? My heart began to hammer in my breast. I could not bear the confines of my tiny cabin. I must walk, so I hastened on deck and paced from one end to the other. There was much clutter because the prize was being emptied of her goods and everyone was in my way. I was in theirs too.
The Revenge was too small. I had a sudden longing for the open moorland where I had roamed as a boy. And, like a little child, I wanted my dead parents to hold me in their arms, to convince me that I was not to blame. I wanted to be an innocent infant again and to be comforted. I was too young to have such a heavy load of responsibility. It was not fair to expect so much of me. I had acted like a schoolboy, but that is what I should be. I should have taken more care, though if I were a schoolboy a whipping would suffice for carelessness. I should be paying for a boy’s folly with a boy’s punishment. As it was, I was doing an expert man’s work and n
ow might suffer the fate of a man. There was a bitterness in my heart I had not felt before.
If only my mother hadn’t died. She would have taught me better. If only my father had married again or, if not, he had been more a father and less a feckless playmate and irresponsible parent. I was not at fault for who I was! I had ended up here through no fault of my own and now might be thrown overboard through not being able to do an impossible task. It was not fair. Not fair!
‘Gold aplenty! Gold enough and more!’ It was Rowan. He, at least, was happy. ‘Don’t mope, boy,’ he said. ‘There are riches to spend when we reach port.’
‘They question my competence and in truth I did let dislike …’
He gripped my arm and looked angrily at me. He spoke in a low voice, so only we could hear it. ‘Say no more. Don’t sulk at hearing resentment instead of praise. I do not want to hear what lies on your conscience. You think you are the only person who has allowed petulance to be a killer?’
I think he could see the shock on my face. He gripped my arm even tighter for a moment and then let it go. He made his voice loud. ‘You have a heavy responsibility and you have lost two men, in spite of your care. I dare say it was a blow, though to me it looked as if both would die, no matter what. Forget not,’ he said more quietly, ‘I am the one who threw us at this prize. Their deaths are on my head. You try to save life. I, as captain, must risk it. You are young,’ he added, as if he was being kind, ‘but you have skill. Don’t allow this misfortune to spoil you.’
The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan Page 20