by Paul Almond
Auguste sat heating the shovel in the fire. James laid Ben on the nearest lower bunk and motioned for ’Ti-Pete to hold him. He spoke into the lad’s eyes. “Ben,” he said, “it’s almost over.” He prayed hard for God to give him the strength. “When you wake up, you’ll be fine.”
Just then, one of Hall’s customers from New Carlisle came by, calling out in a broad Scot’s accent, “Where are yae all?” He stopped in the doorway as he saw the men. “Won’t be long, sir.” James came over and checked the shovel, already glowing.
The Scotsman stepped in and stood aghast. “Hello, Sir,” James called. “We’ve had an accident. You’ll have to wait.”
“Angus Maclean. But can I help ye?” James noticed his strong, freckled forearms and firm blue eyes under his sandy hair.
“No thank you, Mr. Maclean.” He turned. “Now Auguste, give me that shovel. I’ll have to press it against Ben’s stump.”
Angus stepped forward, his fearful eyes wide with horror. “Ye cannae. I will nae allow it!”
“Mr. Maclean,” James said flatly, “it’s our only chance. Cauterize the stump. I’ve done it in the Navy.”
“Look!” Maclean’s voice rose. “The boy’s got no hand!”
“I had to amputate. Now he must not see this coming. Moments like this, a man has ten times his strength. We’ve got to do it without him knowing.” He turned to Auguste. “I’ve seen dying men take four others to hold them down. We must be quick! No slip ups. That redhot shovel goes cleanly and fast against his stump. Understood? Are you with me?”
Angus lowered his eyes, sighed, and then lifted them. “Dear Lord, ha’e a bit of mercy.”
“Ben oui. Je suis là.”
“Cover Ben’s face with a blanket,” James ordered. “Quickly. Hold him, Serge.”
Serge leapt to do as he was told. James peered at the shovel. Yes. Glowing red. Flashes of his own trauma when he’d been attacked by a cougar and Magwés cauterized him almost blinded him. He remembered he had passed out with the pain. Would Ben do the same? Such brutal punishment.
The shovel shone scarlet. The men were strong, their arms toughened by years of heaving logs: they would brook no resistance.
“Hold his stump, and hold it hard,” James ordered. “I’ll be quick.” He jerked his head, and Auguste came over to help the other two.
Angus put his hands to his face and turned away. Auguste felt for Ben’s arm, thrust it into the air. Ben gave no resistance, not seeing what was coming.
James took the glowing metal and in two steps crossed the space. Before any of them really knew what was happening, he placed it against the stump.
Amidst a loud hiss of steaming blood, Ben gave an unearthly wail and slumped. The smell of burning flesh filled the room. James took the shovel back, threw it by the fire, and straightened. The men relaxed their grip and stood up, panting. Ben had passed out. They took the blanket from his face and covered his tiny body.
Angus Maclean turned back. “Heavenly Lord, I’ve seen a miracle.”
James shook his head. Then, matter of factly: “Now, let’s us all polish off that bottle of rum.”
Chapter Ten
James cradled Ben in a blanket in his arms as they bumped swiftly over the wooded trail back to New Carlisle. His companion and driver was none other than Billy Brotherton.
After they had all taken their slug of rum, with Ben passed out, James had set off for New Carlisle at his Indian trot, covering the miles quicker than ever. Over the weeks, he had taken to running beside the river to check on the latest log booms floating down. The exercise gave him time to think — anything to avoid sitting and moping all day about his lost love. So he was again in the best of shape. Someone had to be found who could look after Ben. Mr. Hall’s family was away visiting Quebec City, and the other owner was William Garrett. So it was to the Garretts that James ran, arriving on their doorstep out of breath and in a sweat.
They were all out but Mrs. Garrett, who welcomed him with astonishment. “Whatever is wrong?” she gasped, opening the door and ushering James inside. Once he had caught his breath and sipped a cup of tea that she had hastily prepared, together with a slice of bread and molasses, he told her the awful story as calmly as he could.
“I have to find a family to look after Ben for two or three weeks until his arm heals. He needs lots of nourishment and sleep, and I’m not sure where to turn.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Mrs. Garrett declared. “We shall definitely look after the poor wee orphan.”
James looked up at her with softened eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Garrett,” he said, biting into another slice of bread and molasses, “Thank you so much. I had hoped you might.”
So his first mission had been successful. The next problem was articulated by her before he got the words out of his mouth: “But James, however would you get him here? Mr. Hall has no means of bringing him.”
“No, ma’am, I was hoping to find someone here in New Carlisle who had a fast horse and a buggy.”
“Let me think.” Mrs. Garrett sat for a moment, sipping the tea which she had poured for herself when preparing a cup for James. “You know, I believe the Brothertons have just bought a new sulky.”
“What on earth is that?” James asked.
She smiled: everyone knew what a sulky was. “Well, it has two big round wheels with a seat between, and is meant for speed. I think Billy persuaded his father to get it. They give him everything he wants, you know.”
James nodded calmly, but the words stabbed him like a Spanish stiletto. She went to her drawer and took out pen, ink, and some parchment. “Take this note at once.” While writing, she gave James directions to the Brothertons.
And so it was that he got a ride back, picked up Ben, and was now sitting beside his nemesis, Billy Brotherton, on their way to New Carlisle.
Both ways, Billy had blathered on about his fast horse and his new sulky, and some horse races he’d gotten his father to organize. But now, on the way back, he broached the subject of Catherine. “And ye know,” he said, “I’ll soon be married.”
“Oh?” responded James. “Who to?” He didn’t want to let on he knew anything.
“Byes, a fine woman,” Billy went on. “Can’t wait to get her into the sheets.” He grinned at James.
James repressed the urge to knock him out of the fast-moving carriage. “You still haven’t told me who it is.”
“Why it’s that juicy young Catherine Garrett. Can’t wait to haul her into bed. Pretty wild one, too. Do ye know her?”
“I’ve met her,” James responded. “But she didn’t strike me as particularly wild.”
“It’s that look in her eye,” said Billy “She’ll give me the ride o’ me life, I bet. And I don’t mean in the sulky.” He leered at James. “She’ll be a real wild one once I get her under me blankets.”
James stomach turned. With a great effort of will, he kept himself still. “And when is this wild ride of yours going to happen?”
“The sooner the better,” said Billy, “but she don’t seem too anxious to bed down just yet.” He paused, licking his lips. “So maybe I’ll have t’wait till spring.”
Better play into it, thought James, hating this whole conversation. You’ll find out more that way.
Billy looked over at him. “I heard you was a sailor. Bet you had lots of juicy stuff in port. I heard about you sailors,” he leered.
“I might have had my share,” affirmed James, playing along.
“I get my pick of the girls around here,” said Billy, “but they ain’t none as nice as that there Catherine. Can’t wait to get my hands on them big breasts of hers. I’ll soon show her what’s what.”
James felt his fists clench. It took a tremendous effort of will to stop them from smashing into Billy’s face. “Well, I wish you the best of luck.”
“Tell me where ya live,” said Bill, “and I’ll see you’re invited to the wedding. Big affair, I promise ya.”
“I’m
sure it will be.” Just then Ben stirred. He had been in a semi-coma.
“Amazing he can sleep like ’at with his hand off. How did ya say it got cut?”
“I sawed it off,” said James coldly. “Then I pressed a red hot shovel against the stump, to cauterize it.”
Billy looked him with some admiration. This was a sailor not to tangle with.
“Gave him something to make him sleep better, and something else to lessen the pain,” James said. “Found it on my run to New Carlisle.”
“Now there’s a funny thing,” said Billy. “What was it? Laudanum? How’d ya get it on your run?”
“Oh, there wasn’t any Laudanum back at the mill and anyway, I think these herbs are more effective.”
“What kind of herbs are they?” asked Billy.
“Just some medicine I learned from the Micmac.”
Billy swung his head sideways. “What! You mix with them Injuns? Bloody animals! Me friends and me went lookin’ for some to pick off with shotguns. Never found none. They knew well enough to stay away. Came after us English real good, I heard, after we beat the bloody French in Nova Scotia. ’Afore I was born.”
For the first time in his life, James felt a real sense of loathing. How could he let this brute near his beloved Catherine? But what could he do? Mrs. Garrett liked the Brothertons.
***
The speeding sulky rattled down a New Carlisle street toward the Garretts’. Word had obviously spread and several out on their verandas waved a greeting. Billy, of course, sat up and, as appropriate for the hero of the day, waved back. James silently cradled the dazed Ben under a blanket.
When they drew up in front of the Garrett house, the family had gathered on the veranda. Catherine hurried down to greet them, followed by Eleanor. William rose from his rocking chair, a stout and sturdy figure with his cane. The three boys leapt down, William Jr. to hold the horse, John to help James with his burden, and the third, little Joseph, running off to fetch some oats at his father’s command.
“Byes, we made terble fast time,” Billy said, pleased at all the attention. “She’s the best horse around. There’s nawthin’ anywhere’d beat her. I just gave her the head and she ran fer’t.”
James eyed Catherine as he handed her his patient. How could she be so fooled by this idiot? Catherine just carried Ben in her arms up the steps, followed by her mother.
“Well, come in come in,” William welcomed them both.
“Come, take a load off your feet, Billy,” Eleanor added. “I bet ye could do with a cup of tea after that long drive.”
“That I could, ma’am, thank you. It’s not often I get a chance to save a life like this.” He walked up the veranda stairs. James stood by the horse, drained but relieved that Ben was now in good hands.
“Come on then, James, you’ll join us, surely.” Mr. Garrett waved him into the house.
James stood for a moment and then turned to look up. “I’m sorry, sir, but they need me back at the mill. I’d better get going.”
“Come come, James,” William muttered, clapping his hand on Billy’s shoulder as he came in the door. “Surely they’d give you time for a cuppa tea before you left. I’ll see if I can rustle up someone with a horse to take you back. Young Billy’s here has had his fill for the moment, I’m sure. Just give us time.”
“Time is what I don’t have, sir,” said James. “But thank you kindly, and please tell the missus I’m very grateful for the invitation. But I will be back to see Ben, of course. Make sure he knows he’s not forgotten. Next Sunday for sure.” And James turned away, wondering how he would endure that next Sunday being close to Catherine and yet knowing so much more about the dreadful future to which she had been condemned.
And then, with anguish in his soul, he forced himself to turn away and set off at a gentle trot which he could keep up for hours on end. Had he looked back, he would have seen in the eyes of Joseph, and John, and indeed their father pausing in his doorway, a look of admiration that was clear to behold.
Chapter Eleven
Three Sundays later after supper, the Garretts with their special guest, James, and their adopted orphan, Ben, pushed back their chairs and came to sit round the great stone fireplace. Dusk was approaching; this first week in September, temperatures had begun to drop and the evenings were chill enough that the fire provided a comfort. The two oldest brothers had gone off with a caution from their father to be sure and stay away from the demon rum. He would check their breath on re-entering, and severe would be his punishment for any who transgressed.
They had persuaded James to stay, an exception for him. Last week when he had come to see Ben, he had left before supper, unable to put himself through the pain of being with Catherine. But this Sunday, he had gotten so caught up teaching Ben arithmetic in his upstairs room, he hadn’t noticed the hour. Too late to extricate himself without appearing rude, he had accepted.
No sooner had they settled themselves than William, his eyes shrewdly staring over half lenses, peered at James. “Well, James, the whole of New Carlisle has been talking about ye.”
James lifted his eyes. “Really sir? How so?”
Mrs. Garrett gave a laugh. “Now come, James, surely you’ve heard. Everyone is quite in awe of how you came to save little Benigno’s life.”
“Who?” asked James. “Is that his real name?”
“Yes. He’s Portuguese, it appears, poor little lad.”
“Aye, you showed fortitude and coolness under fire, young man. Deserving of a medal, if this were Ticonderoga.” William grinned at his own reference to the last battle he had been in.
“Oh no, it was nothing. Really.”
“Come along, James, you’re among friends,” William prodded. “I have no doubt you learned all that in the Navy.”
“Well, I suppose, in part, sir.” He had studiously avoided looking at Catherine all evening, and now she was making it difficult, sitting right across from him, hands folded in her lap, watching his every move.
“You must’ve seen action, m’boy, when ye were aboard that ship, what was it called?”
“We called it the Billy Ruffian, sir, but her proper name was the Bellerophon.”
“Ah yes, lot o’ talk of the Bellerophonthese weeks,” William replied. “Oh yes? How so?”
“Well, you must know she carried the Emperor Napoleon back to England this July.”
James turned pale, and remained motionless. “The Emperor Napoleon. Sir, I don’t quite understand. We beat him?”
“Aye, mighty Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo, and you fellows at sea, finally, we had him blockaded and cornered in the Bay of Biscay. He went and gave himself up, aye, he did that. The Bellerophontook him to good old England, him and his bloody lot of Frenchmen.”
“But this is most astonishing, sir. What happened when they got to England?”
“No news yet. Only just happened, y’see. July.” James could hardly contain his thoughts. Ever since the Battle of the Glorious First of June in 1794, Napoleon had been their enemy and their quarry. The Bellerophonhad been ordered into the Baltic Sea because all the great pine for navy spars and the tar came through Baltic ports which the French had been blockading. James had also spent a couple of years cruising the coast of France, trying to hem in the French fleet. And he’d lived through harsh battles, the greatest being Alexandria and Trafalgar, and survived. It quite took the wind out of his sails, as the saying goes, to find out that England was no longer at war. “And I missed being there to see all that? The Emperor himself!”
“Aye. Would you like to be back in the Service, then?”
“Oh no sir, not for a moment. But still, it must have been a thrilling experience for my shipmates. After all the fighting they’ve seen, with him and his ships.”
“Aye, it would that. So you’ve seen some battles, have ye?”
“Well sir, I suppose I have...” James could see what William was getting at, and he was not at all sure he wanted to open up those old wounds
.
“Now come on laddie, don’t be shy. You know a lot about naval warfare, I warrant.”
“Well, a little, sir,” said James modestly. He avoided looking at the two women who were watching keenly. “Go on.”
“Well, I suppose the worst battle I’ve been in,” he said, “was off the Coast of Spain. Whenever I think of my time in the Navy, that’s about what I remember: Trafalgar. In that battle, our ship took a proper beating. And now they picked her to transfer the Emperor himself!” James shook his head.
“Quite a time ago though, them battles?”
“Seems like yesterday, sir. In Alexandria, 1798, fifty-seven dead, one hundred and thirty-eight wounded. We had to be towed back to England for repairs.”
“The Bellerophonbeaten by a French fleet.” William blew out smoke in a snort and leaned forward.
“Oh no, our Navy beat them finally, sir, but —”
“How come, if you lot had to be towed home?”
“Well, we had ten ships of the line to their thirteen, they outnumbered us, but…,” he paused. No harm in telling his side of the story; it might help him get it out of his system forever. “The French fleet were anchored in Aboukir Bay and Admiral Nelson gave the orders, and with our wind aft, we sailed right for them, in a single file.”
“And you right up there on deck?”
“Oh no sir, my main station was a gun deck. 32s. I had command of seven. Twenty-eight in all.”
“What’s a 32?” Catherine asked.
“It fires thirty-two-pound shot,” he replied, without looking at her. “But the explosions were still deafening. On the deck above, that’s our 18s, another twentyeight, which fire eighteen-pound shot. Each cannon needs lots of men — not counting the lads who run up and down with the powder. You see,” he said, warming to the tale, “you’ve got to drop in the powder, and then the heavy shot, stog the wad with a great ramrod, draw the gun up to the gunport, light the touchhole, lots going on.”
“How exciting!”