Against the Wind

by April Hill

Moving as slowly as she could, Emily reached for the metal water pitcher on the small washstand, and bathed the torn flesh with fresh water and a thin rag she used as a towel. This done, she wrung the rag out in the frigid water and laid it carefully on the swollen side of her body. The pain was excruciating, but the icy water helped somewhat. Carefully, she lay back down and dragged the blanket up around her neck. In spite of the freezing air in the cabin, she was burning up. After perhaps an hour, she fell asleep, still in terrible pain, but totally exhausted. The morning watch would begin at four o’clock, and she dare not miss it.

  They left St. John’s that morning, under full sail, but by midday, Emily was so ill that even Johnson noticed, and ordered her below. She crawled into her bunk and slept for the rest of the day, as the Liza pounded westward. That evening, when Little Eli brought her dinner to her, she merely rasped out her thanks and waved the tray away. When she woke again, it was dark.

  She slept fitfully that night, restless and racked with fever. Each time she attempted to lift her head from the hard mattress, she was overcome with dizziness and fell back on her pillow, trying not to weep or cry out in pain. She realized now that even if she were able to get to her feet, she could not stand or walk without collapsing. Sobbing with frustration, she finally gave up and simply lay there until the pain eventually subsided enough to let her drift back to sleep.

  It was barely dawn when the cabin exploded in noise. Harry and Eli pounded at the door and came crashing into the room, falling over one another to bring the bad news.

  “You must wake up, miss! Somebody weaseled to Mr. Johnson about the skiff Jack stole, and Mr. Johnson’s mad as a hornet! He’s looking for Jack right now, hollering he’s gonna skin us all, if–”

  Suddenly, several more bodies burst through the doorway, one of them Mr. Johnson himself. The boys turned and darted around him, exiting the cabin at a dead run.

  “What’s goin’ on ‘ere, ye’ damned hooligans?” he shouted after them, “Ye’d better run, if ye’ know what’s good fer ye!” And then, he noticed Emily. “God A’mighty, lass! What’s ailin’ ye?” He reached down to touch her shoulder, and Emily cried out.

  Within minutes, Ethan appeared in the doorway, and found utter chaos.

  In the middle of the cramped cabin, Mr. Johnson was holding the two younger cabin boys, each one by an ear, and berating them at the top of his lungs. Harry was half-crying, and Eli was babbling some nonsense about a stolen boat. Emily Fowler lay doubled over and moaning, on the blood stained mattress, her face white as a sheet and her lips blue.

  McAllister put one hand on her head, and shouted for the ship’s surgeon.

  While Emily was being examined, Ethan hauled both boys into the passageway and questioned them about what had happened. Less than a minute later, he stepped to the open hatch.

  “Mr. Hinton! “ he bellowed, “Get your goddamned ass down here! And make it quick!”

  Emily once again fell into a deep sleep and woke later that afternoon to find Ethan McAllister pulling back her covers. Standing behind him was the ship’s cook, a New Bedford Quaker she knew only as Mr. Coffin.

  “What, precisely, are you doing?” she snapped, swatting McAllister’s hand away.

  Ethan spoke very softly. “I’m going to take you to my cabin, now,” he said. “Your wound is badly infected, and those splinters of wood must be removed at once. Joshua, here, is an excellent surgeon, and I’ll assist in whatever way he requires. Between us, will do what must be done until we can put into Cape Breton and find a doctor.”

  Emily pulled herself painfully up on her elbows, wincing with the effort. “I have no intention of allowing some sort of primitive butchery on any part of my person, thank you. You do not need to alter your course on my account. I will simply wait for the doctor at Halifax to examine the injury.” She thrust an accusing finger at Joshua Coffin. “That man’s hands are filthy!”

  McAllister nodded. “Joshua will wash thoroughly before he begins, Miss Fowler, and so will I, but you must allow us to remove the splinters. If we don’t, the wound will fester, and you may well die of gangrene.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! “ she cried. “I don’t have gangrene!”

  McAllister nodded. “Nor will you get it, if the wooden pieces are removed and the wound treated properly. Now, please put your arms around my neck, so I can–”

  “I will not! My parents would be mortified to think–”

  “Your parents aren’t here,” he said firmly. “And there is no time to waste. If I am forced to do so, Miss Fowler, I will take you by force, and tie you hand and foot to my chart table, but we will deal with that wound, and we’ll do it, immediately, while the sea is calm.”

  Emily glared at him. “Although I have never been treated as such at your hand, Captain McAllister, I am still a lady, and unaccustomed to being pawed and probed by common deck hands!”

  McAllister’s voice took a stern edge, and he spoke very slowly and distinctly. “As you, of all people, are in an excellent position to know, Miss Fowler, I am not a gentleman, which is why I will not hesitate to turn you over and welt your bare ass if you don’t stop behaving so stupidly. You are going to my cabin, now. Put your arms around my neck so I can lift you. I’ll try to hurt you as little as possible.”

  Emily glowered, but did as he asked, grimacing in pain as he lifted her gently from the stained mattress. With Joshua Coffin plodding behind them, McAllister carried her forward to his own cabin, where he placed her carefully in his own berth.

  “Now, Miss, if you’ll remove your undergarments quickly, and allow me to help you onto the table, we can–”

  When Emily saw the surgeon laying out a crude set of surgical tools, she rebelled again.

  “Am I expected to surrender my modesty, as well as my life?” she cried. “These are the tools of a hog butcher! You and your surgeon can go to hell, Captain!”

  Ethan’s patience was at an end.

  “We will try to offend your modesty as little as possible, Miss Fowler, but let me assure you that those drawers are going to come off, by your hand or mine, and that you are going to lie down on that table while Joshua does what he must. There’ll be no further discussion about this.”

  He threw her a clean sheet, and waited. “We have very little time, but when I reach the count of three, if you are not off that bunk and on that table with your drawers either off or down around your ankles, I am going to take the time to thoroughly blister your ungrateful backside, and allow Joshua to repair the wound after your mood has improved.”

  Emily looked at him carefully, appraising his words, and then decided that it was entirely possible that the man would do as he threatened, even as she lay there, grievously injured. She had not missed the fact that he was rolling up his sleeves, and could not be absolutely sure of his reasons for doing so.

  “You are prepared to force this barbaric butchery on me, then?”

  “I am.”

  She stood up stiffly, her knees and legs extremely weak and unsteady. McAllister moved to help her, but she gave him a look of such hatred that he backed off.

  “Please have the decency to turn your heads, then, while I do as you have ordered.”

  The two men turned to face the bulkhead while she removed her shift and with great difficulty, lowered her drawers and stepped out of them. With as much dignity as she could muster, Emily wrapped the sheet around her waist, crawled painfully onto the table, and lay down on her back, the sheet wrapped around her middle.

  When she had adjusted the sheet as decently as possible, she spoke to them.

  “You may turn around, now,” she said coldly.

  The two men consulted for a moment before McAllister came and stood by the table. “Turn on your side,” he said softly. “With your face to me, and give me your hands.”

  The white-haired older man pulled the sheet down to expose Emily’s hip, and whistled as he saw the area where the largest sliver had penetrated.

  “Thee’s done a
fair nasty job of it,” he said. “I’ll do my best, lass, but thee’s going to have to hold tight, and not stir whilst I remove those splinters. Bite on this, and shout out if thee will, but don’t move.” He leaned forward to put a small stick wrapped in cotton between her teeth. With a resigned groan, Emily closed her eyes, and bit down on the stick.

  When she was ready, Ethan took her arms and stretched them out in front of her, holding her wrists tightly in both his hands. As Joshua Coffin began to make his first incision, Emily’s body stiffened sharply, and she whimpered.

  McAllister spoke sternly. “Don’t move. Are you going to faint?” Emily’s face had gone pale, and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead.

  She shook her head. “I never faint, sir!” she hissed sharply, her teeth still grinding the wooden piece. “Just get on with it, and spare me your false concern.”

  When Coffin probed again with the point of his blade, Emily squeezed her eyes tightly and turned her head to one side, clamping the stick between her jaws with all her strength. Small sounds escaped her lips as the knife went deeper, and Ethan leaned against the table to grasp her shoulder with his left hand, holding her firmly down on the table. Straining to remain still, Emily groaned again, turned her head, and pressed her hot cheek against his upper leg. McAllister smoothed her hair back and held her head close against his thigh while the old man dug again with the tip of his blade and slowly pulled a six-inch-long piece of shattered wood clear of the oozing wound. As the next piece was drawn from her swollen flesh, Emily clenched her fists and sobbed just once.

  Coffin finished by pouring a clear liquid into the wound and binding it in clean muslin, while Emily, in an effort not to cry out, trembled with pain and bit her lower lip until it bled.

  “That’ll do it for now, lass,” the cook said finally, rinsing the blood from his hands in a tin basin, and wiping them dry. “Thee’s lucky ‘t’were no worse. I’ve seen men lose legs for less.”

  Emily nodded her head weakly and tried to rise, but McAllister pushed her back.

  “You’ll stay here in my cabin, where Joshua can tend you more easily. Rest there for a few moments, and I’ll carry you to the bed.”

  “No!” Emily groaned as she tried to slide her legs over the side of the table. “I would prefer to return to my cabin, now, if you please.”

  “You’re pale as a ghost,” McAllister cautioned. “Are you quite certain you’ll not faint?”

  Through her pain, Emily was still able to manage a sneer. “As I have already told you, Captain McAllister, I never faint!”

  When he put his hand out to steady her, she smacked it aside, pulled herself to the edge of the table, and sat up unsteadily. McAllister stepped back, watching her with concern, but with a degree of amusement, as well. Miss Fowler was proving yet again how uncommonly stubborn she could be. She placed her bare feet on the planked floor, cast a defiant look in his direction, and fainted dead away.

  McAllister caught her as she slumped, swung her up in his arms, and with unaccustomed tenderness, placed her back in his berth and drew the covers up around her. He looked over at the ship’s cook, and grinned.

  “She never faints,” he said.

  “Aye, she’s got a temper on her, that’s for sure, but she’s a brave lass,” Joshua Coffin replied, shaking his head. “She’ll take some handling when she wakes, Captain. Thee’ll need to keep her off her feet for three, four days, maybe more, ‘til those stitches knit together right.”

  McAllister nodded. “I’ll see to it that she stays in bed.”

  Joshua smiled. “I’m thining thee’ll need a couple of strong deck hands for that task. I’ve an idea she’ll listen better if thee administers that good, strong paddling thee spoke of earlier.”

  Ethan agreed wearily. “Amen to that, brother Coffin. I’ll keep thy excellent advice in mind.”

  Emily slept uneasily for the remainder of that day, while Joshua fed her water laced with laudanum to keep her still. When Joshua was called away to the galley, Ethan sat at his desk and worked on the ship’s log, but kept a watchful eye on the patient, who had to be periodically restrained when she attempted to leave the bed. Her hair had come down, and he removed the rest of the pins and tied it back loosely off her face so that she rested easier. Twice during that long day, Joshua came in to change the dressings, and as Ethan helped with the task, he allowed himself to look fully at the young woman’s body for the first time. As his eyes wandered down her smooth hips and slender legs, he felt the same appreciation and lust he normally felt when admiring a lovely woman, but found these feelings colored by an odd wariness. Emily Fowler was rousing in him something entirely new.

  Twice during the night, she woke groaning in pain, and Ethan rose from the narrow bench on which he was sleeping to feel her forehead. She was still hot, but seemed somewhat less uncomfortable than before. When he wrung out a cloth in cold water and wiped her face, she murmured something and reached for his hand. McAllister sat there until dawn, with her small hand between his, afraid to wake her by letting go.

  The following morning, Emily woke at about seven bells, while the crew was still having breakfast. She looked around the cabin, obviously bewildered.

  “Good morning, Captain,” she said weakly.

  “Ah!” he responded, leaving what he was doing to come to her bedside. “You’re awake, Miss Fowler. How do you feel?”

  Emily tried to rise, but winced in pain and fell back on the pillows. “I’ve put you out of your bed, it seems. How long has it been since…?”

  “Two days, “McAllister said. “Joshua tells me that he was able to extract all of the splinters, and clean the wound satisfactorily. You’ll heal perfectly, except for a small, ragged scar, I’m afraid. Joshua’s sewing is not the neatest I’ve seen, but probably far better than my own. You’re an extremely lucky young woman, Miss Fowler. Another day, and you might have not fared so well.”

  Emily forced a grudgingly polite response.

  “I’m grateful to Mr. Coffin, although he has rather an unfortunate name for a physician, does he not?”

  Ethan grinned. “Joshua is no physician, I’m afraid, other than by talent and temperament. He is still a ship’s cook by profession.”

  Emily touched her bandaged hip. “I’m sorry to say this, but having been a reluctant visitor at both his tables, I believe that your Mr. Coffin is a better surgeon than a cook.”

  Ethan sighed. “That has been noted before, Miss Fowler, more than once.”

  He brought her a bowl of soup, fed it to her, spoonful by spoonful, and kept her company, with a careful eye on both her temperature and her discomfort.

  “I can return to my cabin tomorrow,” she announced that evening. “I’m certain of it. “

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “It’s too damp below. You’ll stay here until you’re fully recovered. That is a direct order, and will be enforced in the customary way, should you choose to disobey it. Besides, you are a paying passenger on this leg of the journey, since I refuse to believe that your father will allow you to arrive in Halifax without his being there to collect you. You may regard the use of my cabin as purely a business arrangement. I promise to hand you over to your father only when your passage and your medical bills are paid in full.”

  Emily smiled. “I’ve caused a great deal of trouble for him,” she said softly, “and for you as well, Captain. I would like to apologize, however inadequate that might seem.”

  “Your apology is accepted, but in one way, you’re fortunate to be in such terrible pain. Otherwise, I fear that you would have been summoned by now to Mr. Johnson’s quarters and quite soundly whipped for the mischief you and your mates caused.”

  “Why must the boys be punished?” she asked. “They were only trying to help that foolish Jack Hinton, who is in no way worthy of the risk they took.”

  Ethan nodded. “Well, then, you’ll be pleased to know that Mr. Hinton has paid a heavy price for his escapade, both financial and physical. I have nearly
bitten his handsome head off, and levied his wages severely. In addition, I believe he spent a very unpleasant half an hour with Mr. Johnson, as did young Misters Eakins and Thorsen.”

  “That seems terribly unfair,” Emily sighed.

  “It seems damned fair to me,” McAllister argued. “Had Mr. Hinton strangled himself to death, or drowned his whoring young ass, his parents would have taken the owners and myself personally to task for the lack of oversight afforded their budding felon.”

  “But, they’re merely boys,” she protested. “Not grown men.”

  McAllister chuckled. “If you will indulge for a moment a sailor’s crude manner of speaking, Miss Fowler, I would point out that in my youth, when a naval midshipman was caught whoring, he suffered a good deal more than a tongue lashing and a good hiding. After his balls and pecker were scrubbed with strong lye soap and a stiff brush, and well-swabbed with turpentine, he was bent over a barrel with his cheeks spread while the bosun’s mate took a great, hairy hand, shoved a half bar of lye soap up the young offender’s ass, and thumped it up there deep and hard. At which point, the culprit was subjected to a dozen stripes with the knotted cat across his shaking and thoroughly miserable backside, and was then sloshed with several buckets of ice-cold sea water.”

  “My God!” she cried. “Would no one intervene on the young man’s behalf?”

  McAllister rose to leave, but as he went out the door, he turned and winked at her.

  “Not a soul,” he said, grinning. “It was all done in the sacred name of naval discipline and proper sanitation. And someday, Miss Fowler, when you and I are much better acquainted, I may just permit you to see the faint but still visible marks on my backside.”

  She returned to her own cabin the following morning, and within three or four days, had recovered sufficiently to help below decks with the small tasks that Mr. Johnson found for her. As the Liza labored in heavy seas, in the still wintry weather, the crew was forced to rig lifelines to keep from being washed overboard as they worked. Shrouded in a cold fog, the decks were incessantly awash with seawater and rain, and slippery with sleet. Ice hung from the rigging and covered every other surface in thin, brittle sheets, making any sort of movement on deck difficult and treacherous.