Ingenious Pain

by Andrew Miller

  to carry their women to sea — though her own name at such a distance I cannot remember. I was called upon to read the burial service, and the body, with a 32 lb shot at her feet, was consigned to the deep by Gunner himself and two other men while we were some degrees south of the Azores. Gunner was very struck by it, calling the deceased his 'Lamb', which was remarkable when you consider we could but barely pass the woman's corpse through the gun-port and that her form, wrapped in the canvas, plunged beneath the suface of the sea like a White Shark I saw by Botany Bay. There is truly no accounting for the way in which men place their affections. I dare say not every man finds Mrs Fisher quite the form of female perfection I do.

  You will not need reminding. Sir, of those events in the spring of 1756 when the French, under the Marquis de la Galissoniere and the Due de Richelieu, landed at Minorca and drove our garrison back into Fort St Phillip, blockading the island and laying siege to the fort. Aquilon was one of the ships dispatched with Sir John Byng to the Mediterranean, arriving off Minorca on the nineteenth day of May. We were subsequently ordered forward to attempt a communication with the fort, but were frustrated by the appearance of the main French fleet to the south-east of us. Though I had been at sea some years and had been present at numerous chases and small engagements, I had never seen so many enemy ships together and the sight of them set up a clamour in my heart such as I have never experienced either before or since. Our own fleet of thirteen doughty Men of War formed up on a line to intercept the enemy, but the wind dropped off and darkness came before we could engage, and we were forced to spend a sleepless night full of the most tense anticipation. Some of the people asked me to write letters to their loved ones, fare-ye-wells, which I did, sat in the waist, writing by starlight from the sailors' dictation, and several of these fond missives it was my melancholy duty to

  send home from Gibraltar after the battle. About four of the clock I went down to my quarters to eat a little salt pork from my private store and was distressed to see Mr Munro slumped against the door of his dispensary with a bottle of liquor in his lap. I attempted to rouse him, failed, and called James Dyer to help me shift the surgeon to his cot. Your friend was in his hammock and not at all pleased to be roused — I do honestly believe he was the only man on the ship to be sleeping then - and told me very plainly to go to the D —. In the end I moved the surgeon with the help of Mr Hodges the purser, and then went back on deck, for I could not abide to be below at such a time.

  The morning found us wrapped in mist and I could but very faintly discern the masts o/"Intrepid ahead of us, but the sun ate up the mist, and the French fleet were spied twelve miles to the south and east of us. The signal gun sounded, and our ships, which had become somewhat scattered during the night, came back into the line and we tacked towards the enemy in two divisions, one led by Admiral Byng and the other, which included Aquilon, under the command of Rear Admiral West.

  I was ordered below more than once but could not for an hour tear myself away from the spectacle of the enemy, now very clear to us, almost abreast on a port tack, their cannon run out, and small figures quite visible upon the decks.

  At length I was prevailed upon by Mr Drake, and travelled down through the decks where the gun-crews crouched by their pieces. I recall Lt Whitney bowling into me and knocking me quite off my feet and then using the most shocking language before he realised who I was, after which he begged my pardon and had me escorted by a vast Chinee sailor down on to the orlop deck.

  You may imagine my dismay when Mr Hodges informed me that the surgeon was still in his cot. I went there directly and saw at once that the case was hopeless. Though I was angered by this

  display of negligence, I was also afraid for him, for had it reached the ears of Captain Reynolds it might very well have come to a court-martial. I said - What is to be done, Mr Hodges?' - James Dyer answered - 'It is already done' - words to that effect. He was wearing Mr Munro's operating apron and stood beside an operating table of sea-chests spread over with a sheet of sailcloth. He had his instruments - Munro's instruments - all about him, and had the air of a man about to sit down to a good dinner. I said— 'Sureyou do not mean to manage alone, James?' - To which he replied that he did not, and was pressing me into service as his assistant. I did not like this idea at all but Mr Hodges seemed to think it a good one and offered his own services as a dresser so gamely that I felt it impractical to decline.

  I put on an old jacket out of the slops and then joined the others at cards, though how I played I do not know for I longed to go above and see how we stood with the French. Shortly before three in the afternoon we felt the ship go about. Mr Hodges, who had been at sea some twenty years, nodded his head saying we would shortly be at it and would I say a prayer for our success and protection. I said something, I could not repeat it now to save my life, a rather rambling prayer to be sure, but the others in the cockpit — two women, two young children, Mr Shatt, and Stoker, a syphylitic case two poorly to fight — bowed their heads. All, I am sorry to say, except Dyer. My 'Amen was lost in the sound of gunfire, not ours but the enemy's, and I felt the poor old Aquilon shudder in the water as she took its force.

  This, as I was able to establish after, was the first of the broadsides to rake Admiral West's squadron as we bore down on to the French line. Two more followed at intervals of four or five minutes before we felt the ship once again alter course. 'Now' — cried Mr Hodges, jumping up in the midst of dressing a man's hand and suddenly very martial - 'Now we shall bloody

  their noses!' - He was a true oracle, for the words were barely out of his mouth when our guns fired. Lord, Sir, and how they kept it up! The lanterns dimmed and brightened as the concussion from the decks above sucked the air from the orlop deck, and after each broadside there was a mighty roaring of the gun-carriages and a general thunder of feet racing to the magazines and the shot-lockers.

  I lost all sense of the passage of time. I remember my mouth was very dry. I shall not pretend I was not afraid. I could not understand how the ship could endure such punishment, how there could possibly be anyone alive upon the upper decks. Indeed, many were not and there was a steady flow of wounded men brought down into the cockpit, some screaming, some in a swoon, some bearing their lacerations with the most exemplary fortitude. Pretty soon it became difficult to walk there for the numbers of poor wretches who lay about on the boards. Always a cry of 'Surgeon!' and very many, even among the elder men, called for their mothers.

  In the midst of this was James Dyer. Never for an instant did his concentration waver, never did he pause to rest or wipe his brow or drink. We brought the worst cases to him - dangling arms, crushed legs, gaping bellies — and he cut and sewed and pushed mens innards back into their natural cavities. I swear to you. Sir, he took pleasure in it, this demonstration of his genius, and I cannot believe any man ever cut human flesh with a cooler head or a steadier hand, certainly not while the world itself was shaking so.

  At some moment I became aware of a commotion behind me and saw Mr Drake was there shouting that the Captain was hurt and demanding that the surgeon go up to attend to him. Mr Munro of course was in no case to attend to himself, still less the Captain, so it fell to your friend. I intended to go on with the men in the cockpit but Mr Drake said that my services might also

  be needed and thus I found myself going up through the ship at Dyers heels.

  The gun-decks were all billows of grey smoke. Each gun, the enemy s and our own, firing quick as they could be brought to bear, the pieces growing so hot they were skittish as colts, leaping high and recoiling with truly frightful force.

  In several places we were forced to step over the bodies of dead men, ay, and dead boys — for I recall very well seeing the face of poor William Oaks, whose tenth birthday had fallen on the day prior to the battle. I could not see how he had been killed for there was no mark on him more than a small bruise above his eye.

  On the upper deck the carnage was even greater, and as we made our w
ay to the Quarter Deck the blood splashed on to our stockings. There was such a whistling of ordnance I firmly believed I should never get below again, that my hour was come, for it did not seem possible that a human being could survive in such murderous air. Indeed, I had the unreasoning conviction that the entire French Navy had set their honour upon destroying me, though I have since discovered that this is a by no means unusual conviction for men in battle. It is certainly an unpleasant one, for somehow, while waiting for the bullet's impact, one must endeavour to comport oneself like a gentleman, that is, you cannot hide or crawl on your belly, most particularly when you are in the company of a fellow who walks through the Valley of the Shadow as though it were Ranelagh Gardens.

  Poor Captain Reynolds lay in Mr Drake's arms beside a huddle of dead marines. His left leg was entirely off and Mr Drake said he thought it must have gone over the side for he could not find it anywhere. The Captain asked where Mr Munro was. I said he was engaged below. The Captain then smiled and said he was happy to see Mr Dyer for he

  was sure he knew what he was about. He said — 'Shall I live?' - Dyer answered that he would as the limb had come ojf neatly and there was not much stuff in the wound. The Captain thanked him, and we were on the point of getting him below when an enemy ball struck the mizzen mast, spraying the Quarter Deck with splinters, one of which struck me in the eye.

  Beyond that point I can tell you very little. I thought at first I was killed and yet somehow I got below, as did Captain Reynolds who, as Dyer prophesied, survived the battle and retired as a Yellow Flag Admiral. For the battle itself well. Sir, you know how that fell out, and the consequences for poor Admiral Byng. The Enemy broke off the action and fell away to leeward, that they might reform their line out of range of our guns. They were faster than us and there was no signal ffom the Admiral to chase. In truth, our ships were badly mauled, and though, with an Anson or a Hawke, we should no doubt have pressed on, at the time we were glad enough of a respite. Certainly no one may accuse the English sailors of wanting the stomach for a fight. They are endlessly brave. I do not believe they ever think of being killed. They live only in the instant. The future is nothing to them.

  I left the ship at Gibraltar, together with the Captain and those of the crew too poorly to face the rigours of the homeward passage. The last occasion on which I saw your friend was when I was carried past the dispensary and happened to look in with my one good eye and see him there apparently dissecting a human hand. But as I was somewhat feverish, I may have been mistaken. Yet, now I think of it, that was not quite the last time, for I saw him once in London, near Temple Bar, almost two years later, walking with an older gentleman, somewhat gross, whom Mrs Fisher assured me was one of the famous Hunter brothers.

  We//, Sir, I trust I Joave been ab/e to satisfy your curiosity. Your friend was a very remarkab/e person and I was not at a// surprised to read of him going to Russia to inocu/ate t/je Empress. I shou/d be interested to know how he fared for I do not thin/i I heard of him after. If you are ever in this part of the county pray be so good as to ca// on us. We /ive very quiet/y but there is good sport on the river. I am, Sir, Your Most Humb/e Servant^

  David Fisher

  So/omon Dra/ie to Reverend Lestrade

  Apri/ 1774 at Brixham Sir,

  Rev Fisher as/zs that I rite you conserning James Dyur of the Aquilon and that you have an interest in that gen/emans time at sea, particu//y the rade at Cuba. I understand Rev Fisher has to/d you the rest of it.

  The p/ace we rayded was ca//ed Baracoo and the short of it is we went to /leep our peop/e sharp and see what might be had of any use or va/ue to us. We rowed in in four boats with Leftenant Whitney commanding and strict orders to /zeep are tongs sti// in are heads that the enemy might not be a/urted. I commanded the third boat - Benson MacNamara Johnson Dyur Gummer ParJis Austin 0 Conner Lower and the chinee Arthur Easter - a// with cut/asses axes pisto/s or c/ubs acording to there fancy.

  An ower before first /ight we came into a sma// baye and cou/d see the town very faint/y at the end. The p/ace was quite as the grave cepting a dog that got wind of us and set up barJiing. We

  landed at the darkest part of the key by some steps an under the lee of a tobackoo wherehouse.

  Leftenant Whitney led the first party out to look for the Mayors house and my party followed incase there was a garryson. For five minutes we had the place to ourselfs then a bell rung out from one of the churches and mery Hell broke loose. Had they nown we were a party of no more than thurtyfive souls we might have had are work cut out but they thort we were a thousand come to murther them in there beds. The town was empty in side of an ower. Then are people began to go into the houses and leftenant Whitney dare not say ort nowing there temper an how they wood sooner put a bullet threw him than stop there fun.

  In an out of the houses they went like bees at there hives. Anything of value they took but best they liked the fine close particulally the laydes close and when they could not carry more they pulled them on and ran about like women out of Bedlam. Sir I ashore you it was the strangest site in the world.

  Now the Cubans came back in to fight, some on whorses, others on foot. I saw them kill Able Seaman Parks, but are men, encumburred as they were by there booty, gave the enemy good service. We were in the plaza mayor which is the mane sqare of the town. I had taken down some fine felow fiom off his whorse an thinking such a fine whorse would be a grand presant for my late wife could I but get it home when I saw James Dyur standing in the sqare loading a pistol quite an careful as if he had been in a room alown. One of there soldery, a lad about the same age as Dyur, was stood twenty feet away loading his musket like fury an when he has it done he snatches it to his sholder an fires an misses. Well he was not a cowardly cur this cuban like most of them are for he has a wicked bayonto long as his arm an he ran at Dyur yelling at the top of his voyce. Blow me if Dyur dont then rase his pistol an hold his aim until the cuban lad is all most upon him. I think that cuban thort he had done it for his bayoneto was

  a hands bredth from Dyurs westcot. Well if so that thort was his last for Dyur put a ball threw the fellows brayn-pan and so made an end of him. It was the most complete thing of its kind I have ever seen. Yet what was stranger still an made me wander what manner of young man this Dyur was was that he did not look at the lad he had killed. In my experiance a man always looks at the man he has killed but James Dyur walked away as if the memory had erazed like chalk off a slayte.

  We fort are way back to the boats and cast off. The Cubans turned some guns on us but then Aquilon came up and made it hot for them. We went on bord with only Parks dead and some wounded inclewding Leftenant Whitney who had lost a finger and a thumb. You wood have shaken your head Sir to have seen the men go up the side in their mantua an lace all bloody an unshaven. I still think of it sometimes an shake my own head. That was the rade at Baracoo.

  I do not know what else I may tell you except I sometimes thort James Dyur encouraged Mr Munros love of hard licker. Mr Munro left the ship in 56 and Dyur was surgen an infareness a very safe one thow kept himself to himself. He left the ship in 58. I askt him where he was headed and he answered to finer things what you could dream of Mister Drake an made the money sine. He went very quite in the jolly boat one night. I think his old servant Gummer went with him for we never saw him more.

  I hope this letter is what you expeckted and I hope you will forgive my ruff stile. I went to sea at nine years of age and a Man of War was my universaty. I am Your Obediant Servent

  Sol Drake

  Mrs Robert Munro to Reverend Lestrade

  Bath, June 1774 Sir - No name is more repugnant to me than that of James Dyer. If you say he is deceased then I rejoice for he killed my husband sure as if he had murthered him with his own hands. My husband was a good man whose only folly was to be too fond and trusting of one who deserved neither. And though my husband took his own life I am sure he is in Heaven and I am sure James Dyer is in Hell. Pray never write to me of him again for I
could never entertain a correspondence with one who called him friend. I am respectfully,

  Agnes Munro. Widow.

  The outside passengers slither down from the top of

  the machine, their coats sodden with the rain that has

  pummelled them since they came through the village of

  Box. They stand in the yard while servants from the inn haul their

  trunks from the basket at the back of the coach. The coachman

  opens the door.

  'Bath!'

  The inside passengers descend, six in all, pulling on their hats, frowning at the sky. Most have been drowsing and have the pale,

  crumpled faces of recent sleepers. Only one looks indifferent to the rain, unmolested by the long haul from London. He steps lightly over a puddle and speaks with an older man, one of the outside passengers. The man nods as if he has received his instructions.

  The landlord, tenting a cloak over his head, bids the travellers enter, and they squelch behind him into the inn. There is a smell of roasting meat, of damp clothes and damp dogs. James orders a room. One, two nights, not longer. A girl show^s him up, holds open the door, holds herself against the door as he enters. He looks round at her. She raises her eyebrows; silently offers.