The Delirium Passage Page 22

  Joseph slowed to a fast walk. “I apologize,” he said, “We are going to the pier. It’s not far now.”

  In another hundred yards the waning sunlight showed the shimmering water of the dark harbor, with the silhouette of Fleur de Lorient by the pier as it had been for months.

  “Stop,” Joseph commanded. A man appeared from the gathering darkness ahead and walked along the pier toward the ship. “He looks like a guard to me. Why would… oh, someone from the stockade to find the Speedwells… a detail we overlooked.”

  “Let’s hurry,” Ellen said, “We can’t let him raise an alarm.”

  “Do you have a weapon, Joseph?” asked Marion.

  They walked faster, trying to catch the man before he found the ship empty on deck, and raised an alarm.

  “Yes,” Joseph said. “You two. Both of you walk beside me, please. If he turns, slow to a stroll.”

  By the bow of the ship, the guard became aware of being followed. There he stopped and turned to face a large man with two small women, apparently taking an evening stroll – but might he recognize them from the stockade?

  “Bonsoir, Monsieur, (Good evening, sir),” Marion said. “Isn’t it beautiful tonight?”

  They continued to walk closer. They were close enough now to see his face. He looked nervous.

  “Bonsoir, M’emselles. Yes, it is. Do you know where the English sailors are?”

  “Oui,” Ellen said, “They are below. Come, let us show you.”

  Joseph stopped walking, but Marion and Ellen continued toward the guard. When they were next to him, they did something Joseph did not completely understand. Marion kicked at his legs, and Ellen thumped him somehow on the chest. He landed hard on his back, his breath expended so he couldn’t yell out.

  Joseph, still in disbelief, thumped the guard’s head against the boards of the dock, picked him up, and threw him aboard. “Oi!” he shouted below. A man he didn’t know poked his head up the main companion.

  “That’s Master Carstens,” Marion said.

  Joseph pointed to the limp guard. “Throw this below,” Joseph said, “and cast off.”

  “What about us?” Marion asked.

  “Not there,” Joseph said, “here.” He motioned to the end of the pier, where his launch waited. Neville and four men were aboard, ready to row. They climbed down the ladder, which had only a couple slimy steps… mid tide.

  The moment he boarded, Joseph said, “Shove off. Row.”

  An explosion lit the night sky to the northwest, somewhere in the vicinity of the main shipyard. A fire grew from small flickers of orange to flames crawling up the hemp rigging of some unidentified ship to her sails.

  “There,” Joseph commanded, “Where you see the fire.”

  The oarsmen rowed hard, as if they knew their purpose, not worrying about the noise of their oars in the water. The launch slid smoothly through the water until they felt the heat of the flames.

  “Hold,” Joseph said. “Ship oars.”

  They sat, floating between the flames of hell and the dark of the deep sea, waiting.

  “Joseph, why here?”

  Another ship, beside the one afire, burst into flames. The cries from shore, and the crackling of flames, grew. The launch might be seen from shore as light from the flames increased, but they were insignificant compared to ship fires.

  “Wait. You’ll see.”

  Something ruffled the water close by to larboard… Again. “What is it?” Neville asked Joseph. Two or three of the oarsmen chuckled.

  “Not what – who,” Joseph said. “It’s James. He’s good with a flame. Fish ‘im out, mates. Let’s go home.”

  The launch executed a precise reverse, and the oarsmen pulled hard for Penguin. Neville’s eye caught the silhouette of Fleur de Lorient ghosting toward the sea with a west wind in her sails. In five minutes more, Penguin came in view. Joseph had given no-nonsense orders for the occupants of the launch to be hauled aboard without complaint or consideration the moment it touched the hull, the sails unfurled, and the anchor raised.

  “Who goes?” someone called from Penguin.

  “Penguin,” Joseph answered – the customary response of a captain returning to his ship.

  “Up and down, Sir,” was the response.

  “Weigh anchor,” Joseph ordered. His man-o-war’s men did not question. Their tramping began at the capstan. Saltwater being squeezed from the hemp anchor cable as it rose ran steadily back into the sea. Penguin slewed to the breeze in response to a tightening main topsail, and she moved within seconds, even before the last sailor was slung aboard. The empty launch, its bow-rope already tightening behind, would be towed until they were well offshore.

  23: Saint Lucia

  Caribbean winds are rarely still, and they were slowly building to normal. Tonight, they came from the west at fifteen knots. If they begin clocking to the south, it would become almost impossible to sail out of the Guadeloupe harbor. Fleur de Lorient was only visible to the south as an occasional white flash – a reflection of moonlight or starlight – or flames. The well-manned Penguin pursued her, sailing in desperation to clear the harbor before the wind closed them in.

  Another flash ahead lit Lorient’s sails again. “Did you see that, Joseph?”

  “I did. I can’t believe the flames from behind lit up a ship so far ahead.”

  “Neither can… Joseph, there’s another. It’s not flames from behind. It’s cannon fire from the fort. Probably heated shot, as well.”

  “At this point, we have no choice but to pray they are poor shots.”

  “We’d better pray hard. We have loved ones aboard, as we never have had before.”

  One more cannon blasted at Lorient from the fort. This time it was heard on deck of Penguin as she approached her turn in the gauntlet.

  “How could they possibly have gotten word of our attack on the governor? Or of the missing guard from the stockade?”

  “I have no idea, but it appears they have.”

  “Do we have any way of making ourselves less visible?”

  “I don’t… No, I’d rather keep all the boat speed we have to give them the least time to hit us.”

  “Morris,” he abruptly yelled to his lieutenant, “tighten sheets. Do we have any more sail?”

  “Only jib of jibs, sir,” Morris answered.

  “Raise it – as fast as you can hank it on.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Water passed the hull faster as the sails hardened in the increasing breeze. The fort sat quiet.

  Both jumped at a sudden voice from behind. “Good evening, lads,” Ellen said. “It seems we are having a lively sail.”

  “Hello, my darling Neville,” Marion said. The two walked over to join them, each snuggling close, despite the warmth of the evening.

  “We’ve just added sail,” Joseph explained. “The fort fired upon Fleur de Lorient. She appears to have passed without incident, and it will be our turn next.”

  “Maybe they only suspected Lorient was stolen by their prisoners. Maybe they have no notion of a second ship leaving tonight.”

  “Should we send our ladies below?” Joseph asked.

  “You’ll not send us anywhere, gentlemen,” Marion said. “We have been cooped up too long.”

  “Besides,” added Ellen, “If you two are going to die in the flames of cannon fire, we’ll go with you.”

  “You two are going to have to tell me a lot more about your…”

  “Hobby?” Marion suggested.

  Neville snorted. “Yes, Joseph, hobby. You’ll thoroughly enjoy the story.”

  The sound of a cannon ball whooshing across the bow reached their ears before the boom of the cannon.

  “Close. They must suspect we set the fire,” Joseph said. “Why else would they fire upon an unidentified ship leaving the harbor?”

  “Verily. And they’ve just had practice finding the range by shooting at the Lorient. That ball missed us by only a cable ahead and at least a cable overshot
. We must pray they can’t see where the ball hits the water.”

  “And they probably expect that if we are friendly, we will immediately turn about.”

  Penguin heeled far to leeward, making a good eight knots on a surface with only small wavelets, owing to the protection of the sea by Gande-Terre. The biggest concern, assuming the fort didn’t score a direct hit, was a ball skipping off the water and holing the exposed hull below the waterline. They could do nothing but sail and pray.

  A second ball wailed across the stern, landing only fifty or so yards behind, and almost in line with their wake. When it hit the water, it threw a twenty-foot high plume of white water. The boom of the cannon rolled across the water and echoed off the peaks of Basse-Terre to the east.

  “This is extremely bad,” Neville said. “They’ll have the range, now. They must have seen the splash of the ball. You ladies should go below. I want no chance…”

  A third ball crashed through the base of the larboard rail. The ship’s angle was enough that the ball’s trajectory carried it across the ship and above the opposite rail without hitting another thing.

  Marion spun half way round and fell to the deck, shrieking.

  “Marion!” Neville cried. In a second, he knelt by her side, feeling her neck for a pulse and looking into her terrified eyes.

  She attempted to sit; to lean forward. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she struggled to speak through clenched teeth. “Leee-eeg,” she uttered.

  “Where, Marion? Are you hit?”

  Her eyes fluttered, and she went unconscious.

  “Here, Neville,” shouted Ellen, who had kneeled on Marion’s other side. “It’s a huge splinter.”

  Neville had noticed a ragged hole in Marion’s riding skirt when he first knelt, but now the tear glowed as a dark patch of blood. “Get her below!” he yelled.

  “We have no doctor, Neville,” Joseph said.

  “You have me. I acted as doctor on Hornigold’s ship for two months. I have experience.”

  “Who’s Hornigold?”

  “He was… tell you later. But, at least in my mind I have experience. That will have to count. I’ll do all I can for Marion. Ellen, will you go prepare her for surgery – for the most modest removal of clothes you can manage. I’ll find some tools… and find a needle and thread. Send someone to the cook for hot water, find some cloth for bandages…”

  “Keep it calm, Neville,” Ellen said. “If ever she needed you calm, it’s now.”

  He looked at her directly, and said, “Aye, aye, ma’am. Calm. Thank you.” They went below.

  A fifth ball threw a huge splash, but this one hit the surface over a cable behind. Again, the boom rumbled around the harbor. They no longer heard the cries of firefighters, as the distance behind Penguin grew.

  The sixth ball screeched low across the bow, followed immediately by a noticeable slowing of the ship, a flapping roar from forward, and the echoing boom.

  A man returned in a few minutes with a report. The flapping roar decreased even as he gave it. “Ball snipped the jib sheet, Sir, neat as a farmer snips his grapes. Lieutenant Mason says it’s under control, now.”

  “Ask Lieutenant Mason if he will come aft, please.”

  “Aye, Sir.” The man walked away forward. The roaring dissipated, and Penguin continued, though a bit more slowly, with one less sail aloft.

  A final ball dropped into the water thirty feet short of the ship, tossing spray onto the deck. “That should do it,” said Joseph. “We’re out of range.”

  Sporadic clapping began across the deck, growing as the absence of additional cannon blasts interrupted the darkness. Someone forward yelled, “Frogs can’t hit the broad side of a barn,” and the clapping grew into a general cheer.

  As Lt. Mason approached, Joseph said, “Take the watch, Lieutenant. You know the plan and the course. I’ll be in sick bay … and send Mister Lowder, if you please.”

  24: Sick Bay

  Joseph went below to find Marion lying upon a row of sea trunks covered with sailcloth. Ellen had folded her riding skirt to show only Marion’s right leg, which was now bright red, owing to a tourniquet applied to her upper thigh. Between her knee and the tourniquet, on the outside of her thigh, a huge splinter protruded from the skin both front and back. The splinter was rectangular in cross-section – about an inch by a half inch – and close to seven inches long. The flesh of her leg bulged out at the splinter’s location. The entire piece of wood glistened red with Marion’s blood. Neville busied himself gathering the supplies he thought he needed. Ellen stood on Marion’s left side, holding a damp cloth to Marion’s forehead and talking quietly into her ear.

  Joseph sucked air through his teeth, “Blimey. That looks nasty. Do you need anything, Neville?”

  “I will do. We’ll have to hold her down when I remove the splinter, and probably when we bandage. She is lucky this is the outside of her leg, even though it may be resting against the bone. She would certainly have lost all her blood if it were on the inside. I doubt it will be necessary to cut the leg off, thank God.”

  “Here is Mister Lowder. He’s no doctor but has worked as loblolly on Galatea. He’s seen much of this. Mister Lowder, this is Captain Burton, his fiancée on the table, and my wife, there.”

  “Wonderful. I am thankful to have your assistance, Mister Lowder. Have you, by any chance, brought any supplies?”

  “I did, yes, Sir,” said Lowder, holding up a small bag he had carried in. “I have a small vial of tincture of laudanum, and this.” He held up another small green bottle. “And, of course, also this.” He pulled out a heavy eight-inch stick, wrapped with leather, with thin leather straps at the ends.

  “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen,” Joseph said.

  “I’m staying,” Ellen said.

  “Í know you wouldn’t have it otherwise, my love. We must keep the ship moving, though. I’ll do my best to keep the motion of the ship as smooth as possible.”

  * * * * *

  Neville’s eyes teared at the sight of the leather strap, though he knew it necessary. At least one more man was needed to hold Marion still while he removed the splinter, and the leather-bound stick would be tied into her mouth to prevent damage to her teeth or tongue as she clenched. He would have given her a great swig of rum had Lowder not mentioned the laudanum. “What’s in the other bottle?” he asked Lowder.

  “Turpentine.”

  “Turpentine? What for?”

  “Our surgeon on Galatea says it’s to prevent putrefaction of the skin after the surgery. As soon as the splinter comes out, you sew up the wound, and we pour some of this on. I’ve seen it save a man’s arm.”

  “I had planned to use rum, but your surgeon believes this is superior?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Marion moaned softly.

  “Good,” Neville said, “She’s strong enough.” He leaned over to whisper that she had his love, and to kiss her forehead.

  She screamed and tried to lift herself to reach the wound.

  “Hold her, Ellen. And you, Mister Lowder. We need another man for this. Once she has the stick in her mouth, I’m ready.”

  Another man appeared from the dark corridor. “Mister Lowder,” he said, “Cap’n says he thought you needed help.”

  “Not to presume, Sir,” Lowder said to Neville, “but you will jerk the splinter straight opposite as it went in?”

  “No. You will. I’ll hold her leg while you do it. Keep pressure on the open wound until the bleeding slows, before I sew. Mrs. Dagleishe, if you will hold the left arm.”

  The new man moved to hold Marion’s shoulders. Lowder put one hand on her left ankle and suspended the other over the splinter. When Neville had one hand on her knee and one below the tourniquet, he said, “Now!”

  Ellen’s chin quivered, and tears rolled down her cheeks, but she held strong. Lowder’s hand clasped the splinter. He yanked hard, pulling the bloody piece of stick from Marion’s leg. Marion shrieked, the muscles of her face an
d neck strained tight as mainsail sheets in a high wind. She convulsed violently for a few seconds before falling back, limp on the table.

  Neville maintained a strong grip on the wound.

  “Put this on for a bit, Sir,” Lowder said. He held a broad strip of cloth for a bandage. “I suggest you bandage for a half hour or so before we sew.”

  “Aye. Thank you, Mister Lowder, You’re right, of course. I can’t really hold both front and back for long. The bleeding doesn’t seem as bad as I had feared, either. When you’ve bandaged, I shall ease the tourniquet.”

  “Aye, Sir. She seems quieter. The laudanum must be starting to work.”

  Marion fell asleep, drawing shallow breaths, her head drenched in sweat. Ellen went off to fetch another damp towel.

  Neville became more aware of his surroundings once he had done what he could for his fiancée. The ship’s motion was not smooth. Penguin heeled fifteen degrees to starboard and rolled constantly, as though passing over beam-on waves. The masts creaked, and water rushed noisily along the hull as the ship slid into every wave trough.

  “There’s another injury, Sir,” Lowder informed him, “Kirklay broke his arm when a large chunk of the rail smashed it against the main bitts. He’s there, Sir.”

  “Cor! He’s the only other one, though?”

  “Aye.”

  “Set him up to begin, then. It’s not simple, I see. Is that bone through the skin?”

  “Aye, Sir. Tis.”

  “He’d probably prefer some rum … and the leathered stick. We can straighten it out as soon as I return from a word with your captain.”

  Topside, Neville found Joseph pacing the weather deck by the helm. “Oi, Captain Dagleishe.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Well, I think. Your wife has been a wonderful help, but I think she has not seen such cruelty before. I came to ask if we are on your preferred course.” The waves were beam-on, as Neville thought. They rose above the hull, breaking before crashing onto the deck; creating a long white row ahead of the ship with the moon’s reflection.