Crozier's Operation

"Aye, sir." He reached accross to do the dressing first, straightening when he saw the captain approach.

"More infernal distracting interruptions- ah, Captain!" Stephen straightened his wig. "Forgive me, I thought you were... The surgery itself went very well, Captain, but you have been told of the other misadventures of the day?"

The Tars knuckled their brows quickly at the captain and left the sickbay discreetly, leaving the doctor, the captain, the surgeon's mate and all the patients well alone.

Clearly not wanted, M'Clure continued with his work, blessing under his breath the way the Captain had of emptying the crowded area. Nothing like authority to get what you wanted.

"Mr. Yates informed me of the attack by the French, yes," Bolitho said, "I am sorry that some of the men were wounded, but I am glad that you all returned to the ship."

He still could not help feeling somewhat responsible, but he did not say so to the doctor.

Stephen felt an anger rise in him at the Captain's bland tone, but it could not be expressed in front of members of his crew; nor did he want to discuss Barrow's chances with such ease of eavesdropping. "May I have a moment of your time alone, Captain Bolitho?"

"Well done, young'un," meant more from Chandos than most, and he expressed himself more than willing to lend a jacket, a shirt and trousers to the doctor. Peter reported to the officer of the watch, while Chandos slipped below to collect the clothes.

Only three days out from Lisbon they were still clean, and Chandos carried them to the sickbay and stood waiting to pass them to someone, not wanting to interrupt in the presence of the Captain.

Where the skin was broken a bit of blood would come whenever the boy bent his arm and had the skin stretch there. "Wot did t' cap'n need ye earlier for?" He wondered if he had guessed right.

He looked down, embarrassed, busying himself with the wrapping of the cord around the boys arm. "He wanted me ter patch yer lot up, if yer was hurt."

"Yes...yes of course."

At first, Bolitho wondered what Maturin wanted to discuss, but as he glanced around at the men in the sickbay, he wagered that the doctor most likely wanted to discuss their condition. His eyes alighted on Barrow, who seemed to have been shot in the chest. Dear God...surely Maturin could help him. Surely he was not going to say that Barrow was going to die...

Stephen stepped out of the sickbay and into the dispensary; if they kept their voices down... "May I asked what caused you to abandon the shore party?"

"So I wos' right!" He remembered their conversation and at first thought none of it, but now was glad he had listened and even remembered what was said. He did look like one knowing the Tars well before Oxley.

He bit his lip a little and watched Westdale tighten the cord. "Don' want ter complain, but.. mind that bruise too, if yer can."

At the pleased exclamation Westdale had jerked, pulling the cord tighter than he'd meant to. "Sorry...sorry." He loosened it a little more and wrapped it round once again before knotting it gently.

"WHat d'yer mean, yer was right?"

"Ow!" He yelped for he hadn't expected ter have life squeezed from his arm with that tightness. He pulled it closer once it was bound and gently prodded the skin there.

"Well, we all pondered why yer were called. N' I said I thought it was fer that. 'cos we had no surgeons or such on board! N' if we fought, we would need someone knowin' it. That's all." He began pulling the sleeve back down and tenderly over the elbow.

"and wot were t'rest thinking? Wot has been blamed on me, lately?" He was interested. it was the first time someone had thought he'd be able to do anything like that, be in charge of people's lives, and this young boy had thought it of him. Maybe he wasn't wasting his time, and maybe there's be a reinstatement soon enough.

"Now don't go poking at it." he admonished, shaking out his own arms.

"Well, they did think that yer done summat wrong, but nobody right knew what yer could've. Didn't even come up with summat useful ter tell you. Wos' all.. hmm.. wot'd he done ter be called? Nothing more."

He smiled and shrugged. The deck had cleared somewhat. The boats were all secured, the men that were healthy and well went to eat too and the sun was slowly starting to go down and turn a fiery red-orange colour as it did so.

"I'um jus'..." The only thing that a proper surgeon would do better than one who was not was, that the first could give him such things as laudanum - not that he needed it this time, but in general! - whereas someone else could not. "checkin' if it's alright. There, see. All done with ter pokin'!"

"good. pleased ter hear it." he frowned his most surgeon like frown for a moment, then smiled at the shifting men. Surely things would only get better again, with sail, wind, water, a full crew again....The sun was coming down, he noticed, orange enough not to burn his eyes as he looked for impending clouds.

"THey're a useless bunch of men, then, ter be wonderin' wot trouble..I'm better behaved than that, surely?" It was good out here, almost enough to forget poor billy below. That had looked nasty.

Midshipman Peter Yates wrote:"Well done, young'un," meant more from Chandos than most, and he expressed himself more than willing to lend a jacket, a shirt and trousers to the doctor. Peter reported to the officer of the watch, while Chandos slipped below to collect the clothes.

Only three days out from Lisbon they were still clean, and Chandos carried them to the sickbay and stood waiting to pass them to someone, not wanting to interrupt in the presence of the Captain.

Since the doctor and the captain were busy and had stepped out of ear shot it was Bridgens who met the midshipman. "Here, I can take these for you. They're for the doctor, aren't they?" He said, noting M'Clure still busy with the patients that he had to see, check and make sure what their vital signs were.

"Well, ye are.. mos' of t' time. I still hold that finger cuttin' against you though." The boy answered with an equally admonishing tone, but it was clear that he no longer felt upset or accused the man of something he hadn't done. Of course, he must've been more sour at being told he was wrong and not having his way, but now having any way seemed like an opportunity for celebration.

Drugged as directed, tidied and neatly bundled into beds, Three patients were treated and out for the count. Barrow was...there. M'Clure reckoned there wasn't much bleeding now, enough to do that poultice thing, see if there was a chance.
"THem's clothes fer t'Doctor Bridgens? Mebbe we'll get a look at his arm, too." He muttered the last more quietly, aware that if the midshipmen caught it and spread it there'd be hell to pay- those other gentlemen seemed as overprotective as everyone else. Rightly so, but this was his charge, now.

"Twas me thumb, you obnoxious boy." Westdale grinned at him as he sat back and stared out at the sea. "Looks pretty nice out here now, don't it."
They'd have to go in soon, get some sleep.

"i'um only sayin' wot I saw!" He grinned and looked up, debating what time it was and realising that they might have a late night this one around.

"Wot time is it.. anyho'.. ye remember t' bells?"

(ooc - I'm lost for time, but I do remember it being mentioned earlier, that the sun was sort of getting down slowly, so going by that!)

[ooc- so'm I, so I'll go with you, otherwise we'll end up with a nice long day...]

"Not fer a while, what with all this toing and froing." It didn't amtter at the moment, he felt. it was good to feel the breeze and the fresh air was pleasant. Stooping he got himself a drink for the butt nearby.

Stephen Maturin wrote:Stephen stepped out of the sickbay and into the dispensary; if they kept their voices down... "May I asked what caused you to abandon the shore party?"

Bolitho was mildly surprised to hear that the doctor was questioning him about that. He had been expecting a discussion about the injured men, not an inquisition about his decision to chase the French ship.

"We sighted a French ship, and being as we are at war, we are obliged to give chase to an enemy vessel," he said, following Maturin into the dispensary, " And I assure you, we were not 'abandoning' the shore party. We had every intention of returning."

"You did not think it dangerous to perhaps go into battle with never a surgeon, nor a surgeon's mate - not even a lobolly boy? It was foolish, sir, and irresponsible." Stephen spoke softly, and water dripped from his nose. "I must inform you that Billy Barrow is grievously wounded. I have done everything I can for him, but with wounds such as this survival is uncommon."

Foolish? Irresponsible? Bolitho's ire was raised at once upon hearing Maturin say such things. Questioning his actions was bad enough, but to go and pass such harsh judgement on him was nearly intolerable.

"While I respect your opinion, doctor, I do not appreciate your criticism," Bolitho said, his voice calm despite his irritation, "I am aware that it was risky to go into a possible battle without a surgeon, but we have a duty and it must be done. If an enemy vessel is sighted, we must do all in our power to engage them, regardless of having a surgeon on board."

Even with his rising anger, the mention of Barrow's injury hit Bolitho hard. Yet his voice did not change as he said, "I am deeply saddened to hear that. But if you have done all you can, then we must wait and pray for Barrow's survival. And I sincerely hope that he may yet pull through."