12th June, Afternoon Watch: Fishing

When Stephen first mentioned the tentacles, Russell’s lips pressed tightly shut and his nostrils flared as he gave a simple nod, gripping his net tightly and for a short moment, hesitating to plunge it into the water. Although curious, he over-worried himself with the thoughts that he may make a mistake; it was only partially the physical harm from the tentacles he was concerned about and more so in an almost boyish way, it was the older man’s approval. Despite what Stephen had said earlier, Russell was conditioned to instinctively behave in this manner around older men thanks to his father, though it was something he wasn’t fully aware of himself.

In order to hide his worriment, he shifted in order to release his end of the net into the water a few moments after the other man. Now distracted and calmed by the waters as he watched the net intently, he continued to listen to Stephen talk about a man in his past, Russell grimaced the thought and was certainly thankful that he had not jumped into the water as he had previously considered. He had seen jellyfish many times, especially while in Jamaica, and remembered that it had become a past-time to count them whenever he saw the bobbing as he travelled by water.

Russell pulled the net and squinted to examine the jellyfish from afar before turning to beam at his companion, “Wonderful! Might I suggest that we return to the Terpsichore? I’ll collect our belongings.” He was starting to feel very excited about the prospect of a dissection.

Later on, when both men and their belongings were safely back aboard the ship, Stephen proposed that they ought to dissect their finds in his cabin. It was out of the way, and as he reasoned, there was less of a chance they would be disturbed. Most crucially, he argued, the cnetophores could be kept sufficiently hydrated long enough for them to take a good long look at those stinging cells; the nematocysts.

"Move that jar beneath the desk if you'd be so kind-" he said, gathering up leaves of paper covered in spidery notes and diagrams of pentadactyl limbs; sinew and bone exposed one layer at a time. The jar Stephen referred to contained a snake, pale and pickled in high-proof alcohol, lidless eyes staring out through the cloudy liquid.

After he had taken care to slot his work between the pages of a book filled with yet more of his own writing, and once that was safe away from prying eyes inside a drawer, he began the hunt for his own surgical instruments. Behind him, hanging from a cleverly strung piece of rope, a crumpled black form hung like a broken umbrella. Just longer than a man's forearm, at the interruption it twitched and shivered, and turned to regard both men with wide, blinking eyes. "Don't mind the bat," he told Russell, "I expect she'll go back to sleep shortly."

Eventually he found his scalpel perched on the edge of a plate, dirtied with the remnants of his breakfast; crumbs and smears of marmalade. Stephen wasted no ceremony on wiping the implement on his shirt sleeve, taking one of the jellyfish and placing it on the desk. "Would you take a light to my microscope?"

Russell had collected their bundle of belongings as he had promised and settled them into a neat and slightly organised pile on the floor before he hastily removed the jar that Stephen had mentioned. He lifted it from where it sat and inspected its contents curiously and after a few short moments, he realised the purpose of his visit. Raising his head, he searched for a place to put it before remembering that Stephen had requested he put the jar underneath the desk. Crouching, Russell settled it as carefully as he could onto the floor, ensuring that it could not be knocked or rolled over easily.

When he stood back up, his attention was immediately caught by a small black creature and smiled at it in an almost bashful manner. After Stephen mentioned what it was, the younger man asked quietly, “Did you find her in Portugal?” He glanced briefly at the bat momentarily before his eyes travelled back to Stephen. His friend’s quarters reminded him of his room in Cambridge, cluttered with papers and animals. He nodded when Stephen asked for lighting; he turned to retrieve a candle and brought it towards the desk and close by the microscope.

Having never been this close to jellyfish apart from being on boats, he said, “Have you looked at jellyfish under the microscope before?”

"No," he replied with a slow deliberation. The knife in his hand sliced a wafer thin path through the translucent, gelatinous flesh of their specimen; his shaking hand layering it onto the glass slide. When the first stage of mounting was complete, he met the other man's eyes for a split second before turning his attentions to a selection of small dropper bottles he carried in his surgeon's case.

"I bought her in Portugal, from an Arab. He found her amongst his dates I believe - my Arabic is almost non-existent so it was hard to ascertain exactly-" Behind him the bat yawned to expose her tiny, sharp teeth; stretching out her wings before she curled them around herself like you might a waterproof against a storm. "She can't fly - something shattered the proximal phalanges."

Stephen meanwhile, was scrutinising the label of the bottle before applying its contents to the slide and handing it over. "Here, see if you can get a glimpse of them using that."

“Bought…” Russell exclaimed, half correcting himself. He had envisioned in his mind an image of Stephen trudging about in the Portuguese wilderness, perfectly content while holding the bat. He turned to look again to acknowledge the small creature as he tapped and twirled his fingers on the desk that he was slightly leaned against. Despite thinking about seeing if he could purchase some insects from Madeira, he had not bought any while in Portugal and instead with what little money he did have, he invested in sugar and medical supplies. He did, however, have a small red-brown frog that one of the sailors had caught but his ownership was incredibly short-lived as the very same sailor had allowed the frog to jump itself to freedom.

“Poor girl,” he said sympathetically, inwardly pleased his friend was taking care of the bat but he was uncertain of how to express it without either smiling inappropriately or appearing overly sensitive. Ending that thought, Russell took the slide from Stephen and placed it onto the microscope’s stage, all in a meticulous manner. Still standing, he bent slightly forwards to gently readjust the slide and the lens, while gazing through it, before pausing to say, “I think I see something now…” He squinted a little and continued to play with the lens before finally stopping, “A fascinating structure… it resembles those Greek amphorae a little, only instead it does not contain wine.” He raised his head to regard his friend before stepping back to allow him to look.

"Yes, bought." He let out a short barking laugh, "her captor insisted she was a vampire. A vampire for all love, Russell."

He replaced the bottle of dye in his case and found a small notebook. The doctor was silent whilst he recorded his thoughts, but after a pause he said, nodding to the little creature, "in my opinion she is an Egyptian bat; a frugivore and no blood sucker at all. However, judging by her size and her inclination to take nothing but sweetened milk, I dare say she is still an infant."

From his position leant against his desk, Stephen stood. "Very well, let me see your amphorae." His finger marked the page in his book as he bent to peer through the microscope lens, adjusting it to suit his eyesight and nodding with a smile, "quite so! Poison instead of wine - how fascinating!"

Russell had rolled his eyes a little at the thought of vampires; something he might have believed as a child but now an adult, he couldn’t understand how one could be so superstitious. As he had moved aside, he stumbled backwards on his own feet and caught himself before he could do any harm to himself and his surroundings. Fashioning his composure as if nothing had happened, Russell watched Stephen as he examined the cells patiently, tilting his head thoughtfully, before replying, “I would be interested in seeing how this vessel for poison operates…” He spoke in a manner that seemed as if he were speaking mostly to himself. There was a brief pause; he couldn’t help but ask the following question, “Have you named your little Egyptian lady-friend?”

When Russell stumbled, Stephen paused in his observations and took breath. No harm had come to his cabin for sure, but a jostle knocked the microscope out of focus. That, and the stinging realisation that in the process his hand had become intimately acquainted with the specimen on the table.

"No, she remains as of yet unnamed," he said, lifting from the lens to readjust it. With a hand massaging the small of his back he went on, "I was caught between the problem of finding one to fit, and the uncertainty of whether she would take to living on a ship. But as you can see-" gesturing at the tiny creature, he summed her up in one motion to indicate that she was perfectly happy aboard the ship; Stephen's darkened cabin providing the perfect cave in which for her to roost.

He removed his glasses to clean them with an almost dismissive, "yes, yes - the nematocysts - find some flesh for it to sting - clearly the mechanism still functions after death-" He looked the doctor up and down and asked mildly, "are you quite all right?" No harm had come of it, nothing lay shattered on the floor or knocked askew, but Stephen had always thought Russell's sea legs were sturdier than his. Peering at his hand, he displayed it to reveal some reddening welts and commented, "you appear to have introduced me to your amphorae prematurely."

Feeling quite clumsy, Russell nodded in response to Stephen’s inquiry in order to indicate that he was fine, he had felt slightly seasick earlier but all feelings of nausea had vanished by the time they had boarded the Terpsichore once again. As soon as his eyes were attracted by the red of the lesions on Stephen’s skin, the calm face expression Russell had fashioned himself dropped to reveal curiosity and although he wanted to examine the effects the poison had on his friend’s hand, he slapped an exasperated hand to the side of his face.

Despite the fact that what Stephen had said was perfectly clear, Russell hadn’t listened or realised that he actually had a hand in the matter and whined in almost high-pitched tone, “Look what you’ve done to yourself!”

His exclamation did carry a little amazement and his surprise died shortly after as his lips cracked into a grin of both disbelief and admiration. He then laughed a little and said, still grinning, “You are going to kill yourself, my friend,” Russell’s hand briefly touched his pockets, he hadn’t brought his notebook and so could not draw what he was seeing. He did not wish to ask the older man to keep his hand the way it was only for his own selfish interest. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Do you plan on treating your hand?” It was evident in his last question that Russell doubted Stephen would treat it so hastily and would instead take it as a chance to study the welts.

"I think that is a rather exaggerated opinion my dear? Kill myself? No, no - it does not hurt; it is but a scratch - my hand has suffered worse," he mused, turning his hand back and forth to examine the reddening marks for himself with an astonished murmur, "how curious, the marks appear to be aligning themselves with my arteries. Russell - fetch some paper and ink -"

He flapped at him with insistence, holding his stung hand out as though it were something contagious and deadly, "Lord knows I shan't manage a quill and we ought to make record of this." It was clear he was more excited by the whole thing than concerned over his well being, though after scraping his microscope aside to make room for Russell to write he mentioned, "I heard the remedy for jellyfish stings is to make water on them."

Russell nodded and collected everything to the cleared section of Stephen’s desk rather enthusiastically. “I’ve heard the same among other things,” he replied as he set the paper onto the desk and began writing neatly in a fast scrawl, occasionally pausing to dip the quill pen in ink. “In Jamaica, a man had advised me to use vinegar or urine,” with the last word, he sounded a little unimpressed as he did not fancy the idea of testing it out. He brought the candlestick closer so that he could see the older surgeon’s hand as he began sketching its current appearance. He was not much of an artist, but he was satisfied with how it turned out.

“Do you think you can put your hand under the microscope?” He glanced briefly in the direction of the microscope and wondered how much he would be able to see from it; however, he was not certain how small the man’s hands were, “Or do you have a hand lens or something of that nature? I want to catch every detail.” Squinting at the welts would not be enough.

"I have a lens." He informed him, searching one-handed in his case for the implement; positioned like a walker on a tightrope. One arm, ending in his stung hand, stuck out in front of Russell so that he could continue to make observations. This was the arm he used to balance himself. From there he was bent double so as to reach into the case that nestled between his cot and his desk. "Here, give it a wipe with my handkerchief - I believe that smudge is butter."

He flexed his fingers with experimental twitches. They were beginning to hurt now; the slow stinging burn that you would otherwise associate with having landed in a nettle patch. But he would not treat them, not until Russell was finished making notes. This was a scientific endeavour, after all.

"As a fellow physic, I'm sure you are of my thinking when I say we should use this mishap to our advantage. That is to say; determining the most effective treatment for cnetophore stings," he laughed, "we could write a paper on the matter! If the Royal Society are not interested, the medical community certainly would be."

As Stephen had gone to retrieve the lens, Russell continued to scribble his notes and detailed sketches. He only paused to accept the lens from Stephen before cleaning it and gripping it by the handle over the man’s welted hand. He then finished off the rest of his observations, deep in concentration. He settled the quill pen down. “The Royal Society…” he repeated thoughtfully, the idea sounded a little daunting considering he was not a Fellow but the prospect of writing a paper on treatments certainly interested him immediately.

He nodded his head gently, his eyes full of yearning and excitement. “We should,” he said, a smile creeping on to his face, “although, I’m not certain if one hand is enough.” Perhaps I should sacrifice mine as well, he considered.

"Quite- we can hardly claim our findings are legitimate with a sample size of one," he agreed; a strange wheezing noise following this comment. Far from the effects of the jellyfish poison taking its toll on him, it would become obvious to look at the man's mirthful expression that he was laughing.

"Should I stick the other in those wretched tentacles, then? Lord knows I'm no use aboard this ship save for the possibility of scientific discovery - here-" he beckoned the man, "do you intend to press-gang your patients into it?"

Russell stared at Stephen curiously with an eyebrow slightly raised. It had taken him more than a moment and a glance to realise that the older man was not suffering. To which the surgeon thought, what a peculiar laugh; despite the fact that his was no better. Still he smiled in response. “Exactly,” Russell agreed as he focused on pulling back the sleeve of his left arm and settling it behind his elbow. He moved closer towards where the specimen lay and drew his hand out above it before firmly pressing against it.

“We should,” he said, sounding very determined about the idea of press-ganging patients. “I’m sure I can find a way to repay them if they do assist us voluntarily.”