Crozier's Operation

M'Clure shifted his gaze to squint out at the water in front of him. Terpsy wasn't even clear from what he could see, which he pointed out with a mutter at no one in particular, enjoying the chance to sit and do nothing in the open air.

Stephen looked up when he heard the statement, from one of the Marines. It took him a moment to place him - it was Shriver, who had argued with Raoul; he had a bruise on his cheek. The other Marines looked at him askance - one of the sailors laughed. "Catch up in a rowboat with a frigate sailing off? You're off your bloody head."

Shriver grew defensive. "They'd see the boat and come get us! It's better'n staying here, like we been abandoned."

Billy stared at the marine as if he were raving. "You mad? And leave your own sergeant and Mister Yates?"

"We'd come back for 'em! Later!"

"And what would the captain think, us coming back without them?"

And suddenly everyone had an opinion.

The only good thing about the shouting and arguing was it gave them somethign to do, thought M'Clure, listening to Bakewill describe to anyone nearby what would happen to their small craft if it popped up between two ships hammering each other broadside to broadside.
"we'd be dead men, not able ter get whipped like we'd ha'earned!" he finished triumphantly

Stephen stood up, brushing the sand from his breeches as the cacophony grew around him. "We are not going anywhere. The Terpsischore will return when she has seen to what is no doubt an important matter."

Everyone abruptly stopped talking, looking at Dr Maturin.
"AYe sir."- some chirped happily enough, others muttered a little resentfully. M'Clure glanced back at Dr Crozier, wondering if there was anything he shoudl be doing there.

The little creature was brave, or foolish, and stepped onto Peter's fingers as the boy held his breath. Foolish, he thought, as he felt the prickle of its feet on his hand. Now, he had not thought this through...

He stared at it, thinking that that was not all he had not thought through. But he could not run - now he took the time to think, he realised that it would be the end of him, and would shame everyone back at the Parsonage. But he had come so close, and felt so ... free. He would speak to Mr Leat.

And now for this other poor volunteer. If he had his hat... Carefully, without dislodging the dormouse, nibbling on a piece of hardtack, he slipped one foot out of its shoe, and carefully tilted his hand so that it slid in, before he put his hand over the gap.

Then - after what seemed an age but must have been only a minute or so - he called out: "Is that you Sergeant?"

And then a boyish treble called "Is that you, Sergeant?"

Quinn stopped, trying to work out where it had come from. "Aye, it's me, sir. Where are you?"

The doctor had probably finished by now, which meant they should be heading back to Terpsy, if she hadn't got too far out in pursuit of whatever this vessel was. If she had, well, Quinn knew Captain Bolitho well enough to be able to say that he'd come back as soon as he could - he was not going to risk losing all his medical men, a midshipman, the cream of his sailors, his Marine Sergeant and a squad of Marines.

Peter hopped back to the path, holding the mouse in his shoe. "I'm here. I just stepped off the path, for - um - and then I saw this little mouse..." His voice sounded young and uncertain even in his own ears - rather more like young Fletcher when he was being questioned. "The doctor had one, but it was dead, and I thought... Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. It's not much further, anyway..."

"You might find it hard on the feet to carry on up there only wearing one shoe, sir," Quinn said, relieved that he would not have to take an injured Midshipman back down to the rest of the shore party. "I think the doctor's finished with his operation, so it might be best to head back down now, sir, if you don't mind."

He smiled. "I dunno how good mice are at gettin' into or out of things, but mebbe you'd like to borrow my hat for the creature, so you can put your shoe back on." He took his hat off and held it out.

Peter tipped his shoe so that the dormouse tumbled out onto his hand, legs in the air, and he held it so the Sergeant could see. "An Arabian dormouse," he said, then flicked a smile. "Or that was what the doctor said the one he had was. I'm not certain if it is the same. But he will like it, won't he?"

Quinn smiled. Boys were all the same, really, with their love of small creatures. "I'm sure he will, sir. But we'd best get a move on; they'll likely be wondering where we've got to."

Peter dropped the dormouse into the Sergeant's hat - he would have to find his own: it had fallen off when he came down the dune to the track - and covered the hat with his handkerchief. He balanced on one leg to put his shoe back on, and took the hat from the Sergeant. "Do you know how Dr Crozier is?" he asked, turning back towards the landing place.

"I think the operation went well, though I ain't sure as to how Mister Crozier is, no, sir. I will say he's in fine hands with Doctor Maturin, though - there ain't anybody better for patching you up. Used to be a physician to the rich folk in London, he did, sir." He smiled and walked back down to the beach next to the boy, with the unaccustomed feeling of the wind stirring in his hair.

Stephen stayed standing, relieved that the talking, liable to turn to arguing in half a minute, had been so easily calmed. He was the ranking officer, he realised with a start, but not off the Terpsichore, which left him in a strange position, and an unpleasant one if further argument arose. He turned around, and saw Yates and Quinn returning.

The road seemed less inviting, going this way, but there was the gouge where he had slid down the dune, and here was his hat caught in a bush. He picked it up, dusted it, and wondered whether to transfer the dormouse, and give the Sergeant back his hat. But there, on the other side of the dune, was their group and he straightened his shoulders, seeing the sailors turn to him as the Marines turned to the Sergeant.

With a quick order that Crozier must be watched, Stephen walked briskly to the sergeant and the midshipman. "What do we know?"he asked in a low voice, in case the news was not good.

"See, told you, didn't I?" Lakey chuckled, giving Shriver a jab with his elbow. "Maybe we should tell Sarge about your idea."

"Oh shut it, Lakey. Who asked you?"

M'Clure nodded to show he'd received the order, but turned to watch the conversation that was taking place anyway. Possibly due to Dr Maturins leadership, the conversation was too quiet to reach him, but he thought maybe he'd be able to find out something- and it was more interesting probably than the way everyone was poking at Shriver.

Peter clutched Sergeant Quinn's hat to him and said, equally softly. "We did not get to the top of the headland - it is further than I thought. But the Terpsichore signalled that she had seen a sail to the North West, and would investigate." He looked at the doctor and added: "They will be back, but we should be prepared to wait."

"How's Doctor Crozier doin', sir?" Quinn asked, trying to think of the best thing to do now. The first thing was to get him comfortable, if possible. They only had the one rocket, and it would be stupid to use it just yet, as it would not only be a signal to Terpsy but to the other vessel as well, whatever flag she wore.

Chase dug his bare toes deeper into the warm sand and rolled his eyes. "Marines," he muttered, mostly to himself. Honestly. You couldn't do hardly anything with them.

"Mister Crozier showed signs of awakening as soon as the bone was removed, which is a very good sign. If you think we are waiting here for a long time, I will have the cradle moved to under the shade. We have four canteens of water, however."

"I think that would be best, sir. We didn't see the other ship - as Mister Yates said, it was a lot further to the headland than we thought. There should be a water breaker in the boat as well, though there's likely to be a stream or something round here. Food might be more of a problem, I believe the Captain was expecting to have us back aboard by dinnertime."

He scratched at his scar. "I think it highly unlikely that he will be willing to engage the enemy without a single medical person aboard - we've got you, Mister M'Clure and Bridgens all with us, plus the crew of the Captain's boat and a squad of Marines. Though I don't know the relative positions of the ships, nor the size of the other vessel. And for all we know, she might simply be a Portuguese fishing boat."

"I would not recommend the water; we are at the mouth of the Mondego. Any water would have had the sewage from every town between here and Coimbra in it." Stephen felt in his pocket. "I have some odd coins with me; if it comes to it, I can simply walk to the village and buy something for us. But I agree; to engage the enemy with no medicos and a significant number of Marines absent would be folly," he said, looking at the sky thoughtfully.