Crozier's Operation

"You're supposed to be watchin' in case of trouble, not gawping at what Doctor Maturin's doing," Quinn said and started organising his men in a rough semicircle with the doctor and his patient to seaward. The trouble was getting them to face outward rather than inward, but they had proper discipline instilled in them in a way the sailors didn't. When the operation got under way properly, he wouldn't begrudge them the time to look at what was goin on, though.

When M'Clure shyly replied in the negative, Stephen nodded reassuringly. He saw the armourer beginning to work out of the corner of his eye. "No matter, no matter. Bridgens, Mister M'Clure, pray hold his head steady," he said as he began to cut into the skin just above Crozier's ear.

Peter turned from watching the frigate - she was beautiful like that - to walk up the beach, arriving just as the doctor began to cut into Mr Crozier's scalp. This - this was worse than the wounds he had seen, worse than Julian's missing arm. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek, and dug his short fingernails into the palms of his hands, suddenly cold and sweating.

Stephen bent at the knees, concentrating on not letting his hands tremble at all; his face was slightly grey from the effort. He had brought the scalpel completely around to Crozier's left ear now. He made a few more cuts, and began flensing.

"Would ye look at that," Billy breathed to Chase standing next to him in the crowd that had gathered. "It's just like them red Indians, it is, scalping him."

After a few minutes, Stephen stretched his back, standing fully upright once more, and he peeled Crozier's scalp away from his skull, letting it hang loosely over his face, showing the fracture. He blinked - the sunlight was bright, but if he moved to the right and shifted his wig forward his eyes were shaded enough to see as well as he could. The light on the skull could not have been better - he saw every minute crack. One perforation would be enough... "The trephine, if you please."

M'Clure was still holding Crozier's head stable, so Bridgens reached for the instrument and handed it over, wide-eyed with amazement but with nerves under control. In the crowd of seamen, however, one or two men had to turn away or sit down.

Chase nodded mutely, his eyes wide and fixed on the operation being conducted before them. It was gruesomely fascinating and despite his growing queasiness, he found it impossible to look away.

He felt somewhat unknowledgable, but telling the truth in these matters seemed important, so he'd admitted to his lack of experience, holding the doctor still as he waited, fascinated.

Bridgens was better suited to passing over the clean, sharp instruments and he had to restrain himself from peering over and possibly blocking Dr Maturins light, and certainly his hands.

Bridgens stared and stared at his surgeon's skull. He had heard of Mister Crozier doing this kind of surgery before, but he had never seen it done, and he had never expected to see it done on Mister Crozier. There were cracks all over his skull, his glistening skull, cracked like an egg. Crack crack crack - how would a little silver coin hold it all together?

Dr Crozier's face was hidden now, his scalp handing over it, only the bloody side showing instead of the face they knew... Above it, a dome like a irregular eggshell...

Peter's stomach gave a lurch as in the worst seas, and he decided that he would rather face the berth's fury than watch any more. So he turned back to watch the beautiful sight of the ship coming about...

And slowly but surely, all the Marines had gone from sending curious glances over their shoulders to actually turning to see the operation properly. Quinn didn't have the heart to bawl at them - it was an extraordinary sight to see a man's scalp pulled down so you could see his skull. That kick must have been hard; there were visible cracks in the bone of their surgeon's skull. Poor beggar, Quinn thought. But at least he was in safe hands.

And the young middy had turned away to watch Terpsy as she came onto the other tack. He crossed over to the lad. "Lovely sight, ain't she, sir?" he said, watching her.

Peter heard the Marine's boots crunching in the sand, and then the Sergeant's voice. "Yes, she is... As soon as you're away, you realise just how small it is. Look, she has done it with no bother at all." The sails hung just for a moment, and then quivered, and filled, white showed along her flank ... " There was a sound behind them, and he focused his eyes back on the ship, his hand gripping the telescope as a distraction. "Have you seen this done before?" he asked.

"Aye, once, back in the year two," Quinn said. Terpsy did look very small from out here. Of course, the berth deck was on the waterline, and the hold was below it, so they wouldn't be seen from shore - or from another ship. The black and yellow paintwork gleamed in the sun.

"It was one of the sailors. He'd got knocked on the head by a block or something, and Doctor Maturin opened his head, just like he's doing now, and cut out a bit of his skull, because of the pressure it was puttin' on his brains. I was a new Sergeant back then, and it was the first time I'd seen anything like that at all, sir. The man survived it, and was back at work before you knew it. He's in good hands, sir."

Peter continued to stare at the frigate, but he smiled at Quinn's words. "Everyone says that, but Dr Maturin is rather... strange, isn't he. He had a dead dormouse wrapped in a handkerchief, and had dropped it on the deck..." He turned then to look up at the Sergeant. "Did he get his memory back - I mean, as good as new. Because ..." Because if Dr Crozier could remember how he was injured ... it wouldn't just be Peter's suspicions any more. There would be evidence. He shivered.

"He is a bit different, isn't he, sir? I think it's because he's so clever. He has to have all different things to think about so he doesn't get bored." He looked down at the boy. "I think he did, pretty much, sir." He noticed the boy's shiver and looked concerned. "Is there summat you'd like to talk about, sir? Bein' as I ain't in the same chain of command, and it might make it a bit easier."

But you are, Peter thought. If there was anything going on, the Sergeant would know about it - when Lieutenant Brandeson had been on board, Sergeant Quinn had run everything. And had had a reputation as a knowing one, too.

He swallowed, and said, almost carelessly: "The Marines and the sailors live separate lives, really - not unfriendly, but you don't mix in skylarking or eat together, or even talk much And the midshipmen don't have a lot to do with either, except for duty. I didn't think it was going to be like that."

Stephen settled the trephine on the skull, positioning the blade so that all the cracks were contained within - it was a relatively small fracture, but very deep - looking at it now, in the light of day, it was obvious that trepanning was the only way to save Mister Crozier's life. "Mister M'Clure, there will be sawdust - you must swab it away so that I can keep the perforation neat. None is to settle on the brain, if you can help it."

Ah. "That's partly because we do separate jobs and have our own duties and things. And Terpsy's a happy ship, so what we do is more for the look of the thing. And of course, you're an officer in training, sir, so there's going to be some separation between you and the men. Though, if there's a skylarking, I know some of the Marines will join in. Like our drummers. And we've got one lad who was part of a circus or something, once, and does his high-wire act on the yards in calm weather." He smiled down at the lad. "You could come and visit, off-duty, if you'd like to meet them. I'm sure they'd be glad to have a visitor, sir. We don't see so many folks as that when we're not on duty, really."

Peter nodded. "I would like to know them better - I saw the man on the yards, when I joined the ship... I hadn't seen anything like that, and didn't realise he was a marine, not a seaman, until he put his coat on." It wasn't just the rank, though, it was the age. Marines didn't have children serving with them, and the ship's boys were - or had been - too respectful. He remembered climbing up the mast with the seamen, after Chandos had first taken him up, and even talking to the man who had looked after him. That had ended. He was no longer comfortable around them, and would have flinched from any sign of friendliness. Not because he was an officer-in-the-making, either.

"If I came down belowdecks, or tried to talk to the marines or the sailors, they would think I shouldn't be there - like they did with the Admiral. They wouldn't be comfortable."

Quinn glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing of any real interest apart from the operation being carried out, watched by seamen and Marines alike. He leaned on his musket and looked out to sea, watching Terpsy.

"I know you used to talk with the sailors. I remember seeing you go aloft with them. But you don't any more. Something's changed, I can see that. Do you want to tell me what?"

Stephen did not notice the conversation occurring between midshipman and sergeant; nor did he pay any attention to the staring around him; he was concentrating entirely on the operation and keeping his hands steady. He placed his point and began his determined cut, the white bone skipping from the eager teeth, and M'Clure swabbing the sawdust away. As he did he called out the measurements of the dome to the armourer, and heard the answering ring of the anvil.

So that was what the little brush was for. Bridgens watched in fascination. Sawdust - sawdust was supposed to be from wood, not from bone. Strange. And boring through a man's head with a drill just like it was made of wood... all to heal him. Very strange.

Stephen stopped turning the trephine and then, with infinite care, lifted away the piece of skull entire. He held it up, peering at the underside with a look of sober triumph. He handed it to Bridgens. "The whalebone tongs now, if you please."

There was a silence from the group surrounding the two doctors, a sudden cessation of breathing that was louder than a gasp. Peter risked a glance towards them, but was glad that M'Clure was between him and whatever had just happened. But there was no sense of panic, so presumably things were going well.

It was kind of the Sergeant. If telling someone would have made it better, Peter might have risked it. But .... if Sergeant Quinn believed him, he would have to do something, which would be as terrible as any other solution. He had heard the words every Sunday. It was quite simply too serious to allow him to speak. They hadn't been hurting anyone, after all. Unless he was right about Dr Crozier. And it seemed as if the operaton was going well, which meant the young surgeon would recover, and could say what happened to him. Possibly.

He sighed and turned back to look at the Terpsichore. There was a puff of smoke from one of her stern guns and ... He almost dropped the telescope. "They're signalling," he said, his voice high.