Crozier's Operation

Joyse looked up at the strange doctor, their passenger, who'd just taken the top off Doctor Crozier's head like it was an egg-shell.

"Think it's stopped, sir," he said, hopefully. His mouth felt dry, though - he didn't want to lose his arm. How would he live with only one arm and no way of earning a living?

"I think so also," said Stephen, mechanically smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I will take the ball out now, so there is less chance of infection. Bridgens, I need the long-necked forceps - two men to hold him down, if you please, and someone's belt. Do not fear, Private Joyse; I can see the ball. It will be over in a moment."

Joyse's eyes widened and he nodded uncertainly. "I ain't... I ain't goin' to lose the arm, am I, sir?" he asked as Mallory slipped his bayonet belt off, turning it so that the two pipe-clayed sides were together, and offering it to the doctor.

"This do you, sir?" he said, frowning a little.

"Just so, thank you - with the blessing you should do very well, Private Joyse. Bite down on this now."

"I got him, sir," Branning said, setting his musket down. "Don't move, Joyse mate, don't wanna hurt ya."

The big Marine laid his hands onto Joyse's shoulders and leaned some of his weight forward, as if to prove his point.

Joyse sighed in relief and obediently took the offered cross-belt between his teeth, biting down in anticipation of further pain. He frowned a little as Branning came to hold him down, but he was a friend - he wouldn't hurt him.

"Please, move your hand down a little, I cannot see..." Stephen looked up, recognising the Marine who had protected Yates and himself during the attack. "What is your name?"

"Branning, sir," Branning replied, moving his hand to the side a bit. "That better, sir?"

"Much - thank you, Private Branning. It will be over in a second, Private Joyse - bite down..." said Stephen as he peered into Joyse's shoulder, and probed for the ball.

That hurt! He bit down, closed his eyes and tried not to move too much under Branning's hands. And the voices above him faded, taking the pain with them as he slipped into the nice, friendly, pain-free darkness.

Stephen removed the probe, impressed by the marine's fortitude, and held the ball firmly between the pincers of the forceps. "Needle and thread, if you please."

Bridgens handed them over without a sound, feeling numb. It was like being in the orlop during a heavy battle, but it was all very strange to be doing this out in the open, on a gravel beach with no ship and no stores.

Stephen stitched the wound closed perfectly, his stitches neat and perfectly even. "There - now, lie back, rest, and if you tear those stitches I will be very displeased, do you hear?"

As they took the leather belt away, Joyse managed a grimacing smile gazing blearily up at the doctor before he closed his eyes again.

Even in his current state of depression Stephen gently patted the man's shoulder. "Well done," he said as the man drifted into sleep, and he moved onto Everett.

Everett had been waiting, and had dropped off to sleep once or twice. He didn't think he was dying, not like poor Barrow, and if this top-notch doctor didn't deal with him first - well, either he was so close to death he wasn't worth bothering with, or he was well enough to wait. And - to be honest - he really didn't want the doctor poking around...

He looked up as more feet crunched on the shingle. Well, it couldn't be put off, unless the Terpsy came back for them this instant.

"Private Everett, how are you feeling?" said Stephen, kneeling down. "Scalpel," he said to Bridgens.

"I'm fine," Everett lied, flinching at the doctor's words. "I ... It ain't goin' to kill me... Joyse goin' to be all right?" He didn't need to ask about Barrow, after all.

"With the blessing he should be quite well. I am just cutting through your trousers to see..." said Stephen. "It has stopped bleeding, which means that for the moment I will leave the ball in the wound. How much pain are you in?"

Everett nearly fainted with relief at the Doctor's words. When he'd started using the scalpel... But he pulled himself together. "It bleeding well hurt at the start, like I had been kicked - and when that damn' idiot nigh on dropped me..." He stared across the shingle spit to the moody bulk that was Private Shriver. "But it's sort of numb now, 'cept when you touched it - cutting me trousers." He saw the look on the doctor's face and added, very quickly. "Not that much, doctor, honest. I mean, I felt it, and now it's settlin' down again." Don't tell him about the throbbing that light touch had started: he'd probably go ahead and start cutting the leg up, and this was not the place for that.

"I am going to give you a few drops of laudanum; that will dull the pain," said Stephen, quite used to lying patients.

"I'd rather have rum." Laudanum was for poets and the like, and women with vapours. You could have your leg taken off with rum to knock you out... Not that he wanted his leg taken off, of course.

Stephen frowned coldly at the Marine. "Pray, where is the rum?"

Oh, yeah. Probably not something they stowed on board the boat, for a couple of hours ashore. He'd have a word with them about that... "On the Terpsy," Everett muttered. "So I'll say thank you for the lord'num, doctor, sir."

"Yes, you will. Open," said Stephen, his thumb over the neck of the bottle, measuring with a practiced hand.