Crozier's Operation

There was a puff of smoke from one of Terpsy's guns, followed a few seconds later by the sound. The relief in Yates' voice was almost palpable as he spoke to say Terpsy was signalling. They were signalling, too; Quinn could see the coloured specks of the flags as they were run up the signal halliards, though he couldn't distinguish them. Though young Mister Yates should, with the telescope he was carrying.

He wondered what it was Yates could not bring himself to share, and whether there was anything he could say that might ease the boy's burden.

"Can you see what they're signallin'?" he asked instead, as Yates raised the telescope to his eye.

The ship was showing its side to them, and Peter hurriedly focussed the telescope. "Sail sighted, bearing north west." He pulled the book from his pocket, almost dropping it in his eagerness. "They're investigating a sail, and will return to take us off." He stared at the frigate as she altered her heading, presenting her stern to them. From sea level, it would be impossible to see as far as the Terpsichore could, but ... "They will come back for us," he said. "I'll tell the doctor ..."

"Wait till he's finished with his operation, sir. There's nothin' we can do to bring her back if she's going to investigate a strange sail, and he needs to be able to concentrate till it's all done. I don't think it'll be too much longer, anyway."

Though Quinn, like all sailors and Marines, hated to see his ship sail off without him, he knew there was nothing they could do to stop her. Equally he knew that Captain Bolitho would be back to pick them up as soon as he could get back.

Crozier twitched as Stephen lifted the final splinter away - he held his breath for a moment, then sighed. "Mister Fairclough," he said to the armourer, "please to help me in screwing the cap down."

Bridgens realized that he was still holding the discarded fragments of bone. It wasn't like taking off a man's arm or a leg. It was part of his bleeding head. And now they could see the brains in the little round hole, like a hole in a cask. Or in a coconut. He set down the splintered and rounded bone fragments in a kidney dish and watched the armorer with interest.

Billy had seen the surgeon's brains, and that was enough for the moment. He turned away, pretending to scan the horizon in nonchalance, but he saw Yates and Quinn watching the ship, and saw for himself that the ship was signaling. "What's amiss with the barky?" he asked no one in particular.

Peter nodded. His first sense of shock was being replaced by thought. Cape Mondego lay to their north-west, elongating the northern shore of the bay. Perhaps the sail had appeared round that - hardly any distance at all - rather than being far out on the horizon. And Captain Bolitho would want to cut off anyone who might investigate the party on the beach. He would also want sea room, to avoid the risk of being embayed. The land might be in Portuguese hands, and allied to them, but the sea was neutral, and fought for whichever side used tide and winds best.

"Once they see what the other ship is, they will be back. Possibly even before the doctor has finished. If I climb the dunes, I might get a better view..." He started to scramble up the beach, diagonally towards the tallest dune, which, conveniently avoided going close to the man strapped in the chair with the armourer bending over him.

If this strange sail had come round the headland, Yates might indeed be able to get a view of her. If, however, she had been spotted by a masthead lookout, she could be well out of view over the horizon from where the shore party was. Still, there was no harm in looking and it would take Yates' mind off whatever was troubling him. He watched Yates scramble up a sand dune to see, before crossing the beach to the surgeon's party.

He watched for a moment till there was a pause in the proceedings. "I don't wish to worry you, sir," he said quietly, not wanting to distract the surgeon from his work, "but Terpsy has seen a strange sail to the nor'west and she's goin' to investigate it."

His message delivered, he turned to see where Yates had got to. "Can you see anythin' more from up there, sir?" he asked, deciding to leave all the scrambling about to those younger than him - until he had good reason to scramble about himself.

Peter's feet slid on the steep slope, almost making him fall, but he grabbed tussock grass and kicking into the sand reached the top of that dune. He could probably see further - the maths could wait - but it did not allow him to see whatever it was that had attracted the attention of the Terpsichore.

"Not from here," he called down. "I need a bit more height..." The footing was firmer up here, where the dunes turned to scrub and even some cultivation. He set off at a trot towards where the land rose to the more solid height of Cape Mondego.

If that lad was going to manage to run all the way out to the headland, good for him. It wasn't as close as it looked; Quinn knew that from experience. Nevertheless, he hurried to catch up with the lad. Unlike some lads his age, this young gentleman would make a good officer, being friendly, cheerful and decisive when it mattered.

At least the ground underfoot was firmer here, unlike the shifting sand of the beach.

He wondered what the 'strange sail' could possibly be. Another English ship, perhaps. Or a French one that had slipped out of Brest or one of the other ports on the Bay of Biscay.

Peter tumbled down the far side of the dune, onto the dusty track. Here the footing was even better, and the path wasn't broken into dunes like the waves of the sea, with troughs where you slid down and clambered up, slipping. Here, he was clearly on land - he could not see the sea, or the Terpsichore. The overwhelming smell was of dust and warmth, and there was the dry buzzing of an insect.

His hat rolled unheeded to a halt, trapped in a small bush. Peter began to run.

Bridgens and M'Clure were distrcated, and Fairclough stared for several seconds before coming to aid Stephen in fastening the cap down. "Concentrate," he said softly. "Bridgens, needle and thread."

"Aye sir," Bridgens replied quietly, handing them over.

Billy caught up with the marine sargeant, watching with concern as the midshipman disappeared over the dunes. "Where's Mister Yates going off to alone?" he asked. He liked the midshipman, but the lad was new to warfare and probably did not know the dangers of being alone on a foreign coast, even in an allied country.

Quinn turned to find a seaman at his elbow. "He ain't goin' off alone, Barrow, not if I can help it," he said. "Though Terpsy's seen a sail and she's going to investigate it. Mister Yates wondered if it had just come into view round the headland, and is goin' up there to see. Want to come along and see if you can tell us whether she's English, Frog or somethin' else? If she did come from round the headland, and isn't over the horizon where we can't see here at all, that is."

Billy shook his head. "You go. I'll stay wi'the boat." He watched the sergeant lope up the hill after the vanished midshipman. Quinn would keep the boy safe. He wanted to follow, wanted to see this strange sail for himself, but in the absence of any officer (apart from Dr. Maturin, who didn't quite count), he knew it was best to stay at the beach and keep the boat crew together until Mister Yates came back with news. His mind was so full of the Terpsy and the sail she had sighted that he almost forgot about the operation going on behind him, and it was a shock to turn again see the surgeon with that great bloody circle cut out of his head.

Crozier kept his eyes closed, but he could tell there was a light in the cabin, much too much bright light. He tried to turn away from it, but it was impossible to persuade his limbs to cooperate. He had heard a familiar voice. That boy must have come to wake him. This was not his cot. It was different. It was uncomfortable. He only wanted to sleep. He damned the boy a few times and told him to get out, longing for cool darkness again.

Stephen heard Crozier mumble as he and Fairclough finished fastening down the silver cap, and making it immobile. "Proceed as before," he said to Bridgens, who had gone white. "We are nearly finished." He restored Mister Crozier's scalp to its normal place and made sure the edges met well, and that he was not going to encounter a crease halfway across. He began to stitch it closed, working fast and neat.

Peter ran. The point of running was almost forgotten: he was no longer running to see what the Terpsichore had found, nor even running away, but running for the joy of seeing a whole road stretching out before him, with no one on it. After an initial burst of speed he slowed down - he even dropped to a walk, but thought he heard someone call to him, so he returned to the trot. Something scuttled away on the wall on his right as he ran, skittering from the bright stone into a crevice, where the road crossed a deep gully running down to the sea. He glanced to the left. There was the sea, but no ship visible - Terpsy should be out of the bay by now...

A little further on Peter stopped, hands on knees, where the track divided. Almost directly in front a footpath wound upwards towards what must be the Cape - a path used no doubt by generations of coastguards using the high point for a look-out. The track proper turned right, skirting the rising ground, presumbably heading for the next village along the coast. And eventually Oporto.

Peter looked back down the track where the dust raised by his running still swirled like minature sandstorms. The Sergeant was almost certainly following him, although he had managed to outrun him so far. With a deep sigh he started up the rocky path towards the Cape...

... then stepped from it, twisting between rocks and spiny bushes which caught on his breeches and tore at his best working coat ... He slid down, spines digging into his hand as he pulled himself under one of the bushes, where he lay as silently as when playing hide-and-seek back home.

Stephen finished the stitching and tied off the knot with no movement and only some mumbles from Crozier. He was feeling pleased - as pleased as he could at this point - if the removal of the pressure of the depression had had such an immediate response then recovery seemed much more likely. He asked for one of the canteens of water to wash his hands, which were covered in blood, and finally looked up, stretching his neck and allowing his hands to tremble, stretching them to relieve the stiffness.

Peter buried his head in his arms, curling himself into the shade where the whiteness of his breeches would be not shine like a beacon in the sunlight. They would expect him to come back to the boat on the beach - even if he was watching from somewhere on the shore, he would return as the ship came back. And by the time they realised he hadn't, it would be too late to search for him... The Lieutenant might even realise that he had run, despite all his words of encouragement last night, and giving him this important duty...

He turned his head away carefully at the sound of feet on the path above. If the Sergeant found him like this... But he did not want to go back. He did not want to be trapped for ever with sneering eyes that promised revenge for things he hadn't even done. He had taken the first step, and although he would never ... What had seemed like a tangle of leaves in a patch of shadow became much more detailed as his eyes cleared. Curled up and around one another, two of those little dormice the Doctor had mentioned. And in the curved space between them, small, naked and very young, babies, like the baby rats they had found in the grange.

Chase rubbed at his eyes when at last Doctor Maturin straightened up from his grisly work. He hadn't realised he'd been staring so intently, despite feeling dangerously close to being ill at the spectacle. To see a man's brains! It defied belief, had he not seen it all right before him.

"Will 'e be arright now, sar?" Chase asked, unable to hide his anxiety.

Stephen rubbed the blood away from his hands, glad that they had brought extra water; he indicated for M'Clure to do the same. He turned to the seaman. "With the blessing," he said, with practiced professional calm. "The skull broke inwards, like so, and the bone was pushing against his brain. That has been removed, and immediately upon its removal he mumbled, and began to stir. I hope for a full recovery."

The watching seamen breathed out a collective sigh of relief. Chase felt himself grin happily. "Bloody brilliant, sar, that bit of work. Pardon the language, sar," he added hastily, looking briefly sheepish.

Dyer rose up a bit on tip-toes to peer over Chase's shoulder. "Anythin' we can do fer him, sar?"

Stephen bowed in response to the compliment, hiding the hint of pink in his cheeks. "Thank you - only if it works, I think. But I have every hope for your surgeon, every hope in the world." It is in the hands of God now, he thought privately, but if would never do to say it out loud, and shatter the mask of the inhumanly confident physician.