Crozier's Operation

His eyes turned to Mister Yates, wishing and willing the midshipman to tell the lot of them to clear off, for pity's sake.

Peter, trying not to vomit or faint, met Barrow's pleading stare. He swallowed the bitter saliva in his mouth and smiled, the confident smile he had been practicing. "The doctor will put you to rights, Billy. And the Terpsy will be here soon, and you can have a nice rest in the sick bay, with no duties."

Quinn looked across reassuringly at the young midshipman. He'd grow up to be a fine officer one day, the Sergeant thought, if he could get over whatever it was that was worrying him so.

He'd been surprised to see what Doctor Maturin had been doing with Billy, but it looked as though it had worked - from where he was, the seaman appeared to be breathing easier. Maybe there was hope for the sailor yet. He was going to be legendary among the Terpsies, if Barrow survived this, Quinn was sure of that.

Kind Mister Yates. Billy met his smile without hearing his words, but he felt a sense of relief and release. He could not bid his captain farewell, but here was one of his young officers to give the word. "God bless the Terpsichore," he murmurred, speaking clearly but quietly before slipping into the kind darkness at last.

"I see the ball," said Stephen, ignoring Barrow's words. "Pass the pincers; I shall take it out before infection sets in."

Bridgens looked at both the patient and the doctor with a gaze of pity. The pity of it all, the shame and the waste of life... "Sir," he whispered tentatively, looking at Barrow's grey face.

"Put your fingers to his neck, Bridgens; he lives still. After the pincers."

Peter knelt down at Barrow's side. If he woke from the swoon he had slipped into, Peter would try to hold his gaze, to avert attention from the prodding and poking on the other side. He looked across the sailor at the doctor, and wondered how much longer he could keep going. If the ship did not come.

Stephen pointed to the group of watching marines. "If you are not doing anything useful you can hold him down."

Peter leaned forward to add his weight, and his voice, softer than those of the Marines. "Be easy, Billy. The doctor won't be a minute. Then you can rest more comfortably."

Bridgens looked alarmed and skeptical, but he did as ordered and handed over the bullet forceps. It did not look like there would be any great need for the men to hold Barrow down. The man looked utterly dead.

Stephen had lost sight of the ball in the inefficient asking and to-ing and fro-ing, but he remembered where it was; removing the reed he cut open the flesh with the scalpel, so that he might be able to maneuver the probe.

Peter stared down at Barrow - the sound of the scalpel on flesh was bad enough, to see it would have been too much for him. The shoulder of the marine next to him, hands on Barrow's arm, was trembling, the man breathing hoarsely. "That's... " His voice squeaked, and he realised that it might be better to say nothing. Although he could probably hear - he remembered when he had fainted - there had been voices. He swalllowed and moistened his lips. "That's good, Billy. Almost done now."

Stephen moved the pincers, thanking God that his patient was unconscious; it made this operation so much easier. Waiting for the pause between breaths he gripped the ball. On the next pause, he pulled it out.

Chase's wide-eyed stare was fixed on what Maturin was doing. He and Williams had moved quickly forward to help hold Barrow down; there was no way they'd let the Marines would have any part at all in the operation.

"Blimey," Chase muttered when the blood-slicked ball was pulled out. That was good. Wasn't it? He blinked and made himself look up at Doctor Maturin. It had to be good, now, despite what the man had told him earlier.

Williams gave him a significant glance and shuddered.

As the ball was out Stephen replaced the reed, his hand beginning to tremble. He sucked again, to redress the pressure, spat, and then sat back on his heels.

There was more of a crowd around Barrow than he'd first realised, M"Clure found when he looked up. They all looked worried- and not surprising given his unhealthy colour. But for now he was alive, and if Dr Maturin was doing all he could then that was fine by m'Clure. It would be nothing short of the will of God if he died now.

Again the Dr was filling his mouth with the mans blood and remembering his reaction last time, M'Clure passed the canteen quickly.

Williams sighed with relief and relaxed his grip on the unconscious coxswain. Now that the ball was out, surely the worst was over for the immediate present. It was the ball that had been killing him, wasn't it? As long as Billy wasn't going to bleed to death now... It was rather horrific and unreal to see the blood dripping out through that reed like a drain pipe, and even more horrible to see the doctor suck the blood out. Williams did not envy him that job.

There was a marine breathing heavily down his neck. Williams turned to look over his shoulder at all the men who were watching in horrified fascination. "Clear back a bit, mate. Give a man room to breathe, won't you?"

Stephen nodded in thanks and took the canteen; he washed his mouth out again and spat. "Let the blood drain out now," he said, exhausted, pointing to the reed.

Peter patted Barrow on the shoulder, and stood up, feeling the bruising on his knees from the gravel, and the ache from muscles that had been holding back trembling for too long. Everyone was gathered round the sailor, still and pale, but the doctor looked little better.

"Do come and sit down, for a minute at least," he begged, pointing to the stone wall. "We can watch for the Terpsichore."

"I need to watch," said Stephen tonelessly, but he looked out to sea, as though expecting the Terpsichore to come around the headland. "Once the blood stops draining, I must sew..."

"Will it... I don't know what you did, but he does look more comfortable now. And ... I am sorry, you know better than me, but if you sit down, your head may not ache so much... Just for a few minutes. Mr M'Clure can watch the bleeding, and call you."

Stephen nodded, too tired to argue.

"M'Clure - please let the doctor know when the bleeding stops," Peter asked.

Peter walked with the doctor to a low stone, fallen from the wall. As he had been doing every few seconds, he looked out at the dark headland. The sun was already dropping down towards it. There was still no ship.