Crozier's Operation

When everyone was as settled as they could possibly be, Stephen sat down himself. His arm was throbbing now, and felt hot to the touch - he felt chilled though - it was a bad sign, but he could not muster the energy to care. M'Clure was creeping about, while Yates was muddied, walking quickly about the shingle. "Are we all here?"

He dropped down near Dr Maturin, eyeing barrow carefully. Luckily that reed had been rescued from dislodgement and was still doing it's gruesome job perfectly.
"All aboard, sir, apart from Mister Yates, as yer can see." He glanced at the Doctor again. "May I look at you arm, sir?" he'd spoken quietly, unobturively and without thinking. He lowered his head and waited for the inevitable tirade as his thoughts caught up with his mouth.

Stephen held out his arm obediently. "It is not broken."

M'Clure blinked and held back his mumbling about not being able to tell how someone was going to act in order to gently touch it.
"No sir, though tis sore, clearly, and warm enough..." he hadn't seen what had happened but knew this wasn't how things were supposed to be.
carefully he placed one hand on the man's forhead. "Where is your coat, sir? Or..." Looking round he picked up the one Chase had set down earlier for use as a pillow. It had yet to make it's way back to the owner and he offered it as a blanket substitue.

"No, no," said Stephen, waving his right hand. "I am just a little tired. I was short, I apologise, but the poultice, you understand, is to draw out the infection; if we bind it to him too soon it will not be as efficacious."

Taken back a little, M'Clure nodded. "Yessir. I know that now." he offered a shy smile as he peered at the arm. "You have a good reason to be short, sir." he added, nodding at it and wondering if it was worth poking at it or just waiting till they were ensconsed in Terpsy again.

"No; you have done very well today, Mister M'Clure," said Stephen distractedly, peering at the ship. "Mister Crozier has woken at least, and-" He trailed off, staring into the water.

"Thankyou sir." that was a compliment worth having, even if it was followed soon after by the reminder fo the unfortunate side effects of landing on a less- than friendly beach.
He wondered a moment over whether what he was going to say would help, but thought maybe he would risk it, "It's only you and Billy Barrow we need to worry about for the moment, sir." and there was nothing they could do for barrow, propped up and draining as he was. M'Clure fancied the flow of blood was less, but wasn't entirely sure.

Stephen's expression immediately turned icy. "Mister Crozier, Barrow, Everett and Joyse require attention; I do not."

Peter walked back along the shingle - the Terpsichore had come round, but she would not be able to come much closer.

"All right, let her go," he said, adding his slight weight to ease the boat into deeper water. He waded out a few steps, then followed the sailors into the boat, taking up his posiition in the sternsheets. "Gently now, oars," he called as the boat swung and the rowers settled down to pull for home.

Icy M'Clure could deal with, and was tempted to deal out as well. Instead he merely nodded at a dozing Doctor Crozier, two comfortable looking marines and a still dripping Barrow. "Can't nothing be done fer them at the moment, sir, and yer arm ain't as well as it could be, now."

"It is a bruise, nothing more." His head was far worse; hot pain on the left side of his head, from the fracture in Obidos, running down his cheek where the villain had punched him.

THey were moving now and maybe he should wait till they were aboard.
"If you say, sir." But if it was a bruise, why did he look so unhealthy, then?

Silently he glanced at Bridgens and considered the value of tackling Maturin into the sick bay as soon as they could.

"I do..." said Stephen, watching the sunlight ripple across the water. He shook his head gently, and turned his gaze back to his patients.

That was a change of heart, though M'clure was happy to put it down to their movement.
Oars creaking as they moved, men pulling steadily for a target that would take them a while, no doubt. But each stroke was propelling them a little further, and each man knew that on board there was safety, food, drink and familiarity. No nasty Frogs creeping round trying ter break yer open.

Chase was glad to have the boat moving again. He pulled steadily at his oar, mindful not to shift his legs too much lest he bump against one of the wounded men in the middle of the boat. Spencer was at the tiller, having taken Barrow's place. It wouldn't be much longer before they were safely back aboard Terpsy.

Each slight rock of the boat on the waves had both Everett and Joyse cursing under their breath. Branning heaved at his oar and wondered how long they'd have to row before getting back to Terpsy. Behind him, McEwen was likewise at an oar, taking the place of a Tar without complaint. It was more useful than sitting in the middle of the boat doing nothing.

It was already possible to see individual faces lining the side of the Terpsichore. There would be questions, and few sensible answers. Peter thought they had done the right thing - with two wounded marines, Dr Crozier in his cot and Barrow apparently mortally wounded it would have been foolish to stay and fight. As it was, Dr Maturin seemed to have worked miracles - the Terpsichore's surgeon, and the Marines and Barrow were all still alive, and ...

"Handsomely," he said, and looked across at Spencer. "Bring us alongside. The wounded can stay in the boat while it's hoisted aboard - with the doctor to look after them - but the rest of us will go aboard like proper seamen."

"And Marines!" said a voice from somewhere behind Quinn. It sounded like Mallory's voice, and the Sergeant had to cough to hide a grin.

At least they were home now and their wounded could be looked after properly. He'd have to report to the Captain, as would Mister Yates, but that would come later. Right now, though, they were about to hook onto the side, and the Navy's most senior last into the boat and first out of it dictated that Doctor Maturin should leave the boat first. Hopefully the Terpsies were ready for him - Quinn had never known anyone before or since who could slip between boat and ship in a dead calm.

Stephen looked at the expectant faces watching him, and realised that they were waiting for him to embark first. "Ah... should I not stay in the boat? With the wounded? Someone will need to..." He trailed off, and looked up the side.

"Could do, sir, only the boat'll be heavy enough for the lads to hoist aboard as it is." He readied himself to give the Doctor a helping hand, determined that, for once, he was going to get aboard a ship without getting his feet wet.

"Yes, of course..." Stephen looked up again, swallowing nervously, then looked determined. Holding his left arm to his chest, he reached up with his right.

"When I give the word, sir, you just start climbin' and don't stop till you're at the top, all right?" Quinn said, quietly. He was probably not as sure-footed as a seaman, but after half a lifetime in the Corps, he was as steady as anyone could be. He waited till the boat was at its highest point before saying, "Now, sir!"

Stephen waited for the word and lunged for the side when he heard Quinn; his right hand slipped off the wet hold and he tried to grab with his left, knocking it against the wood, and he pitched forward into the water with a swallowed shriek.

"Oh for...!" Quinn swallowed what he was about to say and, quick as though dropped to one knee, knocking hiselm hard on the gunwale and plunging his arm into the water to grab desperately for the Doctor's collar.