David's temper was already on its last nerve, and this arrogant, high-voiced sawbones had just stomped on that nerve. He grabbed him by his neckcloth and slammed him up against a bulkhead, gripping him so tightly the doctor's feet weren't touching the deck.
"You listen to me, you little runt!" he said through his teeth. "I give the orders and make the demands! You're going into that cabin and you're going to fix Henry! Because if you don't, I will dangle you over the side and feed you to the sharks from the feet up. Understand?"
The man's face was turning an alarming shade of purple, but he jerked his head in a nod, and David lowered him until he stood on the deck again.
"All you need to know for now, Doctor, is that your life depends on your medical skills."
He knocked at Henry's door, and it was opened a moment later by Lewis, David's steward, who'd been tending to Henry since his injury.
"Is he awake?" David asked softly.
"Come in, brother," said a weak voice from the cabin. "I am awake."
David crowded into the narrow cabin, Alcott behind him. Henry Fletcher lay in bed with his injured left arm propped up on a cushion beside him. The hand was loosely wrapped with bloody bandages, and Alcott pushed past David into the small space.
"Get me more light in here, a basin of hot water, and my satchel," Alcott snapped out, leaning over Henry and looking at the bloody limb.
Lewis looked at David, who nodded and said, "Whatever Dr. Alcott needs, you give him."
Alcott looked back over his narrow shoulder.
"What Dr. Alcott needs is more light, more room, and less rocking of the ship!"
"I can give you more light, this is all the room in this cabin, and a ship at sea rocks, Doctor," David said, his temper rising again at being ordered about by this green Englishman, but he reined himself in. The man was a doctor, or so he said, and knew what he needed. Lewis returned at that moment with Dr. Alcott's satchel and another sailor brought in a pair of lanterns. Alcott directed the placement of the light, and, straightening, turned to David.
"Go now, Captain. I need to examine my patient."
David was reluctant to leave Henry, and started to argue.
"Captain, you brought me here for a purpose," Alcott interrupted him. "Leave me to do my task."
His demeanor softened slightly as he looked over his shoulder at Henry, then turned back to David.
"He is your brother? I can see the resemblance. I will do whatever I can for him, and I will give you news when I know more. But I will not know more until you are gone and I can examine him."
David stared the man down, but Alcott didn't flinch. For all his youth and lack of bulk, he wasn't easily intimidated, and David could not help but appreciate that in any man.
"I will be back, Doctor. Be very careful."
Alcott said nothing to this, and David turned to Henry and forced a smile.
"See? I told you I would find a doctor, even if I had to raid every ship in the Caribbean."
"So you did, Captain," Henry said with a strained smile of his own. "Thank you."
"Now leave, Captain Fletcher," Dr. Alcott said, and with a last glance at Henry, David turned on his heel and exited the cabin.
He wanted to stay below, but there was too much happening aboard the
Fancy
, and with Henry out of commission David could not be spared. He went above into the sunshine, and took a deep breath, eyeing the black shadow of a frigatebird soaring overhead, envying the bird its freedom to just fly away.
The schooner was dancing over the warm Caribbean waters, and it was the kind of day that David would normally be celebrating--a good haul, a fair wind--but Henry's condition cast a pall over the ship, the men subdued as they all awaited word.
It seemed like hours later, though he knew not that much time had passed, that Lewis came above and told him the doctor was ready to talk to him.
When he re-entered the cabin, the doctor was sitting alongside Henry on the bunk, the injured hand loosely bandaged. Henry's face was white as bleached bone, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes, and the smell of blood filled the small space. The doctor's face was grim, and older looking than it had been an hour earlier.
"What is it? What have you done to him?"
Alcott sighed, and rose from the bunk.
"I must be brutally honest with you, Captain, as I was with your brother. Mr. Fletcher's hand is damaged beyond repair."
"What are you saying?" David asked, hoping for a reprieve. But he had spent years at sea, seen men undergo horrific injuries, and he knew the doctor would say what he'd feared all along.
Alcott looked at him.
"The bones are crushed, and soon the flesh will become corrupted. Mr. Fletcher's hand must be amputated. If the hand is removed now, I can save most of his arm. If it is left to fester, the corruption will spread and he will either have to have all of his arm removed, or he will die."
"Have you ever done this before? An amputation?"
Alcott hesitated, then looked David in the eye.
"As I explained to Mr. Fletcher, Captain, I have not done an amputation, but I have assisted other surgeons in their operations."
David wanted to punch the doctor in the face. What good was this untried youngster, no more qualified than some ship's carpenter or the surgeon's loblolly boy, to be taking off a man's hand?
"Is there no port nearby where you can put in and take him to a proper surgeon?" the boy asked.
"If there was, I would not have needed to haul your skinny arse off that scow, would I?" David snarled. "That is the sawbones' solution to everything, isn't it? To cut and hack away at a man until there is nothing left!"
Alcott flinched, but held his ground.
"It is not a decision I, or any other surgeon, would make lightly, Captain, but there is no choice. Without amputation this hand will poison the rest of Mr. Fletcher's body. I cannot slow the spread of the corruption, nor can I heal a hand where the bones are ground to powder."
"David--"
David turned to his brother, who was staring down at the hand the doctor had decently covered. David did not need to see it again. He'd been there in the hold when the barrel slammed into Henry, pinning his hand beneath it. David would always hear his brother's screams in his nightmares and wonder if he'd only been a little faster, if he'd only been able to push Henry out of the way...
"Let the doctor do what he needs to do," Henry said.
"But--"
"It is my hand, and my decision, David. You are not responsible."
Yes, I am,
David wanted to shout.
I have been responsible since you were in clouts and I held your hand to teach you to walk! I have been responsible since father died! I was responsible for taking you privateering instead of leaving you behind as Mother begged me!
He only looked at Henry and said hoarsely, "Are you certain?"
Henry nodded, his face pale and sweat streaked, but resolute.
"Dr. Alcott and I talked. He will see that I'm fixed up. And then," Henry swallowed, "when I am recovered I will talk to Purcell about carving me a wooden hand so I do not frighten the ladies."
David blinked his eyes and looked away, examining the lantern hanging aft of the bunk.
"Well." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I will leave you then, Henry, to get some rest until...until the doctor is ready for you."
He turned back to the silent doctor, who was swaying slightly, and not entirely from the motion of the vessel.
"Doctor!"
Alcott's head snapped up, and his eyes focused on David.
"You need to rest. Henry will not get any worse over the next few hours, will he?"
Alcott straightened up and looked at Henry.
"As long as he doesn't move about he should be able to wait that long. You may have small amounts of water, Mr. Fletcher, but no food until after--after we are finished."
"You will stay in my cabin since I don't have quarters ready for you, Doctor," David said.
Alcott looked prepared to argue, but nodded.
"If I can nap, I will be better able to deal with Mr. Fletcher."
He scrubbed his hand over his face, and David suspected the lad had been up all night with that laboring woman on the
Lady Jane.
He wanted to yell and rail at him, but knew in his heart that Henry's hand was beyond repair. Terrorizing the man who was needed to remove it would not do any of them any good.
"I will send Lewis to stay with Henry and see to his needs."
Alcott nodded again and, picking up his gear, followed behind David.
David glanced around his cabin, checking for any stray weapons or other items that might tempt a man held against his will, but everything was properly stowed away. Between Lewis and his own lifetime habits, there was not much to remark on in the sparsely furnished cabin.
Alcott set his bag down on the deck.
"Captain--do you have a sick bay or a cockpit aboard this vessel?"
"No. What do you need?"
"I need my own space," the doctor said waspishly. "A room suitable for operating on a wounded man."
David put a hold on his temper and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Tell me what you need, Doctor, and I will instruct the crew."
Alcott scrubbed at his face again. "A table long enough for a man to lie upon, with restraints. A brazier. A second table or shelf for my instruments. Plenty of hot water. Sand on the deck. Good light. As much stability as this ship can offer." Alcott looked up at him. "Aboard the
Caeneus
the surgeon's cockpit was in the orlop and it seemed fairly steady."
"That was aboard a frigate. We do not have facilities like that here, but you will get what you need."
Alcott nodded. "I will need an assistant also. Someone strong, who won't be too frightened to help."
"I will assist you."
"No, you will not. No, do not argue with me, Captain. I am the surgeon and I say you are not suitable for this procedure. Find someone else."
David Fletcher was not used to being gainsaid, certainly not on his own ship, and not when his brother's life was at stake, but after a moment's hesitation he acknowledged it would be foolish to argue with the man who would be wielding the knives.
"Brown is the best man for the job. I will assign him to you."
David didn't want to ask, but he had to. All the doctors and surgeons he'd known had been mature men, steady and reliable for the most part, though some weren't worth the powder necessary to blow them away. This nondescript lad in his rumpled brown coat and stained shirt looked like he was more prepared to open his schoolbooks and wield a pen than use a knife on a man.
"Are you really a surgeon?"
"Will you throw me overboard if the answer is no?" Alcott said with the ghost of a smile.
"I cannot afford to do that, Alcott."
The young man sighed. "No, you cannot. I assisted my father, a physician, for many years and I was heading to Jamaica in the hopes that I could apprentice myself to another doctor I know there. I assisted with an amputation some weeks back on a frigate--the
Caeneus.
Aboard the
Lady Jane
I doctored the crew and the captain's lady in exchange for passage."
"Kill many of them?"
"No, and some did better for my treatment. Face facts, Captain. Right now, I am your best hope for your brother's recovery."
"If Henry dies," David said softly, "I will have no further use for you, Alcott."
"Henry will die if I do not operate, Captain Fletcher."
David stared at him, but the boy just looked back at him calmly.
"Very well. Stay in here, Doctor, and I will call for you. There is water in that carafe. Do you need any food?"
"No, no food."
"Do not meddle with anything."
Alcott walked over to the bunk and sat, staring at the deck.
"Alcott."
He looked up, the shadows beneath his eyes stark against the pale skin.
"As you value your life, you will save my brother."
"Go away," Alcott said tiredly.
When David returned some hours later followed by a sailor carrying a tray of food, Dr. Alcott was standing at the stern window, looking out at the schooner's wake.
"Did you sleep?"
"Some. Enough."
He turned from the window and walked farther into the room, the late afternoon light highlighting his plain face, his slender shoulders and arms that looked too fragile to wield a surgeon's saw.
"I am not hungry," he said.
"Eat anyway. I speak from experience, Doctor," David said when Alcott frowned at him. "You will do better with some nourishment, and the coffee will combat your fatigue."
"A valid point," Alcott acknowledged, seating himself at the small table. David sat on his rumpled bunk and watched the doctor drink some of the harsh but effective coffee brewed in the galley, and then spoon up the chowder.
"This is good," Alcott said in surprise.
"One of the advantages of cruising the islands, Doctor. More access to fresh food, and there are plenty of fish in these waters."
Alcott stopped eating after just a few spoonfuls, but drank the rest of his coffee, a frown digging two lines between his brows.
"You will never grow to your full size by not eating, Alcott," David said, injecting some heartiness into his voice. "I vow, at your age I could chase down a cow and consume it whole, then be hungry again a few hours later."
A smile twitched the corner of the doctor's mouth. "All young men are empty kettles that never seem full."
"How old are you, Alcott?"
Alcott looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. His face taken as whole wasn't going to win him the hearts of young ladies, but David suspected those thick-lashed eyes that tilted up at the corners got him his share of feminine smiles.
"I am twenty years old, Captain."
"You look younger."
"So they tell me."
"Twenty. That is how old Henry is."
"I could tell he was your younger brother."
"Yes, and a pestilent little puppy when he was growing up, always tagging behind me, imitating me, following everywhere...even to sea."