Young Writers Society

So this is a huge scene from my NaNoWriMo: Hearts of Oak. I decided to put this in the short stories section instead of creating a Novel thingie for it, because it can stand on it's own and it widely out of place. It takes place no where near the beginning of the novel.

I am mainly posting this because Snoink, Jabber, and Twit all wanted to see it.

Also, I fear I have been spelling Lieutenant both in the phonetic way and the normal American way.

El Muerte from Part II of Hearts of Oak

Heading into the officer’s mess aboard the Bellona, I found Miles and Alfred, their heads together over an atlas, Alfred marking it while both of them murmured excitedly—grins tugging at both their faces.

“Well, Gentlemen.” I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed across my chest. “Have you found a secret passage to a new world or what else?”

Miles glanced up at me, his gray eyes sparkling. “What else, indeed.”

“Something better, Mr. Gray.” Alfred added.

Miles looked back to the atlas, his eyes fixated on it. “We think we know where El Muerte is hiding.”

I entered the berth and took my place next to them to take a look at the map. “Really? Since she has not shown herself since the weather has cleared, I had thought she lost to us.”

Miles took the pencil from Alfred and scribbled down something in his notebook. “I doubt it, that she has been lost. She is nothing more than a pirate, but she is skillfully sailed, we know that. And, we know her history of gaining advantage by seeking out ships in the midst of storms.”

I conceded that from what we had witnessed when she had attempted to sink [or capture] the Catherine.

“Mr. Garrett gave me the idea that she must have to make port somewhere on the days when she cannot hide in the storm.”

Taking the corner of the open page, Alfred lifted it up. Then, he gestured for me to take a closer look.

“We both agree,” Alfred started, “that where it makes port must be an unoccupied or neutral island that offers a safe harbour.” He looked up at me. His entire face was bright and lively, infused with excitement and pride. “We think we have found it.”

I peered at where Alfred was pointing on the map. “This is very old…” I mumbled, taking in the crackling, aged pages.

“My father gave it to me,” Miles explained. “Mr. Noakes has a current atlas though interestingly enough it does not contain some of the smaller islands this one has.”

The island that Alfred was pointing to was a little more than a mark on the page, about six, seven miles south south west of Oporto. “It is nothing more than a speck, Miles. I doubt it is very big.”

“Of course it is not.” Miles responded as if it was an universally known fact and not a mysterious mark on a out-dated atlas. “After all,” he continued, “it was left off the newer atlases entirely.”

Now, I was a little confused. “If it’s so small, why would you dock your ship there?”

As soon as I had uttered those words, understanding dawned upon me.

Both Miles and Alfred were grinning at me as I answered my own question. “He needed some place that was even over looked by the map makers.”

“Mr. Garrett and I both came to the same conclusion.”

“Any guesses about the actual size or the terrain?” I asked, carefully perusing the map again.

Alfred shook his head, but Miles responded. “I can only make a guess, Andrew. I would say, based on the other small island in the vicinity that it is rocky with perhaps a protected cove or beach.”

“It will be difficult to find then.” I added.

“Yes. And, even more difficult to attack. No doubt there will be lookouts posted to warn of approaching ships.” Alfred mentioned.

I looked up at them both. “To be successful I mused, “I suppose, we must approach under the cover of darkness, preferably on a night with no moon.”

Alfred beamed as if I had just told him the coordinates for the lost city of El Dorado. “We knew you would help us figure this out.”

“Our positioning is very critical, it has to be exact, and our timing will have to be executed to a fault if we have any hope of making this work.” Alfred remarked, staring off in space as he did so.

I shook my head and let a chuckle escape my lips. “Better not let Mr. Noakes ever hear you questioning his expertise, Alfred. Well then gentlemen, are you ready to take your information to the captain?”

“Yes.” Miles answered. “The sooner, the better. I would think the captain would want to act on this while the weather is still fair. Come on, Mr. Garrett.”

Alfred dropped the pages of the atlas he had been holding; he was obviously startled as his mouth fell impossibly wide open. “Me, sir?” Alfred stuttered.

“Yes, of course, you. You were the one who started everything in motion. The captain will want you there when we explain our plan to him. It will be easier this way.”

Alfred just kept stuttering, and I fought the urge to laugh.

“We… Our… Mr. Goodwin… I…”

Oh, Alfred, for God’s sakes, I thought to myself. “Just shut your mouth and go already, Alfred.” I admonished him with a smile on my face.

Alfred finally made it out of the berth following Miles. I stood by the door as they exited, a big grin of my face. I should have expected what happened next to happened. Miles called back to me. “You too, Mr. Gray. It was your idea about the timing of attack.”

I huffed for dramatic effect, but followed them out wondering exactly how the captain was going to take regard the sudden invasion of his two Lieutenants and one Midshipman.

On can never tell how Captain Clark will react to an invasion. Especially by his own officers. Sometimes he enjoys toying with us, teasing us with a calm, uninterested facade. Although you may be on board three-four months before you understand that is what he is doing.

Today, though, when we parlayed to him our plan, he made no effect to control or hide his excitement at the proposition of having found El Muerte. Our little brain trust lapped up the accolades heaped onto us by our Captain Clarke.

“Excellent work by all three of you. I am certain, I have a feeling that El Muerte will not escape us again.”

Miles cleared his throat, “Sir, I would like to make mention that I do not know that El Muerte is there, on that island, for certain.”

I looked from Miles to Alfred. The shocked look on Alfred’s face spoke volumes: you were damned sure enough five minutes ago, how can you be so uncertain now that we are in The Captain’s cabin?

Clark dismissed Miles’ uncertainty easily. “She is there, Mr. Goodwin. I can feel it in my bones. And to think, he’s been there the whole time, eluding us.”

Captain Clarke had his arms spread apart leaning on the captain’s table. “It would probably be best if we leave the rest of the squadron behind out of sight.”

“Perhaps they can station themselves in the area around the island or the area where we think the El Muerte is in.” Alfred offered his timidity seemingly gone.

“Another fine idea, we will have to signal the other ships tomorrow, so the captains can join me here tomorrow to go over this plan. When is the moon dark next, Mr. Gray?”

“In six days, sir.” I answered.

“Six long days, gentlemen. I dare hope the weather holds for us, God and weather willing.” He leaned forward a little more on the desk. “We shall sail the Bellona under the cover of darkness as close as we can without being spotted. He clucked his tongue smartly. “We shall have to take in all sail and tow her, once we find out if it in fact our island, two or three boats should be dispatched to search for El Muerte. Then, we shall board her and recover our prize.”

“Shall we take attempts to take El Muerte, sir?” Miles asked.

The captains shook his head slightly. “No our orders are to sink her or destroy her in any way possible.”

I let that thought sink into my brain as I found my way up on deck after the meeting to start my watch.

Alfred and I were back in the Captain’s cabin later that evening. It had been decided that as part of the brain trust that we be apart of the attack party. Miles as first lieutenant would be in charge of the positioning of the Bellona.

We had been reviewing how the attack would take place when suddenly Captain Clarke fixed Alfred with a stare. “Are you ready for this, Midshipman Garrett? It will be your first command.”

Alfred did not hesitate in his answer. “Absolutely, sir.”

“Good. We can review this plan again at a later date after we decide which men shall accompany you on the mission.”

Alfred and I nodded in assent.

“Mr. Garrett would you please retrieve Mr. Bell, I have a matter to discuss that concerns the both of you.”

Though Alfred sported a quizzical look on his face, he did as he was bidden.

“I would appreciate it if you stayed, Mr. Gray as it concerns all the officers aboard this ship.”

Now, I was confused. “Of course, sir.”

“Good, good.” Captain Clark replied. He grabbed his captain’s chair and moved it in front of the table. Then as he sat down into the chair, he gestured for me to take one of the other chairs on the other side of his table. He pulled out two letters with the same seal on them.

He then peered at me with his sharpened gaze. “It is unfortunate, is it not, that the admiralty sees fit to meddle our personal business, Mr. Gray?”

Uh… I was confused. “Yes?”

Before the captain could respond, there was a knock and the door, and it opened to reveal our young doctor, Newton Bell. The young man of five and ten looked confused. Alfred Garrett soon appeared behind him.

“Come in, Mr. Bell, Mr. Garrett.” Bell entered. “Please sit.” Bell took a seat albeit stiffly. Alfred did the same though with more ease than Bell.

The captain then pushed the two letters toward Bell. I saw the recognition clear on Bell’s face as soon as he laid eyes on the seal.

“They came right before we left Gibraltar last. With the bad weather as of late I have not had the time to discuss properly with you the contents of these letters.”

I could see now the consternation on Bell’s face. I was curious, what could have the young man so vexed? Bell’s lips now were spread across his freckled face in a thin grimace. Alfred too watched his friend with much apprehension.

“In truth,” our captain continued, “I have put off dealing with them on purpose.”

I watched as the young man took a sharp breath before he spoke. “I am very sorry, Sir. There are from my uncle, are they not?”

“Yes. One of them concerns your role aboard this ship. But, I can assure you nobody knows of your true role here save the men on this ship, and you have earned their loyalty.”

I knew that the young man did not have a good relationship with his family, but until this moment had no idea that it was so strained.

“I am very much relieved at that,” Bell replied softly.

The captain took the other letter in hand and opened it. “This one is more the pressing matter. This, Mr. Bell, is where things get rather interesting. I do as a matter of fact have an idea as to how to deal with this issue. You should read it for yourself, though, as it is from your uncle.”

Hesitatingly, the young doctor reached out his hand to grasp at the letter. His hand shook a little as he did so.

I watched Bell as he read the letter silently. His face was a solid mask of concentration; he did not belie any of his inner reaction to the letter. I hoped my own face was as unresponsive as his; inside, I itched with curiosity at what was written inside that letter.

He finally finished the letter and placed it, open, back on the captain’s table. For a few seconds, Bell breathed in short breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but low.

“I wondered why all of a sudden my uncle seemed so interested in my career.”

The captain nodded at that remark. “I have no doubt it has to do with some silly thing printed in the naval gazette. But I fear I have no choice as no doubt your father has written Parker on the subject as well.”

Bell seemed to have less tension about him after the captain spoke. “What is your plan then, sir.”

He flashed a merry glance at me before looking at the other two young men across from him. “Your mission, Mr. Garrett, is to captain one of the launch boats in the operation against El Muerte as Acting-Leftenant. And, as for you, Mr. Bell, I fear I have no other option but to promote you as well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Garrett immediately responded rather animately. Bell was looking passed our captain, and I thought I heard him sigh.

“Yes, well enough of that,” the captain replied—stiff upper lip and all. “Mr. Garrett, I shall see you soon to discuss the operation of El Muerte further. As for you, Acting Leftenant Bell, do try and actually perform some work as a physician, if you will, and please try not to interfere with Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Garrett.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Bell replied.

The two rose to leave and were almost out the door when the captain turned to me and said, “Mr. Gray it should not do us well if our two newest leftenants should get lost on their way to their new berths, now would it?”

I had left Bell and Garrett to gather their things before returning to my berth. A little more than an hour later, the two came in with their own dunnage.

I called out to them when I saw them. "Well, well, well, gentlemen, looks like we have two additions to our berth...a bedraggled lot indeed." I rose from the table in the officer's mess, looking over both Newton and Alfred, newly arrived, and let them into the berth.

Miles did not move from the table, where he sat with his nose in a book; he only raised his eyes. "Good lord, Mr. Gray/Mr. Grey, they will let anybody in here nowadays."

Captain McAnn merely shook his head. "Apparently, gentlemen, we shall now have to include baby-sitting amongst our duties," he muttered, an impish look in his eyes giving away his real nature.

Newton sighed before he spoke. "Out of curiosity, gentlemen, just how long shall we have to endure this?"

I slid into the seat next to McAnn, who was kind enough to make room for me.

"Why, until we get tired of it!" Miles said with a grin, "Or until you bribe us with better food than what we've managed to acquire in our own stores, of course."

The next day I found Bell staring off into space in the sick berth. I handed him the tea I had been carrying for myself.

“What is on your mind, Newton?”

He sighed. “Nothing…”

“I would suggest that it is more than nothing for the way your shoulders slump so well.”

He sipped the tea deeply but did not reply. It seemed that I would have to prod him more.

“Are you worried about Alfred?”

He placed the mug of tea down. “Yes. This is his first mission. It is not going to be an easy one. Our old friend, Mr. March—you would not know him; he was killed in action—He asked me to keep an eye on Alfred, to keep him from flying off crazy-like.”

“And, you cannot do that from here.” Bell nodded his head when I said this. “Ah. And you think you would be of help to him if you were on the mission?”

“Hell, no! I would just be in his way, and he’d probably be more worried about me than about the plan.”

“The Captain would have not put him up for this if he was not ready.” I supplicated.

“Of course not.” He replied. He sighed then and picked up the mug of tea again to take a sip. “But I won’t know. I will be here waiting while you and Alfred row away. Waiting for hours with no clue as yo whether or not he’s hurt, or dead, or a prisoner.” He finished off the tea. “I do not like that.”

I suddenly had an idea. “Suppose, Newton, he is hurt. Suppose they bring him, or me, or any man back for that matter to the ship needing medical assistance, you will need to be well rested and prepared to work. Half asleep is no way to stitch a man up.”

Bell looked at me then and seemed to take comfort in that. “Well, then, I shall try to follow your orders, Andrew. I would not want any man to find me not at my best should he need me.”

“Sleep, Newton. And, stop worrying about the things you cannot control.”

It was sundown, and every one on board was still. Our sail have been pulled in. Earlier in the day, a look out in the crow’s nest had spotted our island using the captain’s glass. We dropped anchor just out of view, and the boats were ready. I felt sense of anticipation swell within me at the chance of action so near. In a few hours’ time, under the cover of absolute darkness, the Bellona will creep close to the shore line, and two of our little boats, captained by me and Mr. Garrett, will split off in search of the ship El Muerte.

Miles had been tense. I watched him on the quarter deck, imitating our Captain Clarke to the best of his ability—rooted upright to the deck beneath him, gazing forward with his arms clasped behind his back, palms clasped, fingers interlaced. Even from that vantage point, all of his usual easy affability had been transformed into composed, stiff, precise constraint. I understood this sudden change though it confused and vexed most of the midshipmen. His job once the signal had been given from the island that El Muerte had been found is to loose the sail with all haste and work the Bellona around—one flash from the lantern will indicate that the Bellona should proceed clockwise around, two will indicate to travel counter-clockwise, and no signal is the sign that the Bellona should proceed dead ahead.

I saw that Mr. Bell was above decks; he was standing next to the rail on the leeward side of the ship. I approached him. I hoped that the conversation we had had earlier helped him in some little way. I worried about the young man.

“Good evening, Mr. Bell.”

“Mr. Gray.” He turned to me, just a little startled. He looked back out to the sea. I came to stand next to him and joined him to look out at the sea. “You will be away soon.” He added at last.

“With the hour or two, we hope.”

He looked at me.

“I do wish you would not worry so much.” I told him.

“I suppose you are right,” he began. “But, would you not worry about me if our roles were reversed?” His lips twitched in a half smile. “One man’s mistake or lucky break by our enemy, and you or any one else on the mission can be in danger.”

I took a deep breath and considered my answer. “We are in danger every day, Newton.” I gazed out at the brilliant orange and purple brush strokes across the sky. I shrugged my whole body before I spoke. “Glorious sunset, this! At one point in my life, I did not believe I should ever see such a sight again.” The pang of remembrances aboard the Norfolk caught me, but it did not pain me as much it used to. That part of my life no longer affected me the way it used to or fill me with old desperation. “I have learned as Mr. Goodwin would say, to take things as they come.”

“Good luck to you, Mr. Gray. Take care.”

I gave him my best grin. “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Bell. Mr. Garrett and I both. You just wait and see.”

He face seemed more lax, the muscles less tense. He seemed more at ease. “I am counting on it,” he replied.

Two hours or so later, both the boats were away. We found El Muerte. She is a pretty little ship—miraculously tucked away exactly where Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Garrett thought it would be. Mr. Garrett managed to kill the first and only look out we came across on the island. The ship was another story entirely. There was no clear way to board the ship without being noticed. We realized our predicament as soon as we got close enough to El Muerte to see the men aboard her—the men at the watch. I could see their weapons at the ready as they continuously patrolled.

What happened next was a flurry of chaos as we boarded her in full force—flashes of fire and the cracks of pistols echoed out into the night. Suddenly the whole ship erupted in a flash of fire arms. The screams of familiar and foreign tongues erupted into the night.

After I used the two pistols I had carried on board to dispatch two of the Spaniard’s crew members, I drew out my sword. As I parried a blow by a large hulk of a man, I saw Mr. Garrett make his way down into the hole of the ship, followed by two mentioned from his division.

I managed to make my way, dispatching a Spaniard or two on the way, after him. I called out to one of my men. “Mr. Williams, follow me!”

The below decks of El Muerte was dank and dark. I found it a little disconcerting while I rushed through the below decks of El Muerte with Williams on my heels that there were no impediments to stop us. We did not come across any man below decks. It was strange, but I quickly dismissed that thought for the more pressing matter: to find out where Garrett and his men had gone.

We found them in the Captain’s cabin. Garrett’s men were beginning to lift a large sea chest.

“Is that the prize?” I asked.

Garrett looked at me, his brown eyes wild. “Yes, I believe so, Mr. Gray.”

Garrett then turned back to the desk he was standing over. He started rifling through the pages on the desk. Lyman and Collins, the two seamen from Garrett’s division that had followed him below decks, hefted the large chest and just managed to get it through the doorway. Garrett continued go through the pages, rifling through them quickly.

I took steps towards the door of the captain’s cabin to watch the chest being carried to above decks to be loaded into one of our little boats. When I looked back at Garrett, he was still tossing papers about.

“Come on, Mr. Garrett, let’s go.” I bellowed out at him with all the urgency that was in my veins.

BOOOOOM!

There was a shining burst of brilliance. I was face down on the deck. My ears rang cacophonous an ear splitting, horrible, reverberating sound. Flames were everywhere, and bits of splintered wood and God knows what else were raining down. The sounds of men screaming and shrieking gradually overpowered the ringing in my ears. I tried to raise myself from the deck, but slipped—pain imploded in my jaw as my chin smacked down against the deck.

I blinked. Smoke obstructed my vision. I blinked again, and realized what I was seeing. The whole back of El Muerte was gone. It had exploded into a million pieces.

Alfred!

I scrambled to my feet, only slightly lurched for a few moments before I found my feet.

Overwrought, I whipped my head around, casting my gaze, searching for something, anything that would tell me what had happened to Alfred.

Then, I saw it; his coat. It was floating among some of the wooden debris. Without a second though, I clambered to the still smoking edge of El Muerte and launched myself into the water.

The frigid ocean smacked against my face and hands as I dove under. As best I could, I fought my way to the surface. Treading water, I searched for the coat again. There, there it was. Just out of reach. The buttons glittered in the dancing flames from El Muerte. With my gaze fixated on the coat, I stretched out one arm in front of the other. When I was in reach, I struck my arm out to grasp at the wet cloth. Expecting for it to be an empty coat, I almost let it loose from my grip when I felt the body still confined within it. I took a hold of a piece of floating flotsam to keep myself afloat.

“Alfred! Alfred!” I croaked turning him over.

When I did, I put the side of my face close to his mouth. I breathed in a deep breath. He was still breathing. I pulled back and looked at his again—his eyes were fluttering, and he seemed dazed. There was a cut on his head. The blood was slick as it descended from the wound.

I pulled Alfred over so that his body was supported by the flotsam. I shouted out into the dark and fiery night. Hoping to Mile's God someone had heard me.

By the time, one of the rescue boats found his, my voice was strained and hoarse and Alfred, well… Alfred’s breathing had continued to diminish; he had yet to respond to my exasperated attempts to get him to answer.

They lifted Alfred into the boat first, and then a large hand reached out to me and hoisted me up.

“Thank you,” I grunted to the man who pulled me aboard; Johnson I think I remembered his name was.

“Yer welcome, sah.” The man answered.

I do not remember much of what occurred on our way back to the Bellona. I was filled with too much worry, and I was shivering from being in the water for so long.

On the deck of the Bellona, I still was immersed in fear for Alfred. And, under the assault of lantern light, I saw I had good cause to worry. His face was pale, but that was not what distressed me. There was a burn—a bad burn; it had torched away the left arm of his jacket. The burn extended from his left shoulder down his left arm.

Someone was calling for Mr. Bell. I was too fixated on the burn.

Suddenly Alfred came to, and screamed. I reached out then hesitated. I had no idea what to do. I reached for his good hand; “Alfred, Alfred. Listen to me.”

He blinked at me. “Argh… it hurts.” Tears were cascading down his face. My gut tightened at the sounds of pain that left his lips.

Right then, Mr. Bell appeared; his face stern, and looking much older than his fifteen years.

“I know, Alfred.” He spoke softly. “But, I promise, you are going to be alright. You are back on the Bellona, and I will see to it that you are going to be alright.”

I admit I was a little in awe of the young man.

“Mr. Davers,” Bell told the man holding Alfred. “Please take him down to the sick berth. I will be with you presently.”

As I watched them take Alfred down below decks, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was in Mr. Bell’s hands now. I have witnessed his ability to cure and heal, and it has never ceased to amaze me.

Then in one unblinking flash, the world quieted to a dull roar, and I suddenly felt old beyond my years. I turned to look out upon the sea. The fire that was the El Muerte was just a smoldering relic, and the sun was rising rosy on the horizon and over the rocky cove. The water was still.

Captain Clark was at once by my side. “I…I am going below, sir.” I said suddenly secure in the knowledge of where I needed to be.

“Yes, Mr. Gray. Report to me if you please after you have ascertained the circumstances from Mr. Bell.”

Down in the sick berth, I felt the waves of nausea assail me twice. Once upon immediately entering the sick berth, and another upon seeing Alfred—laid out and pale, his burned arm a dark illustration of the events just barely passed.

I mentioned to Bell that I wanted to talk to him.

“The burn,” I started. “The burn is bad, Newton.”

“I know, Andrew, I know. But everyone else is stitched up, and I had to set Morris’ arm—he will live, thankfully amputation was unnecessary.” Bell looked back to Alfred. “He is in a lot of pain; I am afraid to give him too much laudanum. What?” Bell bit at his bottom lip. “What happened?” He peered at me imploringly.

“I am not so sure, Newton. We were in the captain’s cabin aboard El Muerte. Lyman and Collins had just taken the chest and were making their way above decks. He was fixated on something. There were papers on the desk, and he was going through them. Then all of a sudden, everything exploded. I was flat on the deck, and the whole stern of El Muerte was in flames.”

I coughed—smoke still seemed to fill my lungs.

“I dove in when I saw his coat,” I relayed to him.

Newton sighed and scratched at his forehead. “You saved his life, Andrew.”

Alfred shifted some and a sob escaped his mouth. Newton instantly turned to shush him, to give some comfort.

It was then that I observed the reality of the burn. Newton had cut away his coat and shirt. It was an ugly burn—angry, red blisters extended out from his shoulder all the way down to his fingers. As if that was not awful enough, on the portion of his bicep right above the elbow the wound advanced deeper. His flesh gruesome had crisped and blackened in spots. The smell of singed flesh assailed my senses. I fought the urge to retch right then and there.

“Have you ever treated a burn this bad, Newton.”

“Once,” he murmured, reaching for a cloth from his supplies. He dunked the cloth in a bucket of water and then gently placed the wet cloth across Alfred’s forehead. “Back home, when I used to help out Doctor Lewis, this older man who lived on my uncle’s land. They had brought in a man. He was screaming—burned worse than this.” He gestured to the part of Alfred’s arm that was the worst burnt of all. “Doctor Lewis tried to treat him, but it was no use; we did not know what to do. He died a few days later; most horrible way to die, I think. I cannot imagine anything worse that what I saw that day they brought him in.”

Suddenly, Newton got to his feet.I saw in his eyes some clear realization. He called out to one of the loblolly boys. “Get me clean water, the coolest potable water you can find.”

His head twitched, and he reached for his tools. I watched him, somehow transfixed by his steady hands as he started to cut away at the damaged skin—at first, he removed the worst of the burned, blacked flesh. Despite the laudanum, the pain was violent, and Alfred cried out in his half stupor. I jerked forward in an effort to hold him down.

Newton looked up at me and mouthed: ‘Thank you.’ I nodded in assent.

The loblolly boy was back with the water. Newton instructed the boy where to place it. By this time, he had the arm almost completely cleaned off. “I need some of that linen that I boiled earlier.”

The boy scampered off to do as he was bidden. Alfred was quieter now. Newton put down his tools and reached for a jar among his supplies. Opening the jar, I could see it was salve. Newton dug his fingers into the paste and began to spread it all over the burn.

“The salve, Newton, will it not cause an infection?” I had known from experience that any debris in a wound would cause irritation.

He glanced at me and then back to Alfred’s arm. “I do not know if that will be the case. I think if I clean his arm every few hours or so I can keep it clear from infection.

“God!” I shuddered. I had seen what Alfred had already been through when Newton cleaned his arm for the first time. And, to have to go through it again and again. “That is going to hurt,” I uttered out loud.

The boy returned with the cloth in his hands, Newton took pieces of the cool, clean boiled linen and draped it over the burned arm.

“Most definitely.” Newton seconded. “But, I do not want to see him addicted to laudanum if I can help it.”

I too feared that if Alfred survived he would be dependent on the drug. I had seen men crippled and wrecked because of their addiction to it.

I looked at Newton closely. I could see the fear and the anxiety plainly on his face. I felt the need to reassure him. “He will survive Newton.”

Newton was back at biting his bottom lip. “I… I want to see him more than just survive, Andrew. I want to make it certain that he keeps the use of his arm, as well.”

He looked down at Alfred then, and his hand stretched out to smooth Alfred’s [brown] back off of his face. Alfred stirred and murmured. It was not quite the sound of pain, but Newton leaned forward to speak. I could barely make out the words that passed between the two Acting-Lieutenants; I strained to hear exactly what was being said.

“You are hurting, Alfred, I know that. I will have to hurt you more before we are done because you need to get better.” Alfred’s head turned fretfully towards Newton’s voice. “Think of your girl, Alfred. Think of Verity. Think of how proud she will be when you return to her a Lieutenant. She will be so proud of you.”

Alfred’s face seemed to relax as Newton spoke. I started to stand, working life back into my stiff limbs. I had the distinct feeling that the captain would be wanting my presence tout-suite. I clasped Newton’s shoulder; he was sitting next to Alfred, watching for any sign of change in the young man. “Take care of yourself, Newton.”

He looked up at me and nodded tiredly. “I shall endeavor not to ever disappoint you, Andrew.”

I was in the Captain’s cabin aboard the Bellona. Miles was there too. Captain Clarke was frustrated—one minor set setback, and I felt as if he would erupt and that was not going to be a pretty thing.

We were still occupying [the pirate’s first name and last name] island. The Bellona sustained little damage from the blast, but we were still investigating the island and the series of caves that inhabited it. We have recovered many stolen goods hoarded by the Portuguese pirate Manoel Oliveira de Rivero, but we have yet to find the Admiralty’s dispatches. As for the trunk, it did not contain any of the Admiralty’s dispatches. What it did contain brought a blush to my face. Hell, it brought a blush to Miles’ and the captain’s faces as well. While devoid of items in dire concern for His Majesty, the trunk did contain rather explicit illustrations—pornography.

Worse than not retrieving those lost dispatches was the fact that we lost six men; four from Mr. Garrett’s division and two from mine.

We took one prisoner, who was very glad to see us, a Portuguese traveler who had been no better than a hostage aboard El Muerte. He related to us of Manoel Oliveira de Rivero’s lunacy in believing himself a god. Apparently when we attacked, Rivero felt compelled to set everything up in flames rather than let us take what he believed was rightfully his. He sincerely believed so much so in his own divinity that he would survive the blast unscathed.

To call Captain Clarke perturbed would be to call the sun hot. We have procured some rather impressive treasure from the caves of the island yet no search has brought us no closer to our dispatches. We have found many relics of gold and silver, a very expensive collection of books, steel and guns of all shapes and sizes, and last an alabaster chess set, cleverly designed with pieces that interlock into the squares—perfect sort of thing for play aboard ship. Captain Clarke put the chess board aside, I believe, for Mr. Garrett should he recover from his injuries.

Of all the men brought back to the Bellona, only Mr. Garrett remains stricken with his injuries. Due to his severe burn, he is practically unconscious most of the time, so the Captain has yet to question him in detail. I too was very curious about what had so caught Mr. Garrett’s eye aboard El Muerte. What had he been so eagerly searching for? Had he seen those missing dispatches? It continued to vex me.

Newton Bell, clearly exhausted carried on, and he had told us that he was keeping Mr. Garrett on the most minimal amount of laudanum, fearing that Mr. Garrett will become addicted to it.

Because Mr. Garrett could not report to the Captain, I did so alone. I had described to Captain Clarke all of what I knew of the how the mission concluded. I explained to both Captain and Miles, a near perfect mission until the very end. How we got to the island around or a little after midnight. Mr. Garrett killed the first and only look out. I told of how when we found El Muerte, I sent the signal that the Bellona should proceed clockwise around the island. I explained how we were found out as we boarded El Muerte. How there was no chance to go aboard unnoticed. I told the Captain how I followed Mr. Garrett and two sailors from his division, Lyman and Collins, below decks. I told of how when I caught up with them, I saw they had the trunk—how I watched Lyman and Collins carry the trunk out of the El Muerte’s captain’s cabin. I then described to the captain the explosion, and my attempt and success at finding Mr. Garrett in the water.

The captain was still very frustrated. He commended me on my conduct in the raid, but I knew he was still irked. Unfortunately, since we did not, have not, found anything resembling naval dispatches, we can stay no longer.

“Mr. Bell seems to the point of lunacy,” the captain muttered and brought my back to the present. I watched as the captain paced around his captain’s cabin.

“How so, sir?” I asked.

The captain cleared his throat. “How so, sir? He has not left Mr. Garrett’s side since his injury. He is not the only man to be concerned with surely.”

I nodded, but spoke surely. “In all honesty, sir. We do not have any other men in need of him at this moment.”

Captain Clarke shot me a dark look. “Is not Mr. Bell himself one of our men, too. And by taxing himself unnecessarily does he not jeopardize himself, as well?”

I had nothing to say to that as I could not argue with the Captain’s logic. I also knew of the danger Mr. Garrett was still in if Mr. Bell did not manage to help him pull through. Mr. Bell himself would be devastated if he could not save Mr. Garrett. I knew how close they were.

The captain rose from his seat. “We are going to the sick berth, Mr. Gray.”

I bit my own tongue to keep from speaking out loud. This could be potentially disastrous as both Mr. Bell and the captain are stubborn, and I doubt either will give in on this subject. As I followed the Captain to the sick birth, I tried to ferret out a livable compromise for the both of them.

I had been down to see Mr. Garrett several times in the past few days. During the few times I had been down to see him, he had been in a deep stupor as Mr. Bell had been changing his bandages and cleaning his wounds. And, each time I had inquired after Mr. Garrett’s welfare, Mr. Bell told me that Alfred was progressing as well as to be expected, but because he still had to be drugged for bandage changes, he was not out of the woods yet.

On our way to the sick berth, Miles crossed our path, and I mouthed ‘Alfred’ as we passed, and he in turn followed us down to the sick berth.

I might, I just might begin to believe in the power of prayer that Miles Goodwin put so much stock in, because as we entered the sick berth, Mr. Bell was in the middle of treating, Mr. Garrett’s burn, instead of after treatment.

“What is that horrible sound?” Captain Clarke voiced as we entered the sick berth.

Miles seemed surprised himself of the sound too. “It sounds like weeping to me, sir.”

I had known immediately upon hearing the sound what it was. I had heard the sounds of Mr. Garrett’s weeping before—it was a horrible sound.

Sure enough, when we entered the sick berth, Mr. Garret was crying despite his best efforts not to. He was being held down by Williams. His injured arm was tied down, secured to the bed below him. The bandage had been removed from his arm. I watched as Captain Clark and Miles both grew pale as they beheld the sight of Mr. Garrett’s raw and blistered arm. I too felt sick at the sight of Mr. Garrett’s arm, but I could see that parts of the infected arm were starting to heal.

Mr. Garrett was clearly fighting the pain; the cords in his neck strained, and he was trying his hardest not to cry out, but that was a losing battle; tears were cascading down his face. Seaman Farrowe, an aging, wrinkled seaman, shakily mopped at Alfred’s face every few minutes.

Bell did not look up or register that we entered. He was focused on Mr. Garrett’s arm. In his hands, he held a long metal tool. He was cutting away bits of flesh, dying, dead or burnt, meticulously away from the areas not healed yet on Mr. Garrett’s.

No one said a word. I did not have the urge to wretch which decidedly was a big improvement from times I had been in the sick berth.

I looked to the Captain. His eyes were wide, and he was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. I looked from Mr. Bell and Mr. Garrett’s arm. I cleared my throat before I spoke. “It is not a pretty thing to watch, sir.”

The Captain never took his eyes off of Mr. Bell’s hands or Mr. Garrett’s arm. “What is he doing?”

“Every few hours he has to clean off all the old salve and bathe the arm in water. Then he dries off the arm and reapplies to salve before re-bandaging the arm.” I explained, shuddering as I recalled watching Bell do this before. “That is not as bad as what he is going now. Once or twice a day, Mr. Bell must do this.” I gestured to Mr. Bell’s hands, and how he was cutting away at the flesh on Mr. Garrett’s arm. I explained what Bell had told me when I had asked him why he was doing what he was doing. “He has to cut away the dying skin, so the new skin can form.”

“He says,” I continued, “that he knows so little but this seems to work. Newton tells me the arm has yet to become infected at all. Areas are already healing where the arm was not as badly burned as the rest.”

The Captain shook his head; and we watched, the three if us, silently as Mr. Bell finished his task and he put down his tool. He leaned down close to Mr. Garrett’s face and whispered. “There, there, now, Mr. Garrett. It will not be that much longer…”

“How much longer?” Mr. Garrett rasped. His eyes were closed, and he breathed shallowly.

“A few days, not much longer.” Mr. Bell started to spread more fresh salve over the arm. “I believe we will get you out of this surgery yet, Mr. Garrett.”

Farrowe who had been mopping Alfred’s face held up a cup to his lips. “There, sir. Drink it up. Doctor’s orders!” he soothed as Mr. Garrett took a gulp of the liquid.

Mr. Garrett blinked and seemed more alert than he had been since this whole mess started.

“Captain Clarke, Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Gray…” he murmured.

“It is good to see you awake, Mr. Garrett,” the captain replied.

Mr. Bell was cleaning his instruments; he looked up at the captain. “He is refusing more laudanum, sir.” Mr. Bell looked down at his friend and smiled tiredly.

The Captain laid his hand on Mr. Garrett’s good and uninjured shoulder. Mr. Garrett looked up a the captain. “It does not hurt bad,” Mr. Garrett told the captain shakily. “I…I must tell you what happened aboard El Muerte, sir.”

The Captain padded Mr. Garrett’s shoulder. “Tcha! I can wait for you to report a few more days. Fret not, Mr. Garrett. I need you at your healthy and recovered best, sir.”

I watched as Miles leaned forward so that he could speak in Mr. Garrett’s ear. “We have much to tell you, Mr. Garrett. The sooner you are better, the sooner we can acquaint you with what has transpired. I expect you to stop lolling about here in the sick berth by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes. Understood, Mr. Goodwin, sir.” Mr. Garrett mumbled as he started to drift off into sleep.

The Captain had now made his way over to where Mr. Bell was putting away his supplies and instruments. He placed himself in front of Mr. Bell. “I am worried about you, Mr. Bell. You should be sleeping more.”

Mr. Bell opened his mouth to interject, but the captain continued on. “This is not an order, Mr. Bell. But I urge you to rest for a little bit. Have Mr. Bennet wake you when Mr. Garrett needs you next, eh?”

To my complete surprise, Mr. Bell sighed. “I think I shall take that nap now, sir.” He did look bone tired when I took a closer look at his face.

“Good on you, Mr. Bell,” The captain answered. He then turned to where Miles and I had been loitering. His voice when he spoke again was clear and captain-like. “Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Gray, we had best return to the running of this ship.”

I gave Mr. Bell a slight smile as I hurried after them both.

The Captain had asked me to join him in his cabin, so I followed him back to his captain’s cabin instead of going to my own quarters below deck. He gave Miles a few last orders concerning our final days at this little island before Miles left. Should we find or discover nothing before tomorrow, we shall make sail to join the rest of our little squadron which is on its way slowly to Gibraltar. He seemed rather distracted to me, but I did not press him to discover the reason for it.

“I have found pride in the fact, Mr. Gray, that I take concern for the men aboard my ship. I have indeed dreamed of the day when I have a competent surgeon aboard a ship of mine.”

“I understand, sir.” I did, I really did understand. Aboard the Norfolk, our captain had not cared much about doctoring or the men needing a qualified one. Our doctor, Doctor Epson had been a drunkard. I still remembered the fear I had of going to him for any sort of doctoring.

“Yes. I would imagine you do, Mr. Gray,” my captain’s voice brought me back to the present. He stared at me, the left edge of his lips quirking upward. “But I doubt that I have ever considered the fact that a ship’s surgeon is one of the men until this day.” He turned toward the window and sighed deeply. “I am disappointed in myself, Mr. Gray that I was moments away from dressing down Mr. Bell for the high crime of performing his duty. A duty which, I may add, is so distasteful and so agonizing that it almost made me sick watching him do it.”

“No, sir,” I replied calmly. The Captain was facing the windows in his captain’s cabin. “You were moments away from dressing down Mr. Bell in concern over his own health. And, there is the fact that we lost six men on what has proven to be a fruitless mission by the Admiralty.”

His neck snapped around, and I thought I saw an impish grin flash on his face for a moment. “Good enough, Mr. Gray. Get on with your duties now; this ship does not run herself.”

I smiled at him then. I could not help myself. “Aye, aye, sir!”

Miles was in our shared berth that evening, and I confided in him my frustration over not being able to recover those missing Admiralty dispatches.

“You did everything you were supposed to, Andrew. De Rivero was a crazy son of a gun. We know that now.”

I sighed. “I suppose you are right, Miles. I know it shall always irk me that we did not recover the Admiralty’s dispatches.”

“Or memoirs, or what ever it was that we were supposed to be looking for,” Miles interjected.

I blushed, however, remembering what was in the trunk that we did recover.

“Do not be too upset with yourself, Andrew. It could have been much worse. I have a feeling your sister, Augusta, would kill me outright should anything happen to you under my watch,” Miles joked.

The image of my sister berating Miles Goodwin kept me entertained for the rest of the night before sleep came and claimed me.

We are now on our second full day out from that little island. We have rejoined our squadron having become resigned to our failure of not recovering any sort of dispatches. Our little squadron is to make for Gibraltar, and though depending on the weather, we expect to be back in port around the first of November.

Today, though, today marks a very exciting occasion, Mr. Garrett has made a full recovery, and today he is going to give his report. I doubt he would have made such a recovery if not for the efforts of Mr. Bell. Captain Clark, Miles Goodwin, and myself are waiting anxiously for him. Mr. Bell has assured us that he has been healing well though he probably will not have full use of his arm for some time. Time of which Mr. Bell says he cannot tell us exactly. Mr. Bell concluded, though, that the torture he had to put Mr. Garrett through ended a little over two days ago. We were all thankful for that.

We could hear the footsteps approaching the captain’s cabin. Clarke and Miles were sitting at the Captain’s table, and he motioned for me to open the door when the young man knocked on it.

“Acting Lefttenant Alfred Garrett, here to report the incidents having befallen myself and my crew aboard El Muerte, sir.”

Captain Clark motioned for the young man to come in and take a seat at the captain’s table. He entered the room stiffly but purposefully. He was still pale, but he seemed not in pain. His arm was in a sling, mostly to keep him from overtaxing it.

I wanted to tell him that it was so good to see him up and about, but I knew the Captain would not want that type of interchange in the formal report that was about to happen. I made a note to tell him of my thoughts later.

As soon as Mr. Garrett took his seat, the Captain began. “Begin, Mr. Garrett. From the beginning if you would so please. I have heard from Mr. Gray what happened from his end, and I wish to compare it with your view of the events upon El Muerte.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Gray and I departed as planned from the Bellona some time after dark. We approached the island in reasonable time—we were quite, silent. On the island, I killed the lookout. We rounded the island to find a small yet protected harbor. Then we came across some more lookouts who were easily dispatched due to their imbibing most of their night’s rum rations.”

He swallowed, but he did not ask for anything to drink, though I knew he would be want of water. “We made out El Muerte then, and Mr. Gray gave the signal back to the Bellona that we spotted El Muerte and to proceed clockwise around the island to the harbor so that El Muerte had no chance of escape. As we approached the ship, El Muerte, we could see little activity, but as soon as we boarded her, we could not conceal our attack. My men and I boarded her, our swords and pistols at the ready. I managed with two of my men—Lyman and Collins—to break away from the fighting and search the ship. In the captain’s cabin aboard the El Muerte, I found the trunk just as you described it, sir, in our debriefings. Lyman and Collins managed to raise the trunk and started to carry it out. I looked on the desk in the captain’s cabin, not wanting to miss anything. Mr. Gray appeared then too. I fear he yelled at me, but I was distracted. You, see, sir. I caught glimpse of a few papers on the captain’s desk that had lettering on in that I recognized—it was in French. I tried to find them again sir. But, I failed.” He looked down then. “I cannot praise my men’s actions strongly enough sir, especially that of Lyman and Collins. I…I do not remember what all happened next until I woke up in the sick berth, and my arm hurt so bloody much.”

“Hmm…” Now I could tell that the captain wanted to ask Mr. Garrett about how his arm faired, but the formal report must be concluded first. “Tell me, Mr. Garrett, is there anything you believe should have been done differently in hindsight that is.”

Alfred’s eyes shot upward and his chin jutted out. “Yes, sir.”

The captain just continued to stare unblinkingly at the young man.

“If I had to organize another attack like the one we performed on El Muerte, I would have made it certain that her captain was dead or incapacitated before inspecting her cargo. I am sorry, sir, that I did not at the time take into account that a pirate would not behave in the same way or manner as a French or Spanish captain who might at least have some grip on his own sanity.”

I smirked at Alfred’s answer.

Captain Clarke leaned farther back into his chair. “You might have lost more men during the execution of such a plan.”

“Perhaps, we could have, sir. But we lost six men as it is, and it could have been much much worse."

“An interesting point you have, Mr. Garrett. Although we were unaware of some of the particulars you have just shared with us, Mr. Gray and I have reached some of the same conclusions about El Muerte and her captain. Perhaps, we shall be better prepared in the future.”

Alfred seemed to relax at that.

The captain smiled at the young man and poured him a glass of claret. Mr. Garrett took it graciously and generously drank his fill of the liquor, his good, right hand shaky as he did so. “Thank you, sir,” he said as he put down the glass.

“How is your arm, Mr. Garrett?” the captain then asked him. I too was curious about how the arm was doing.

“I shall not win any beauty contests with it, sir. It has healed very nicely, and it does not hurt very much any more, except when the bandages need to be changed and more salve applied. I must gradually work up to using it again, though. It will be another few weeks before I am fully recovered, or so Mr. Bell believes.”

The captain nodded. “Take care you obey his exact instructions, Mr. Garrett.”

The young man beamed. “I did not believe I had any other option, sir.”

As all of us have seen what a terror Mr. Bell is in the sick berth, we all laughed together.