Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars Read Online Free PDF Page A

something, he remembered—seemed to be directing the effort. He noted that the younger man was working alongside the seamen, even grabbing a line and heaving on it himself. Most officers, especially midshipmen, relied on orders backed up by very real threats of punishment to get the men to do their duty. His attention was diverted as parties of crewmen appeared here and there, clearing wreckage and starting repairs. Four marines, probably all that were left, systematically moved across the deck from one body to the next, separating the dead from the still living. Some they dragged unceremoniously to a central location midships; others they lifted onto litters and carried below. He could hear the incessant clanking of the ship’s pumps as they labored to keep the Argonaut from sinking.
    After a short time Bevan reappeared with the surgeon, a grizzled figure with a deeply veined nose, and an equally dissolute assistant who doubled as the ship’s barber. They wore long aprons, now far more red than white, and their hands and arms were likewise splattered with fresh blood. Both men smelled strongly of rum, and Charles had a clear idea of what they were doing while the battle was in progress.
    “This won’t hurt a bit, sir,” the surgeon said, roughly tilting Charles’s head to the side and sponging a dank, vile liquid that stung like fire over his wound. “Hold still, you’ve got a nasty cut there.” The assistant produced a mug of frothy shaving soap and a straight-edged razor. He tilted Charles as far over to the side as he would go without falling, daubed soap liberally from ear to crown and into one eye, and began scraping at Charles’s temple with the blade.
    From this position Charles heard Bevan say, “Look bright, Charlie. We have visitors.” Charles opened his unsoaped eye, and, from his position bent double sideways, he saw the ship of the line Excellent heave to and back her sails on the Argonaut ’s lee side. Her gig was already in the water and pulling across. Charles recognized the gray-haired, slightly rotund form of Cuthbert Collingwood, the Excellent ’s captain, in the bows. Collingwood was a senior post captain with a long and distinguished record. Bevan quickly left to greet him.
    “Let me up, damn it,” Charles demanded. “I can’t see anyone like this.”
    “It’ll be just a minute longer, sir; not half a minute,” the surgeon replied, forcing Charles’s head lower still. “All we have to do is sew you up. Don’t you worry, you won’t feel nothing.” The stab of a very large, very dull needle into the flesh on the side of his head would have made him jump if the barber/surgeon’s mate hadn’t anticipated it by clamping Charles in a headlock. “God damn, you whoreson sodomite, let me up!” he demanded, to no avail. He heard more than saw (“Keep your head down, you puppy, we’re almost there.”) Captain Collingwood come aboard and bellow, “Who’s in charge here? Where’s Captain Wood?”
    “Captain Wood is dead, sir,” Bevan’s voice answered smartly. “Lieutenant Edgemont is in command. This way if you please.”
    “Please, let me up,” Charles begged. He saw Collingwood’s shoes and white-stockinged legs in front of him. “No, no, stay as you are, sir,” he heard Collingwood say warmly. “Don’t even think about moving on my account. I only came to convey my compliments on your stand against the Spaniards, sir, my very best compliments. Truly a heroic stand. Our success in arms today is due in no small measure to you. And your health, sir, are you badly injured?”
    “He’s as fit as a fiddle, sir,” the surgeon answered. “Only a scratch. Be as frisky as a newborned colt tomorrow. That is, if the mortification don’t set in. You mark my words.” He jerked a final knot in the sutures, nodding to his assistant to release his hold. Charles straightened and shot the two of them a killing look. Then he turned to Collingwood. “You are too kind, sir,” he