Pirate's Wraith, The (6 page)

Since then, despite the doctor’s predilection for scientific experiments, he had proved his usefulness many times over, but bringing Lesley on board could easily be Harlan’s undoing. Especially since he wrestled with his inner demons to keep his hands away from Lesley’s delightful form.

He went to the desk, placed the pen in the inkwell and slid the paper into a pigeonhole. 

“I want to go home. I want heat and light and caffeine and ... a hot shower.”

Her plea touched a familiar chord within him. He remembered well the sound of his wife trying to hold back tears—how her tone grew high and tight with emotion. But he could never forgive her.

Rancor toward his wife festered inside him. He could not let it go. The past rose up and threatened to overwhelm him. It gnawed at him much as that damnable rat had gnawed at that biscuit. Would he be mired in hatred forever?

His hand brushed against the pocket where the pony rested. He had put so much love into the carving of the small toy for his son. It almost seemed as if some warmth emanated from the wood. 

“Why am I here? Why didn’t I die? Is this what hell is like?” Lesley slid down and curled her body into a ball.

He would have applied the lash if a cabin boy behaved in such a way, but he did not beat women.  

He stamped out of the cabin in search of Gilroy. The old doctor had caused the problem and he must find an alternative situation. Since they had set sail, Harlan had no intention of stopping until they reached New Providence.

“Captain
! Look ‘ee to port!” Moody’s voice boomed out as Harlan came on deck. 

Harlan glanced east. Dawn had turned the ocean to a bright rose, which did not bode well. Against the glow on the horizon stood the dark shape of a Spanish man of war, but something was amiss. His problem with Gilroy and Lesley would have to wait.

He leaped onto the poop deck and grabbed the glass from Moody’s hand. The Spanish ship’s sails fluttered uselessly in tatters as it listed to one side. It lay at the mercy of the waves and the tide.

“Went through a storm by the looks of her.” Moody pointed out. “But she bears the scars of a battle, too.”

“We have no time to waste on a ship that has already been plundered.”

“There could be some victims as have been left alive.”

“The tide will carry them ashore soon enough.”

“There could be women ...” The glint in Moody’s eyes left no doubt as to his inclinations.

Harlan’s anger threatened to ignite, but he kept his words even and smooth. “Our ship’s hull is leaking badly. It needs careening more than you need a woman. You can wait until we reach New Providence.”

“Perhaps I can, but what about the rest of the crew?”

“Put more of them on the pumps.” He handed the glass to Moody. “In addition assign more men to trap and kill rats. I dispatched one in my cabin last night.”

“I should think the good doctor could invent a potion to kill them all.”

“He is sadly lacking in that skill. He concocts elixirs to aid in healing.”

Moody laughed, but his laughter was cut short by the sound of an explosion.

“Someone is certainly alive on that ship but I doubt whether it is a woman,” Harlan growled. “All hands, Mr. Moody.”

The cannonball whined before it impacted with the topgallant mast. The mast severed in two and the
Lyrical
shuddered.

“No competent gunner aimed that shot.” Moody commented with a sneer.

“Our topgallant is now useless, Mr. Moody.” Harlan glared at his first mate. “Bring her round, so we can blast that ship to kingdom come.” He glanced upward to see the rigging of the
Lyrical
toppling but then his heart constricted when he saw Lesley standing on the deck directly below the tumbling mast.

* * * *

Lesley’s body froze in place, startled by the deafening crack above her. The ship made a sickening lurch and she looked up at the masts. A cloud of white sail fluttered above her. Shouts and whistles swirled in the air from every direction.

Standing at the rail in shock, she did not know what to do or which way to run. Without warning, a strong arm grabbed her about the waist and hauled her beneath the overhang of the poop deck. The mast crashed against the rail at the spot where she had been standing. The ship listed heavily to that side. Men immediately swarmed to the spot and hacked at the rigging to cut away the fallen mast.

“Are you dim-witted?” Her rescuer growled.

She could only shake her head as she stared into Captain Sterford’s face. Though his words sounded harsh, a flicker of relief shone in his blue eyes, but it did not last long.

“Stay in my cabin.” He released her from his grip, pushed her inside the quarterdeck corridor and shut the door.

Immediately, another earsplitting explosion rent the air causing the ship to rock back and forth. The sound of splintering wood came from above. She stumbled along the passageway and into the captain’s cabin where she cowered, covering her ears as the blasts from the cannons rang in her head.

Despite the noise from the detonations, she heard horrible shrieks of agony pierce the air. Cold sweat formed on her forehead, but she wiped it away and fought against her fear. Although she had not succeeded in getting into medical school, she had taken a First Aid course. True, her knowledge had never been put to the test, but she should not stand by while someone lay in desperate need of help. She knew what to do with broken bones, how to stop bleeding, and she knew CPR, too.

Ignoring the churning in her stomach, she ventured out of the cabin to return to the quarterdeck. However, the door to the deck would not open—at least, not easily. She threw her weight against it but it took several attempts before she managed to push it wide enough to squeeze through.

When she saw the reason for the blocked entryway, her blood turned to ice water. A dead man lay on the deck. A red river oozed from the massive cavity that had once been his chest. She clung to the door for support as she stared at his face. She did not know him, but as his unseeing eyes looked up at the sky she took several deep breaths to calm her nausea. 

While she fought to get a grip on her emotions, she noticed the eerie silence all about her, a strange contrast to the chaos of but a few minutes ago.

The ship leaned to one side, but sliced quickly through the water—probably tacking, she guessed. Jim had taught her about that. She glanced upward. Heavily armed men hung in the rigging as the sails billowed out, full of the brisk wind.  

She turned her head and gasped. Ahead lay a large ship with several missing masts and a significant number of black holes in the side. As the
Lyrical
drew alongside, the strange tranquility shattered with a barrage of explosions. The air clouded with fire and smoke.

The
Lyrical
rocked. Lesley lost her footing and fell to her knees. Shouts, blood-curdling howls, the clanging of metal against metal, the crack of splintering wood, and the dull thud of bodies falling to the deck horrified her.

When another hand grabbed hers, she screamed.

“Come.” The doctor’s face appeared as the smoke cleared for a moment. He drew her back inside to the relative safety of the cabin. “You can help me.”

She followed him downward into the semi-darkness of the lower decks until they reached an area filled with groaning men and blood. The stench choked her. The dim glow of a few lanterns revealed a grotesque scene where a barrel of body parts sat next to a table. On the table a man lay moaning in agony. The lower half of his arm was mangled. He mumbled as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

A boy of about fifteen stood on the other side of the table. “He’s been screaming about his Lilly.”

“Yes, yes. They all do that. Never mind, boy, it’s the pain that has him out of his mind. You hold him steady and we’ll do the best we can for him.” The doctor handed a braided rope to Lesley. “Put this in his mouth when he screams.”

He picked up a knife dripping with blood. Lesley gulped back the bile in her throat as her skin turned cold and clammy.

“Don’t you have a tourniquet?” In this situation, her first aid training would not help but if the man needed to lose the limb anyway, blood loss should be prevented.

“Get a good grip on him, boy.” The doctor lowered the knife.  

“Stop
!” Lesley ripped a strip of cloth from the wounded man’s pants and picked up a wooden dowel lying beside the other surgical instruments. She gagged as she slid the cloth beneath the man’s upper arm. Knotting the cloth, she twisted it tightly using the dowel.

The thought of
what this poor man would suffer without anesthesia made her ill.

“You can start cutting now.” She held onto the unfortunate victim as the keenly honed steel of Gilroy’s blade slid into the soft flesh. The boy gripped the man’s legs.

When the patient screamed, she jammed the braided rope between his teeth, but moments later his body went slack. She could not watch the primitive procedure. Yes, she had hoped to be a doctor, but not a surgeon. She knew her limits. However, what she witnessed could not be classed as surgery. It reminded her of a butcher’s shop.

Dr. Gilroy picked up a fine-toothed saw to hack into the patient’s bone.

Her knees nearly buckled as she heard the limb fall away. Another sailor came up with a pot of foul-smelling, bubbling black tar. After dipping the stub of the victim’s arm in the tar, two other men hauled him away. Moments later, the men placed another wounded sailor on the table for the next amputation.

She retrieved the dowel and ripped up another pair of pants to apply another tourniquet.
This is hell!
She gagged at the amputations of a foot, then an arm, and finally a leg. Somehow she managed to keep standing. Though she prevented some loss of blood, she did not know whether it would make a difference. She did not abandon her assigned station and miraculously, she did not pass out.

Above them on deck, the battle raged but Lesley paid scant attention to the sounds of war. She concentrated on her task. After what seemed like hours, the doctor put down his saw.

“All of them will die.” She mumbled as she wiped away the sweat on her forehead with her blood-covered sleeve. “This is not a sterile environment. There isn’t any antiseptic or even pain medication. If they don’t die of blood loss, they’ll die of shock or an infection.”

“Aye, some will die but some will live.” The doctor wiped his knife. “You may go back to the cap’n’s cabin now.”

She stared at the odd old man. “Is the battle over?”

“Aye, and we’ve won.”

She glanced around at the unconscious, tortured souls on the wooden floor. “How can you tell?”

“The other ship is lying on the bottom and we have taken prisoners.”

“Will they be forced to walk the plank?”

“We have lost a good many of our crew but the quartermaster has a way with prisoners. He gets them to sign the ship’s articles. They will have the opportunity to join us.”

“That’s insane. How can you trust them? They tried to sink this ship.”

“What does it matter who they sail with as long as the rations are hearty and there’s rum in the water?” He waved his hand to dismiss her. “Get along. You did a fair job—better’n many.”

“Why, because I didn’t faint?”

“There’s them that can stab an enemy in the heart but when they sees their own blood the fits grab hold of ‘em.”

Sticky with other men’s blood, she climbed upward toward fresh air, but she discovered that the morning’s clear skies had changed. A gentle rain poured down upon the
Lyrical
and its crew. Lesley lifted her face to the cold rain, welcoming the light cascade. She rubbed away the blood on her skin and in her hair. If only she had a bar of soap. She wanted to strip away her clothes and toss them overboard. She would never be able to remove all the stains and she would never be able to wash away the memory of the horrific scene below decks.

The crew appeared busy at various tasks. Some sewed the dead into rough canvas shrouds. Other men made repairs since many sections of the ship had been split by cannonballs and portions of the railings on the side of the ship had been blasted away.

When she reached the captain’s door, she heard the sound of laughter within.

“A clever ruse and worthy of imitation.” Christopher Moody
’s voice trilled with obvious merriment.

“Devious bastards.” Captain Sterford rumbled.

“Their leader proved a most cunning fellow.” Came the quartermaster’s voice, deeper than the others.

“By now he should be in hell where he belongs,” the captain growled.

“Indeed, you sent him there with the fatal blow, Sterford. Right to the heart.” Moody’s voice sounded merry.

Lesley shuddered. Captain Sterford was a murderer. The men on the
Lyrical
were all murderers. Her stomach clenched tightly as she rapped her knuckles against the door. The men’s conversation ended.

When s
he entered the cabin, the captain glowered, Moody smiled, and the quartermaster narrowed his eyes as if he could see right through her. A chill ran along her shoulders.