In Roaring He Shall Rise: Part III
[Master Post]
[Previous]
February 8th, Year of Our Lord 1798
My darling Amelia,
I know that I promised to write you sooner, and more faithfully than I have, and not a day has gone by when I have not thought of you, nor missed your warmth, your laughter, and your goodness. A great deal has transpired since I was last able to write, and I shall endeavour to put my thoughts in order, so that you might learn everything that has happened to me.
The morning after I wrote to you last, the captain appeared next to my sickbed again. He's a handsome lad, though perhaps not as classically good-looking as his brother. Where the doctor has finely-formed, symmetrical features, and eyes that are startlingly like the Andaman sea on a cloudy day, his brother's good looks appear to stem mostly from being remarkably good-natured. He is a tall man by any standards, and towers over most of the crew by a good head. Indeed, though I am reckoned to be tall myself, he stands at least three or four inches taller than I. He had to duck in order to come into the confines of the infirmary, and folded himself uncomfortably into a sitting position on a crate by my bed. He leaned in toward me, his hair falling forward into his face, apparently resistant to every attempt to keep it tied back, which only added to his youthful appearance. I couldn't help but wonder at what must hide behind that cheerful smile, for him to be appointed captain of a ship at such a young age. Indeed, I have never heard of such a thing before now. All the post captains I have encountered, especially those in the British Navy, have been well into their thirties, sometimes older. It takes the wisdom and clarity of age to properly run a ship, and a less charitable part of me wondered if there might not be some form of nepotism at work, here. Still, this man had quite literally saved my life by pulling me from the ocean, and it felt churlish and ungrateful to allow my thoughts to continue among those lines.
“Well, Mr. Novak,” he said, placing a large hand on my arm in a gesture that was oddly comforting, and he fixed me with a stare that was intense, though not unkind. “What are we to do with you?”
I squirmed under the scrutiny. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. As much as I might have hoped otherwise, there are strict rules in the Navy for those who would desert their post, and Captain Winchester did not strike me as the kind of man who would willingly flout the rules.
“The Admiral is most insistent that you be punished. He is a great believer in discipline, as am I.” He frowned at me, and I felt myself flush with embarrassment. If you had asked me a year ago what I thought of the men who tried to abandon their post, I would without hesitation have told you that they deserve nothing but the swiftest and most extreme justice. “You were extremely reckless, Mr. Novak, that much is obvious. How else do you explain falling into the water thus, when you should have been watching your footing?”
I gaped at him, astonished to see the faintest hint of a smile quirking one corner of his mouth. “I...”
“You needn't attempt to justify yourself,” he continued, interrupting me. “Reckless and irresponsible, that's what you were, and now that we have you aboard, I cannot have you setting such an example for my crew. I have managed to convince the Admiral that ten lashes will be more than sufficient, given your recent injuries, which are almost punishment enough in themselves.”
“What?” There came an indignant bark from the surgeon. “Sam, you said nothing of this to me,” he said, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way toward us. “The man has only recently escaped death, and now you mean to flog him?”
“Dean...”
“No! I will not have it, not in my surgery!” the doctor glared. “Bad enough you adhere to these barbaric traditions, but I will not have you undo all my hard work!”
“It's not that simple. You know as well as I―”
“Of course I know, Sam, and that's the problem. Are you going to tell me that this wasn't justified? That Crowley is a sadist, and we both know it. No man in his right mind would willingly serve under him! Sending him back would have been a death sentence, even you agreed, and now you want to indulge in the same practices as that ―that monster?”
The captain rose, then, and from where I lay seemed to veritably loom over his brother. “You overstep yourself, Dean,” he said softly, and his tone sent chills through me. Dean, however, did not appear in the least bit intimidated. He simply stared back, seemingly about to physically interpose himself between the captain and my bed, if necessary.
“Overstep myself?” he spat derisively. “If it comes to that, Sam, then yes, I will certainly overstep myself. I am still your brother, and still your elder, and I will damned well speak my mind when you are committing yourself to such a reprehensible course of action. I cannot countenance this, you know that. It's barbaric and cruel and entirely pointless.” He pointed at me. “Has this man not suffered enough?”
“I have no choice in the matter, and you know it!” the captain rejoined hotly. “I will thank you not to climb upon your high horse with me. Not all of us have the luxury of moral superiority when it comes to these things.”
“High horse?” I could not quite fathom the expression of pain and anger that suddenly flashed across the doctor's face. “Oh, that is rich, coming from you. Tell me, does twisting that particular knife give you pleasure?”
Immediately his brother's countenance fell, and I could see that he was consumed with regret, and not a little guilt. “You know I didn't mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it, then?” The question was nastily put.
I cleared my throat, and the two men turned, identical expressions of surprise on their features, as though they had forgotten that I, the reason for their argument, was even present. It would have been comical, under other circumstances. “If I may?” I struggled to sit up, and immediately the captain lent me an arm, propping me up. “If it makes any difference at all, I will gladly take the punishment you wish to mete out. It is richly deserved,” I held up a hand to forestall what I perceived to be an objection from Dr. Winchester. “Indeed, it is far lesser a punishment than I deserve for my particular... transgression. I would not for anything wish to undermine the discipline of your crew, not after all you have done for me.”
The captain nodded. “I was rather hoping you would see it that way. Good man,” he added quietly. The doctor, however, did not appear in any measure mollified.
“Very well,” he muttered. “If all of you are determined to carry on with this ―this ridiculous notion... I wish you joy of it. Be damned, the lot of you!”
And upon that he turned on his heel and stalked from the room as quickly as his limp and the rocking of the ship would allow. The captain shook his head at his brother's retreating back, then looked down at me, his lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line.
“It will be two days hence, to make sure you are strong enough. Be prepared. For what little it is worth, I am sorry it must come to this.”
Then he followed quickly in his brother's footsteps, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I have witnessed a number of floggings in my years at sea, my darling, and none of them have been pleasant to observe. No matter the number of lashes, no matter how justified the punishment, the process has always filled me with a certain horror which, I suppose, is the whole point of the affair. To say, therefore, that I was apprehensive of my fate would be an understatement. When the day of my punishment dawned, I am not ashamed to tell you that I was positively quaking with fear. Paradoxically, I was grateful to the captain for my upcoming flogging. By all rights, since it was evident that I had been attempting to desert my ship ―for all that there were extenuating circumstances― I should be hanged. By comparison, I was getting off scot-free. I quitted my bed when it was still dark out, and made my way up on deck for the first time. I received more than a few curious glances from the crew, since they had not caught much more than a glimpse of me since my headlong plunge into the water weeks before. For the most part, though, they left me well alone. A flogging sometimes has that effect on people: they fear that its taint might spread to them.
I made my way to the side rail, gazing down at the churning water, and was startled when someone cleared their throat by my side. Looking up, I caught sight of a grizzled older man, streaks of grey in his sandy beard, a balding head concealed by a kerchief. One brown eye regarded me kindly, the other hidden behind a ragged black eye patch.
“Didn't mean to startle ya,” he said by way both of introduction and apology. “Name's Singer, but most of the crew call me Bobby.”
“Good morrow to you, Mr. Singer,” I mustered what few manners I had left, though I was still filled with apprehension about the punishment to come.
“Been talking with the lads, and I just wanted to let you know, there ain't a soul aboard thinks you were in the wrong. Everyone knows well enough what Crowley's like, and how much he hates Americans. You stayed aboard the Hellhound, you wouldn't have lasted another month. He'd have had you flogged to death for sure.”
I wasn't reassured by his words, my darling, but I nodded, and he took that as an invitation to continue. “The captain, well, you won't find a better one in the whole fleet. You were lucky, gettin' brought aboard the Impala. You won't find a better ship in the whole fleet, neither. I know you've got to be worried about what's going to happen today,” he added, seemingly out of the blue, “but the captain, he looks out for his own. And since he pulled you out of the drink, well, I reckon he considers you part of the crew now. You just wait and see.”
I nodded again, not trusting my voice, and he gave me a rough pat on the shoulder, doubtless meant to be comforting, and left me to my thoughts, until it was time for my punishment to be meted out.
My darling, it was worse than I ever could have imagined it would be. I should probably try to make light of it, to reassure you, but I know that you have always wanted nothing short of complete honesty from me, and so I will commit to paper exactly what I experienced.
The crew had been gathered on deck, almost to a man. These things are always conducted in public, of course. I was already bare-chested and barefoot, dressed only in the thin cotton trousers I had been wearing when I jumped overboard from the Hellhound. I stepped forward before all those staring eyes, unable to so much as raise my head to look at the individual faces. I kept my chin level as the bosun's mates led me to a wooden frame and bound my wrists to it so tightly I feared my hands might fall off. I shivered in the cold air, the scent of brine and waterlogged wood filling my nostrils, and I heard a voice I didn't recognize announcing aloud my supposed crime of 'recklessness' endangering myself and my crew, as well as the sentence of ten lashes.
I was given a leather thong upon which to bite, but it didn't prevent me from crying out when the first blow landed across my back, and a cry of “One!” sounded, clear as a bell in the morning air. My teeth dug into the thong, and I fancied I tasted blood on my tongue. It burned as though the lash had been set alight before I was struck. I struggled to keep my composure, steeled myself for the next blow, and managed not to make a sound when it finally fell. For all that the process must have lasted only minutes, it felt like an eternity, and I was sure I would swoon before the end of it. I didn't, but it was a near thing, I am sure. My vision went dark and my knees buckled when they untied me, and I was only dimly aware of the doctor's voice barking orders that I should be taken back to his surgery. I was dragged away and dropped roughly back on my cot, face-down on the rough bedding, and only then did I allow myself to succumb to the darkness.
I have been lucky, Amelia. It does not always seem so, but it seems to me that the course my life has taken over the past few months ought to have led to my death. Instead, I have been given a second chance. It has come at a price, but one that I am more than willing to pay.
I did not withstand the lash well. I was already weakened from my ordeal aboard the Hellhound and the wounds I had sustained during my escape. I did not regain my senses for a full day afterward, and when I did all I could feel was fire coursing along my back. I must have groaned or made some sort of noise, because the next thing I heard was the doctor's voice.
“Easy now, Jimmy. I know you're having a bad time of it, but you must let me work, or these wounds will fester.”
I felt something slick being smeared along the burning stripes upon my back, and the cooling sensation was such a relief that I almost lost my senses again. I did allow myself a whimper, as embarrassing as it might be to tell you this. I know that you love me for myself, and won't hold me to some impossible standard of bravery or stoicism. The doctor kept applying the salve, then bandaged my back with strips of clean linen, all the while muttering imprecations under his breath about what sounded like the whole institution of corporeal punishment. Eventually I simply allowed myself to drift, lulled by the sound of his voice.
In spite of the doctor's best efforts, I did fall ill again. Most of the wounds healed cleanly, but one laceration went deeper than the others, and the fever I had succumbed to because of my knife wound came back in full force. For what seemed an eternity I lingered, trapped halfway between sleeping and waking. I was forced to lie on my stomach to allow my back to heal, and it only served to exacerbate the feeling I had of being smothered where I lay.
When I finally awoke from my delirium, it was dark, save for the single, guttering light from an almost-spent candle. There was a figure by my bed, shrouded in shadow so that I could not see the face, but the silhouette belonged neither to the captain nor to the doctor. I found that I was lying on my side, my head pillowed on my arm. I pushed myself up onto my elbow, relieved when the movement caused only minimal pain, and the candle must have illuminated my face, because a soft voice broke the silence.
“They were right. It truly is uncanny.”
The figure leaned forward, and I found myself staring directly into the bluest pair of eyes I have ever seen. My heart skipped a beat, and I could not hold back a gasp of astonishment. I know you will find it as hard to believe as I did, my dearest, but when the candle cast light upon his face I could have sworn that I was staring directly into a mirror. His eyes were bluer than mine, and there was a hard edge to his jaw that I believe I do not, myself, possess, but apart from that he may as well have been my long-lost twin. He smiled mirthlessly at my gasp.
“I suppose it is a little shocking, but at least you have the luck of being a good-looking fellow, Mr. Novak. How do you fare?”
“Well enough,” my voice was barely more than a croak, my throat parched from the fever. My twin handed me a cup of water, which I managed to drink even though my hands shook badly. “You must be the Admiral,” I concluded, looking at his clothing.
“Astute as well,” he seemed pleased by my deduction. “I suppose I shall have to give the Captain his due ―he does have good judgement when it comes to people, apart from where that brother of his is concerned. Though I will tell you that I don't for a moment believe his nonsensical version of events that has you falling overboard in a demonstration of truly impressive clumsiness. So, tell me, Mr. Novak, now that you are here and we have firmly established with the crew that the captain and I do not and will not tolerate your sort of recklessness, just what are we to do with you?”
I cleared my throat nervously. “I was rather hoping you would allow me to return home. I am an American citizen, and that was where I was headed before being press-ganged aboard the Hellhound. I have not seen my wife nor my child in nearly two years.”
He appeared to consider this, much to my surprise. I expected an immediate refusal, since the Royal Navy is always so short of able-bodied seamen. Finally he spoke. “I don't see why that could not be arranged, eventually. But it cannot be right away, you understand. We are on an important mission, and we cannot veer off-course. We are also short-handed, as you may have guessed. I cannot ignore the fact that we have on board a man with such a skill set as we're looking for.”
I nodded. “I understand.” I didn't like it, not one bit, but I was entirely at their mercy. The fact that he was considering letting me return home at all was already cause for hope. “I haven't much choice in the matter, but for what it's worth, I am happy to work for my keep until you can drop me in a port somewhere. Anywhere will do, so long as there are ships bound for America.”
He appeared lost in thought for while, for so long, in fact, that I began, inexplicably, to feel fearful. “There must be a reason he's here,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. “His presence cannot simply be coincidence. Nothing happens by chance, everything is ordained. Why do you choose not to reveal this to me?”
I shifted uncomfortably upon my cot, and he seemed to realize that I was in the room once more. He smiled, and this time genuine warmth touched his eyes. “I am sorry, I didn't mean to keep you awake. After all this, you must be exhausted, and Dean will have my head for taxing your strength, Admiral or not. He has only the barest respect for authority. I will let you sleep, now. No doubt we will talk again at a later date.”
I wanted to question him further, but the pull of sleep was too strong, and by the time I awoke again he was gone, and did not return below decks. For days the doctor was my only visitor, and then the captain came in once or twice to see how I fared. It has been days, and I am stronger with every waking hour. Today for the first time I have been able to sit up on my own since I awoke, and so I have taken the opportunity to write to you, now that I am getting well again. I don't know when I will return to you, my dearest, but I know now that I will return. It may take months, perhaps more than a year, but I am no longer being held against my will. I am free, inasmuch as one can be free onboard a ship, and when the time comes, I will come straight home to you.
I love you and Claire with all my heart. Rest assured of this.
Yours ever faithfully,
Jimmy
[Next]
[Previous]
February 8th, Year of Our Lord 1798
My darling Amelia,
I know that I promised to write you sooner, and more faithfully than I have, and not a day has gone by when I have not thought of you, nor missed your warmth, your laughter, and your goodness. A great deal has transpired since I was last able to write, and I shall endeavour to put my thoughts in order, so that you might learn everything that has happened to me.
The morning after I wrote to you last, the captain appeared next to my sickbed again. He's a handsome lad, though perhaps not as classically good-looking as his brother. Where the doctor has finely-formed, symmetrical features, and eyes that are startlingly like the Andaman sea on a cloudy day, his brother's good looks appear to stem mostly from being remarkably good-natured. He is a tall man by any standards, and towers over most of the crew by a good head. Indeed, though I am reckoned to be tall myself, he stands at least three or four inches taller than I. He had to duck in order to come into the confines of the infirmary, and folded himself uncomfortably into a sitting position on a crate by my bed. He leaned in toward me, his hair falling forward into his face, apparently resistant to every attempt to keep it tied back, which only added to his youthful appearance. I couldn't help but wonder at what must hide behind that cheerful smile, for him to be appointed captain of a ship at such a young age. Indeed, I have never heard of such a thing before now. All the post captains I have encountered, especially those in the British Navy, have been well into their thirties, sometimes older. It takes the wisdom and clarity of age to properly run a ship, and a less charitable part of me wondered if there might not be some form of nepotism at work, here. Still, this man had quite literally saved my life by pulling me from the ocean, and it felt churlish and ungrateful to allow my thoughts to continue among those lines.
“Well, Mr. Novak,” he said, placing a large hand on my arm in a gesture that was oddly comforting, and he fixed me with a stare that was intense, though not unkind. “What are we to do with you?”
I squirmed under the scrutiny. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. As much as I might have hoped otherwise, there are strict rules in the Navy for those who would desert their post, and Captain Winchester did not strike me as the kind of man who would willingly flout the rules.
“The Admiral is most insistent that you be punished. He is a great believer in discipline, as am I.” He frowned at me, and I felt myself flush with embarrassment. If you had asked me a year ago what I thought of the men who tried to abandon their post, I would without hesitation have told you that they deserve nothing but the swiftest and most extreme justice. “You were extremely reckless, Mr. Novak, that much is obvious. How else do you explain falling into the water thus, when you should have been watching your footing?”
I gaped at him, astonished to see the faintest hint of a smile quirking one corner of his mouth. “I...”
“You needn't attempt to justify yourself,” he continued, interrupting me. “Reckless and irresponsible, that's what you were, and now that we have you aboard, I cannot have you setting such an example for my crew. I have managed to convince the Admiral that ten lashes will be more than sufficient, given your recent injuries, which are almost punishment enough in themselves.”
“What?” There came an indignant bark from the surgeon. “Sam, you said nothing of this to me,” he said, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way toward us. “The man has only recently escaped death, and now you mean to flog him?”
“Dean...”
“No! I will not have it, not in my surgery!” the doctor glared. “Bad enough you adhere to these barbaric traditions, but I will not have you undo all my hard work!”
“It's not that simple. You know as well as I―”
“Of course I know, Sam, and that's the problem. Are you going to tell me that this wasn't justified? That Crowley is a sadist, and we both know it. No man in his right mind would willingly serve under him! Sending him back would have been a death sentence, even you agreed, and now you want to indulge in the same practices as that ―that monster?”
The captain rose, then, and from where I lay seemed to veritably loom over his brother. “You overstep yourself, Dean,” he said softly, and his tone sent chills through me. Dean, however, did not appear in the least bit intimidated. He simply stared back, seemingly about to physically interpose himself between the captain and my bed, if necessary.
“Overstep myself?” he spat derisively. “If it comes to that, Sam, then yes, I will certainly overstep myself. I am still your brother, and still your elder, and I will damned well speak my mind when you are committing yourself to such a reprehensible course of action. I cannot countenance this, you know that. It's barbaric and cruel and entirely pointless.” He pointed at me. “Has this man not suffered enough?”
“I have no choice in the matter, and you know it!” the captain rejoined hotly. “I will thank you not to climb upon your high horse with me. Not all of us have the luxury of moral superiority when it comes to these things.”
“High horse?” I could not quite fathom the expression of pain and anger that suddenly flashed across the doctor's face. “Oh, that is rich, coming from you. Tell me, does twisting that particular knife give you pleasure?”
Immediately his brother's countenance fell, and I could see that he was consumed with regret, and not a little guilt. “You know I didn't mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it, then?” The question was nastily put.
I cleared my throat, and the two men turned, identical expressions of surprise on their features, as though they had forgotten that I, the reason for their argument, was even present. It would have been comical, under other circumstances. “If I may?” I struggled to sit up, and immediately the captain lent me an arm, propping me up. “If it makes any difference at all, I will gladly take the punishment you wish to mete out. It is richly deserved,” I held up a hand to forestall what I perceived to be an objection from Dr. Winchester. “Indeed, it is far lesser a punishment than I deserve for my particular... transgression. I would not for anything wish to undermine the discipline of your crew, not after all you have done for me.”
The captain nodded. “I was rather hoping you would see it that way. Good man,” he added quietly. The doctor, however, did not appear in any measure mollified.
“Very well,” he muttered. “If all of you are determined to carry on with this ―this ridiculous notion... I wish you joy of it. Be damned, the lot of you!”
And upon that he turned on his heel and stalked from the room as quickly as his limp and the rocking of the ship would allow. The captain shook his head at his brother's retreating back, then looked down at me, his lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line.
“It will be two days hence, to make sure you are strong enough. Be prepared. For what little it is worth, I am sorry it must come to this.”
Then he followed quickly in his brother's footsteps, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I have witnessed a number of floggings in my years at sea, my darling, and none of them have been pleasant to observe. No matter the number of lashes, no matter how justified the punishment, the process has always filled me with a certain horror which, I suppose, is the whole point of the affair. To say, therefore, that I was apprehensive of my fate would be an understatement. When the day of my punishment dawned, I am not ashamed to tell you that I was positively quaking with fear. Paradoxically, I was grateful to the captain for my upcoming flogging. By all rights, since it was evident that I had been attempting to desert my ship ―for all that there were extenuating circumstances― I should be hanged. By comparison, I was getting off scot-free. I quitted my bed when it was still dark out, and made my way up on deck for the first time. I received more than a few curious glances from the crew, since they had not caught much more than a glimpse of me since my headlong plunge into the water weeks before. For the most part, though, they left me well alone. A flogging sometimes has that effect on people: they fear that its taint might spread to them.
I made my way to the side rail, gazing down at the churning water, and was startled when someone cleared their throat by my side. Looking up, I caught sight of a grizzled older man, streaks of grey in his sandy beard, a balding head concealed by a kerchief. One brown eye regarded me kindly, the other hidden behind a ragged black eye patch.
“Didn't mean to startle ya,” he said by way both of introduction and apology. “Name's Singer, but most of the crew call me Bobby.”
“Good morrow to you, Mr. Singer,” I mustered what few manners I had left, though I was still filled with apprehension about the punishment to come.
“Been talking with the lads, and I just wanted to let you know, there ain't a soul aboard thinks you were in the wrong. Everyone knows well enough what Crowley's like, and how much he hates Americans. You stayed aboard the Hellhound, you wouldn't have lasted another month. He'd have had you flogged to death for sure.”
I wasn't reassured by his words, my darling, but I nodded, and he took that as an invitation to continue. “The captain, well, you won't find a better one in the whole fleet. You were lucky, gettin' brought aboard the Impala. You won't find a better ship in the whole fleet, neither. I know you've got to be worried about what's going to happen today,” he added, seemingly out of the blue, “but the captain, he looks out for his own. And since he pulled you out of the drink, well, I reckon he considers you part of the crew now. You just wait and see.”
I nodded again, not trusting my voice, and he gave me a rough pat on the shoulder, doubtless meant to be comforting, and left me to my thoughts, until it was time for my punishment to be meted out.
My darling, it was worse than I ever could have imagined it would be. I should probably try to make light of it, to reassure you, but I know that you have always wanted nothing short of complete honesty from me, and so I will commit to paper exactly what I experienced.
The crew had been gathered on deck, almost to a man. These things are always conducted in public, of course. I was already bare-chested and barefoot, dressed only in the thin cotton trousers I had been wearing when I jumped overboard from the Hellhound. I stepped forward before all those staring eyes, unable to so much as raise my head to look at the individual faces. I kept my chin level as the bosun's mates led me to a wooden frame and bound my wrists to it so tightly I feared my hands might fall off. I shivered in the cold air, the scent of brine and waterlogged wood filling my nostrils, and I heard a voice I didn't recognize announcing aloud my supposed crime of 'recklessness' endangering myself and my crew, as well as the sentence of ten lashes.
I was given a leather thong upon which to bite, but it didn't prevent me from crying out when the first blow landed across my back, and a cry of “One!” sounded, clear as a bell in the morning air. My teeth dug into the thong, and I fancied I tasted blood on my tongue. It burned as though the lash had been set alight before I was struck. I struggled to keep my composure, steeled myself for the next blow, and managed not to make a sound when it finally fell. For all that the process must have lasted only minutes, it felt like an eternity, and I was sure I would swoon before the end of it. I didn't, but it was a near thing, I am sure. My vision went dark and my knees buckled when they untied me, and I was only dimly aware of the doctor's voice barking orders that I should be taken back to his surgery. I was dragged away and dropped roughly back on my cot, face-down on the rough bedding, and only then did I allow myself to succumb to the darkness.
I have been lucky, Amelia. It does not always seem so, but it seems to me that the course my life has taken over the past few months ought to have led to my death. Instead, I have been given a second chance. It has come at a price, but one that I am more than willing to pay.
I did not withstand the lash well. I was already weakened from my ordeal aboard the Hellhound and the wounds I had sustained during my escape. I did not regain my senses for a full day afterward, and when I did all I could feel was fire coursing along my back. I must have groaned or made some sort of noise, because the next thing I heard was the doctor's voice.
“Easy now, Jimmy. I know you're having a bad time of it, but you must let me work, or these wounds will fester.”
I felt something slick being smeared along the burning stripes upon my back, and the cooling sensation was such a relief that I almost lost my senses again. I did allow myself a whimper, as embarrassing as it might be to tell you this. I know that you love me for myself, and won't hold me to some impossible standard of bravery or stoicism. The doctor kept applying the salve, then bandaged my back with strips of clean linen, all the while muttering imprecations under his breath about what sounded like the whole institution of corporeal punishment. Eventually I simply allowed myself to drift, lulled by the sound of his voice.
In spite of the doctor's best efforts, I did fall ill again. Most of the wounds healed cleanly, but one laceration went deeper than the others, and the fever I had succumbed to because of my knife wound came back in full force. For what seemed an eternity I lingered, trapped halfway between sleeping and waking. I was forced to lie on my stomach to allow my back to heal, and it only served to exacerbate the feeling I had of being smothered where I lay.
When I finally awoke from my delirium, it was dark, save for the single, guttering light from an almost-spent candle. There was a figure by my bed, shrouded in shadow so that I could not see the face, but the silhouette belonged neither to the captain nor to the doctor. I found that I was lying on my side, my head pillowed on my arm. I pushed myself up onto my elbow, relieved when the movement caused only minimal pain, and the candle must have illuminated my face, because a soft voice broke the silence.
“They were right. It truly is uncanny.”
The figure leaned forward, and I found myself staring directly into the bluest pair of eyes I have ever seen. My heart skipped a beat, and I could not hold back a gasp of astonishment. I know you will find it as hard to believe as I did, my dearest, but when the candle cast light upon his face I could have sworn that I was staring directly into a mirror. His eyes were bluer than mine, and there was a hard edge to his jaw that I believe I do not, myself, possess, but apart from that he may as well have been my long-lost twin. He smiled mirthlessly at my gasp.
“I suppose it is a little shocking, but at least you have the luck of being a good-looking fellow, Mr. Novak. How do you fare?”
“Well enough,” my voice was barely more than a croak, my throat parched from the fever. My twin handed me a cup of water, which I managed to drink even though my hands shook badly. “You must be the Admiral,” I concluded, looking at his clothing.
“Astute as well,” he seemed pleased by my deduction. “I suppose I shall have to give the Captain his due ―he does have good judgement when it comes to people, apart from where that brother of his is concerned. Though I will tell you that I don't for a moment believe his nonsensical version of events that has you falling overboard in a demonstration of truly impressive clumsiness. So, tell me, Mr. Novak, now that you are here and we have firmly established with the crew that the captain and I do not and will not tolerate your sort of recklessness, just what are we to do with you?”
I cleared my throat nervously. “I was rather hoping you would allow me to return home. I am an American citizen, and that was where I was headed before being press-ganged aboard the Hellhound. I have not seen my wife nor my child in nearly two years.”
He appeared to consider this, much to my surprise. I expected an immediate refusal, since the Royal Navy is always so short of able-bodied seamen. Finally he spoke. “I don't see why that could not be arranged, eventually. But it cannot be right away, you understand. We are on an important mission, and we cannot veer off-course. We are also short-handed, as you may have guessed. I cannot ignore the fact that we have on board a man with such a skill set as we're looking for.”
I nodded. “I understand.” I didn't like it, not one bit, but I was entirely at their mercy. The fact that he was considering letting me return home at all was already cause for hope. “I haven't much choice in the matter, but for what it's worth, I am happy to work for my keep until you can drop me in a port somewhere. Anywhere will do, so long as there are ships bound for America.”
He appeared lost in thought for while, for so long, in fact, that I began, inexplicably, to feel fearful. “There must be a reason he's here,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. “His presence cannot simply be coincidence. Nothing happens by chance, everything is ordained. Why do you choose not to reveal this to me?”
I shifted uncomfortably upon my cot, and he seemed to realize that I was in the room once more. He smiled, and this time genuine warmth touched his eyes. “I am sorry, I didn't mean to keep you awake. After all this, you must be exhausted, and Dean will have my head for taxing your strength, Admiral or not. He has only the barest respect for authority. I will let you sleep, now. No doubt we will talk again at a later date.”
I wanted to question him further, but the pull of sleep was too strong, and by the time I awoke again he was gone, and did not return below decks. For days the doctor was my only visitor, and then the captain came in once or twice to see how I fared. It has been days, and I am stronger with every waking hour. Today for the first time I have been able to sit up on my own since I awoke, and so I have taken the opportunity to write to you, now that I am getting well again. I don't know when I will return to you, my dearest, but I know now that I will return. It may take months, perhaps more than a year, but I am no longer being held against my will. I am free, inasmuch as one can be free onboard a ship, and when the time comes, I will come straight home to you.
I love you and Claire with all my heart. Rest assured of this.
Yours ever faithfully,
Jimmy
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