“Come in,” said Hornblower.
It was His Serene Highness the Prince of Seitz‑Bunau, with a speech that he had obviously prepared carefully on his way down.
“Mr. Still’s respects, sir,” he said. “Land in sight on the port bow.”
“Very well, Mr. Prince. Thank you.”
It was a pity there was not time to compliment the boy on his rapid acquirement of English. Hornblower turned back to Eisenbeiss.
“So I think the bullet went round the back, sir. The skin is — is tough, sir, and the ribs are — are elastic.”
“Yes?” Hornblower had heard of bullets going round the body before this.
“And the patient has much muscle. Much.”
“And you think the bullet has lodged in the muscles of the back?”
“Yes. Deep against the ribs. Under the lower point of the scapula, sir.”
“And the fever? The illness?”
They could be accounted for, according to Eisenbeiss’s torrential explanation, by the presence of the foreign body deep inside the tissues, especially if, as was probable, it had carried fragments of clothing in along with it. It all seemed plausible enough.
“And you are trying to say that if the bullet is there and not inside the chest you might be able to extract it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Eisenbeiss showed by his manner that he knew that those words had finally committed him.
“You think that you can do that? It means using the knife?”
As soon as Hornblower finished asking the second question he was aware that it was impolitic to ask two questions at once of a man who had enough trouble answering one. Eisenbeiss had to think a long time over the phrasing of his answers.
“It means using the knife,” he said at length. “It means a difficult operation. I do not know if I can do it.”
“But you hope you can?”
“I hope so.”
“And do you think you will be successful?”
“I do not think. I hope.”
“And if you are not successful?”
“He will die.”
“But you think he will die in any case if you do not attempt the operation?”
That was the point. Eisenbeiss twice opened his mouth and shut it again before he answered.
“Yes.”
Down through the skylight, as Hornblower sat studying Eisenbeiss’s expression, came a new cry, faintly borne from the weather main‑chains.
“No bottom! No bottom with this line!”
Turner and Still had very properly decided to take a cast of the lead; they were still out of soundings, as was to be expected. Hornblower brought his mind back from the situation of the ship to the decision regarding McCullum. The latter might have some claim to be consulted on the matter, but the claim was specious. His life was his country’s. A seaman was not consulted first when he was carried into the ordeal of battle.
“So that is your opinion, doctor. If you operate and fail you will only have shortened the patient’s life by a few hours?”
“A few hours. A few days.”
A few days might suffice for the salvage operation; but with McCullum as sick as he was he would be no use during those few days. On the other hand there was no knowing at present whether or not he might possibly recover after those few days, without being operated on.
“What are the difficulties of the operation?” asked Hornblower.
“There are several layers of muscle there,” explained Eisenbeiss. “Infraspinatus. Subscapularis, many of them. In each case the — the threads run in a different direction. That makes it difficult to work quickly and yet without doing great damage. And there is the big artery, the subscapular. The patient is weak already and unable to withstand much shock.”
“Have you everything you need for this operation if you carry it out?”
Eisenbeiss hunched his thick shoulders.
“The two attendants — loblolly boys, you call them, sir — are experienced. They have both served in ships in action. I have my instruments. But I should like —”
Eisenbeiss clearly wanted something he believed to be difficult to grant.
“What?”
“I should like the ship to be still. At anchor. And a good light.”
That turned the scale of the decision.
“Before nightfall,” said Hornblower, “this ship will be at anchor in a landlocked harbour. You can make your preparations for the operation.”