“Hard a‑starboard,” said Hornblower to the quartermaster. Round came Atropos, the mizzen topsail helping the turn as Jones clued it up. The ship’s way died away almost imperceptibly, the tiny waves lapping against her bows.
“Let go!”
The hawser rumbled out. Atropos swung to her anchor, in Turkish waters. The crossing of the three‑mile limit, even the entrance through the Pass, had been actions that might be argued about, disavowed. But that anchor, its flukes solidly buried in the firm sand, was something of which a diplomatic note could take definite notice.
“Pass the word for the doctor,” said Hornblower.
There were many things to do; it was his duty to make contact with the Turkish authorities if they did not make contact with him. But first of all, without wasting a moment, it was necessary to make arrangements for the operation on McCullum. The man’s life hung in the balance, and far more than his life.
Chapter XII
Hornblower sat waiting in his cabin. “A few minutes” had been Eisenbeiss’s estimate of the time necessary for the operation. It was necessary, Hornblower knew, to work as quickly as possible, so as to minimize the shock to the patient.
“In the old Hannibal, sir,” said the sickberth attendant whom Hornblower had questioned regarding his experience, “we took off eleven legs in half an hour. That was at Algeciras, sir.”
But amputations were relatively simple. A full half of all amputation cases survived — Nelson himself had lost an arm, amputated on a dark night in a moderate storm at sea, and he had lived until a musket bullet killed him at Trafalgar. This was not an amputation. It was something which would be worse than useless if Eisenbeiss’s diagnosis was incorrect and which could easily fail in any case.
The ship was very still and quiet. Hornblower knew that all his crew were taking a morbid interest in the fate of the “poor gentleman”. They were sentimental about McCullum, lying at death’s door as a result of a bullet wound he need never have received; the fact that he was going to be cut about with a knife had an unholy attraction for them; the fact that in a few minutes he might be dead, might have gone through those mysterious doors they all feared to go through invested his personality with some special quality in their eyes. Sentries had to be posted to keep out all the sentimental, the inquisitive and the morbid-minded among the crew, and now Hornblower could tell by the silence that his men were waiting in shuddering silence for the climax, hoping perhaps to hear a scream or a groan, waiting as they would wait to see a condemned criminal turned off the hangman’s cart He could hear the heavy ticking of his watch as he waited.
Now there were distant sounds, but sounds in the little wooden ship were susceptible to so many possible interpretations that he would not at first allow himself to think that they might arise as a result of the ending of the operation. But then there were steps and voices outside his cabin door, the sentry speaking and then Eisenbeiss, and then came a knock.
“Come in,” said Hornblower, trying to keep his voice indifferent; the first sight of Eisenbeiss as he entered was enough to tell Hornblower that all was as well as could be hoped. There was an obvious lightheartedness about the doctor’s elephantine movements.
“I found the bullet,” said Eisenbeiss. “It was where I thought — at the inferior angle of the scapula.”
“Did you get it out?” asked Hornblower; the fact that he did not correct Eisenbeiss for omitting the “sir” was proof — if anyone had been present to notice it — that he was not as calm as he appeared.
“Yes,” said Eisenbeiss.
He laid something on the table in front of Hornblower, with a gesture positively dramatic. It was the bullet, mis‑shapen, flattened to an irregular disc, with a raw scratch on one surface.
“That is where my scalpel cut into it,” said Eisenbeiss proudly. “I went straight to the right place.”
Hornblower picked the thing up gingerly to examine it.
“You see,” said Eisenbeiss, “it was as I said. The bullet struck the ribs, breaking them, and then glanced off, passing back between the bone and the muscle.”