handkerchief. “Have a look at this, will you?”
“Damn you and your hand,” dr. Marston said bitterly. The old boy
was trembling; the sight of the dead and dying must have hit him hard,
but he was hopping mad for all that. “There are other more seriously
injured men here. I must
“You may as well realise that i, and I alone, give the orders from
now on,” carreras interrupted. “My hand. At once. Ah, juan.” this to
a tall, thin, swarthy man who had just entered, a rolled-up chart under
his arm. “Give that to mr. carter here. That’s him, yes. Mr. carter,
captain bullen said-and I have been aware of it for many hours-that we
are heading for nassau and are due there in less than four hours. Lay
off a course to take us well clear of nassau, to the east, then out
midway between the great abaco and eleuthera islands and so
approximately north-northwest into the north atlantic. My own
navigation has become rather rusty, I fear. Mark in the approximate
times for course changes.”
I took the chart, pencil, parallel rulers, and dividers, and laid
the chart on my knee. Carreras said consideringly, “what, no ‘do your
own damned navigation’ or words to that effect?”
“What’s the point?” I said wearily. “You wouldn’t hesitate
to line up all the passengers and shoot them one by one if I didn’t
co-operate.”
“It’s a pleasure to deal with a man who sees and accepts the
inevitable.” carreras smiled. “But you greatly overestimate my
ruthlessness. Later, mr. carter, when we have you fixed up you shall
become a permanent installation on the bridge. It is unfortunate, but I
suppose you realise that you are the only deck officer left to us?”
“You’ll have to get some other installation on the bridge,” I said
bitterly. “My thighbone is smashed.”
“What?” he looked at me narrowly.
“I can feel it grating.” I twisted my face up to let him see how I
could feel it grating. Dr. Marston will soon confirm it.”
“We can arrive at some other arrangement,” carreras said equably.
He winced as dr. Marston probed at his hand. “The forefinger it will
have to come off?”
“I don’t think so. A local anaesthetic, a small operation, and I
believe I can save it.” carreras didn’t know the danger he was in; if
he let old marston get to work on him he’d probably end up by losing his
whole arm. “But it will have to be done in my surgery.”
“It’s probably time we all west to the surgery. Tony, check engine
room, radar room, all men off duty; see that they are all safely under
guard. Then take that chart to the bridge and see that the helmsman
makes the proper course alterations at the proper time. See that the
radar operator is kept under constant supervision and reports the
slightest object on his screen: mr. carter here is quite capable of
laying off a course which would take us smack into the middle of
eleuthera island. Two men to take mr cerdan to his cabin. Dr.
Marston, is it possible to take those men down to your surgery without
endangering their lives?” the good samaritan, all overcome with concern
for his fellow men.
“I don’t know.” marston finished his temporary bandaging
of carreras’ hand and crossed to bullen. “How do you feel,
captain?”
bullen looked at him with lack-lustre eyes. He tried to smile but
it was no more than an agonised grimace. He tried to speak but no words
came, just fresh bubbles of blood at his lips. Marston produced
scissors, cut the captain’s shirt open, examined him briefly, and said,
“we may as well risk it. Two of your men, mr. carreras, two strong men.
See that his chest is not compressed.”
he left bullen, bent over macdonald, and straightened almost
immediately. “This man can be moved with safety.”
“Macdonald!” I said. “The bo’sun. He-he’s not dead?”
“He’s been hit on the head. Creased, probably concussed, perhaps
even the skull fractured, but he’ll survive. He seems to have been hit
on the knee, to-nothing serious.” I felt as if someone had lifted the
sydney bridge off my back. The bo’sun had been my friend, my good
friend, for too many years now, and, besides, with archie macdonald by
me all things were possible. “And mr. carter?” carreras queried.
“Don’t you touch my leg,” I yelled. “Not until I get an
anaesthetic.”
“He’s probably right,” marston murmured. He peered closely. “Not
much blood now you’ve been lucky, john. If the main artery had been
severed-well, you’d have been gone.” he looked at carreras, his face
doubtful. “He could be moved, I think, but with a fractured thighbone
the pain will be excruciating.”
“Mr. carter is very tough,” carreras said unsympatheticcally. It
wasn’t his thighbone; he’d been a good samaritan for a whole minute now
and the strain had proved too much for him. “Mr. carter will survive.
chapter 7
[wednesday 8:30 pm.-thursday 10:30 a.m.]
I survived all right, but no credit for that was due to the
handling I received on the way down to the sick bay. The sick bay was
on the port side, two decks below the drawing room; on the second
companionway one of the two men who were carrying me slipped and fell
and I was aware of nothing more until I woke up in bed.
like every compartment on the campari, the sick bay was fitted out
regardless of cost. A large room, twenty feet by sixteen, it had the
usual wall-to-wall persian carpeting and pastel walls decorated with
murals depicting water skiing, skin-diving, swimming, and other such
sporting activities symbolic of fitness and good health, craftily
designed to encourage to get on their feet and out of there with all
possible speed any patient unfortunate enough to be confined to any of
the three beds. The beds themselves, with their heads close up to the
windows in the ship’s side, struck a jarring note: they were just plain
standard iron hospital beds, the only concession to taste being that
they were painted in the same pastel tints as the bulkheads. In the far
corner of the room, remote from the door, was old marston’s consulting
desk, with a couple of chairs; further along the inner bulkhead, nearer
the door, was a flat-topped couch that could be raised for examinations
or, if need be, the carrying out of minor operations. Between couch and
desk a door led to two smaller compartments, a dispensary and a
dentist’s surgery. I knew that because I had recently spent three
quarters of an hour in that dentist’s chair, with marston attending to a
broken tooth; the memory of the experience would stay with me the rest
of my days.
the three beds were occupied. Captain bullen was in the one
nearest to the door, the bo’sun next to him, and myself in the corner,
opposite marston’s desk, all of us lying on rubber sheets placed over
the beds. Marston was bent over the middle bed, examining the bo’sun’s
knee; beside him, holding a metal tray with bowls, sponges, instruments,
and bottles containing some unidentifiable liquids, was susan beresford.
She looked very pale. I wondered vaguely what she was doing here.
Seated on the couch was a young man, badly in need of a shave: he was
wearing green trousers, a green sweat-stained epauletted shirt, and
green beret. He had his eyes half-closed against the smoke spiralling
up from the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth and carried an
automatic carbine in his hand. I wondered how many men with how many
automatic carbines were posted all over the campari. Detailing a man to
guard three broken-down crocks like macdonald, bullen, and myself showed
that carreras had plenty of men to spare or was excessively cautious.
Or maybe both.
“What are you doing here, miss beresford?” I asked. She looked
up, startled, and the instruments rattled metallically on the tray in
her hands.
“Oh, I am glad,” she said. She sounded almost as if she meant it.
“I thought how do you feel?”
“The way I look. Why are you here?”
“Because I needed her.” doc marston straightened slowly and rubbed
his back. “Dealing with wounds like these-well, I must have a helper.
Nurses, john, are usually young and female and there are only two on the
campari in that category. Miss beresford and miss harcourt.”
“I don’t see any signs of miss harcourt.” I tried to visualise the
glamorous young actress in the real-life role of florence nightingale,
but my imagination was in no shape to cope with absurdities like that.
I couldn’t even see her playing it on the screen. “She was here,” he
said curtly. “She fainted.”
“That helps. How’s the bo’sun?”
“I must ask you not to talk, john,” he said severely. “You’ve lost
a great deal of blood and you’re very weak. Please conserve your
strength.”
“How’s the bo’sun?” I repeated. Dr. Marston sighed.