Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emma clipped her hair back with her barrette and had just enough time for a quick inventory of supplies before Finch was brought in with a wounded knee. By the grace of God she was able to dig out the bullet with minimal difficulty.

Then Cleveland was carried in with a dislocated shoulder by Styles. Styles himself, had a gash that was dripping blood into his eyes.

"Oldroyd, I need you to get me needles and as many spools of thread as you can find. Go quickly!" Emma ordered.

Oldroyd set Matthews, who had a piece of wood lodged in his thigh, down on the examining table and ran out of the room.

Emma tore strips of linen and pressed a handful against Finch's knee and grabbing his hand. "Hold that there with as much pressure as you can stand." He grunted in reply, his weathered, wrinkled face damp with sweat.

She gave Matthews a long swig of the brandy and had Styles hold him down while she pulled out the large splinter. She blinked away what she feared was smeared blood around her eyes, but a quick wipe across her eyes revealed only the clear sweat of pure panic. Remember! Emma scolded herself. Concentrate on what you know! What you learned. Emma felt herself begin to go numb. Her body was nearly weightless as she tended to Cleveland's shoulder.

As she sewed Finch's wound closed, the ship shook again with the force of more canon fire. The needle ripped across Finch's skin causing blessedly superficial damage but an understandable howl of pain.

"Bloody damn." Emma cursed, cleaning up the cut and finishing the stitches. Dipping the needle in the cup of brandy at her side, Emma pulled out a new one and tended to Matthews. Emma lifted her head at the sound of thudding above decks.

Horatio. She felt a fresh surge of panic at the thought of her husband up there in the midst of that violent chaos. In his best shape Emma would still worry her teeth to the skin but God help him, surely injured he'd know enough to stay out of sight? Her fingers shook with fear causing the scalpel in her hand to slice across the arm of the seamen she was working on. A spray of blood from a severed vein caught Emma across the face. Oh God...not an artery please! But even as the thought left her Emma knew that's exactly what it had been. Emma swallowed a cry of panic. She was going to be sick. Emma could feel the rumbling begin in her belly. No you will not! Emma snapped silently. The linens she was pressing against the man's arm was quickly soaking through. Do not think of anything outside this room! Emma scolded herself. "Oldroyd, get me more linen, blankets, sheets, whatever we have!" Emma cried wrapping the man's arm as tight as she could. The blood was still pumping out of him. She could only pray that if she tied the linen tight enough, the blood flow would still. There were so many other men still coming in. They lay Matthews flat out on the floor as the more serious cases had already taken the beds and cots.

As she tended to Style's cut her needle pricked him when she spotted who Oldroyd brought in next. Jack Simpson. Dammit. She was glad the numbness had claimed her again and she would say that Simpson should be as well. If she allowed herself any feeling right now, she feared she'd let Jack Simpson bleed to death on her table. The gaping wound in his side was messy but at first glance Emma would guess it was probably not life threatening.

"Looks like my life is in your hands, Madame Snotty." He joked but she didn't miss the glimmer of fear. Oh you weak little man, some distant part of her remarked. I could do it. I could do it right now, as I'm cleaning you up. A little mistake. A slip. Who would really care, hmm? Their eyes met, both knowing what the other was thinking. Emma looked away first and deliberately avoided his gaze as she cleaned out the wound. She allowed herself the pleasure of hearing his hiss of pain but that was all. Damn hippocratic oath! As she sewed him up, Emma noticed a lull in the activity above.

"Sounds like it's over, ma'm." Matthews remarked from the bed.

"Thank God." Emma sighed but the concern must have still showed on her face.

"I'm sure he's alright." He added.

"Of course." Emma nodded weakly while wrapping the bandage around Simpson's middle.

"Though he won't be for long." Jack injected with a satisfied smile. Emma glared at him.

"Pellew saw him when Snotty ran up, sword in hand to join the fighting. It'll be a night in the rigging for him. I warned you not t cross me, didn't i?" He said, his voice low. Emma's eyes widened. It was her fault. Because Emma had refused his advances, Simpson had beat her husband. "Perhaps you learned your lesson now, little girl?" Simpson asked. Emma trembled with a fury that surprised her. Before her conscience could warn her against it, she pressed her fingers against Simpson's fresh wound, making him cry out in pain.

"How clumsy of me." Emma said forcing herself to turn away before she did more damage.

Lieutenant Bracegirdle brought in the captain, whose arm had been slashed.

"Is it over, Sir?" Emma asked Captain Pellew.

"Aye indeed, lass and victory's ours, of course." He said with a grunt of pain as she took care of his arm.

"Is Horatio alright?" Emma asked in a small voice. Surely they would have brought him down if he'd been wounded. Captain Pellew glared at her.

"Hmm, quite alright and miraculously recovered from his illness it would seem." He snapped twitching his nose. Emma swallowed hard. "I do not abide men knocking each other about like beasts on my ship., nor do I tolerate dishonesty among my crew. Now Mr. Hornblower insists that it was in obedience to him that you lied about his physical state.

"That is the truth, Sir." Emma nodded, her cheeks burning.

"Yes, well, you should thank the French that I don't lock you up in your quarters and prepare to have you removed from this vessel." He glanced around the full room. Whoever wasn't occupying a bed, hammock or cot was lying on thick blankets on the floor. Uncomfortably packed close but well taken care of with the exception of the profusely bleeding man who while the blood had slowed, he was an unhealthy pale shade. Emma's stomach lurched in panic. Because of her distracted mistake, the man was most certainly going to die.

Captain Pellew followed her gaze and then he glanced back at her and where Emma expected to see anger and chastisement. She saw sympathy. His eyes were filled with sadness as they met hers and she got the feeling that for all his stoic command, it hurt him to lose any of his men. But he was all to familiar with the loss.

"Well done, Mrs. Hornblower." He said softly. Emma's eyes burned with tears and she nodded. She walked as quick as she could out the door before she embarrassed herself and once she was hit with the bright sun and wind above decks, Emma's stomach rose and she emptied it over the side. Overwhelmed by the return of her suppressed nerves, Emma softly began to cry.