It was dark. Had he drunk too much last night? Tom forced his reluctant mind to remember. That ache in his head definitely implied over drinking, but he was sure that he would never have drained enough alcohol to make his head ache this much if he knew he had a watch soon. Was this his cabin? Tom didn't recognise the ship's movement as the Surprise's, and that stench was considerably worse than the bilge and ship-smells aboard his own vessel.
Tom gave a long and deeply un-heroic croak in his throat. It hurt.
Trying a different approach, Lieutenant Pullings opened his eyes the tiniest of cracks. He regretted it immensely as light flooded his vision. He gave another, somewhat nobler lamentable sigh.
"Aah, Mr Pullings. We were worried about you." Said a subdued voice. Tom thought that it was not dissimilar to that of a particularly intemperate goat he had known at home as a boy.
With considerable reluctance, he turned his head to look about him for the source of the words. The blinding light seemed to be coming from the tiniest of candles in the corner of the cabin. However, it was currently obscured by a squat, grey-haired man with a deeply melancholy air.
Tom gave him a look not unlike the one he used when he admonished a disobedient midshipman. To his satisfaction, the man took a slightly surprised step backwards.
"I am the surgeon of the Persephone, sir," he explained unnecessarily. Tom continued to glare at him loftily.
He brought to mind the day before. He had been in the water; yes, he definitely remembered that. It had been cold- he remembered that particularly vividly as well. He had just made a somewhat dismal report to Captain Aubrey before he had been swept away and over the side. The side- he had bludgeoned his head into that. From there it wasn't that far any more to the water, but he had caught hold of a rope and clung desperately for a while until the next inevitable dip into the sea, which bashed him against the wooden body of the ship and wrung him loose, then just bitter, bitter, gruelling cold and blackness.
"And I am Lieutenant Pullings of His Majesty's frigate, Surprise,"
"So you told us yesterday," then he laughed- it sounded out of place in this miserable individual, and it reminded Tom of a donkey with severe indigestion, "You seem to have an iron constitution, Mr Pullings, else we might never have found you. Alive, that is,"
Tom glared deeper at the doctor's braying laugh. Was this a British ship? Or American? Tom reckoned he remembered British accents on deck the night before, but this surgeon sounded almost Irish.
"Am I a prisoner?" he asked sternly.
This instigated a minute of profound mirth in the surgeon of the Persephone.
"No, sir, no! A prisoner, forsooth, ha, ha,"
Tom allowed himself a somewhat wooden smile.
A burly seaman entered the sickbay whimpering slightly, and the surgeon, much to his consternation, had to leave Mr Pullings and attend to Mr Brown.
Tom noticed the white bandage on his arm, which he examined curiously. His chest was also bound up, restricting his movements. He cursed the bandages lavishly.
Where had the Surprise been when he had been spirited off by the water? Think, Tom, think, he told himself, but even without the pounding in the back of his head, the Surprise had been unable to take sound readings for days, all Tom remembered was that they were some miles West of Brest.
Raised voices met his ears.
"Sir, I must protest, the patient is not well enough by any means,"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, doctor, he is well enough to talk to me,"
"Oh, but siir!"
This last protest seemed of no avail, as a strongly built man with greying hair strode in, followed by the harassed looking doctor. The man smiled.
"Good morning; Mr Pullings?"
Tom nodded warily.
"I must welcome you aboard my ship, sir. You are feeling better I trust?"
"I'm quite well, sir, thank you,"
"No you are not," put in the doctor, "You have a fractured wrist, two cracked ribs and a bump on your head the size of Plymouth. You are very far from well, sir,"
"No, really, sir, feel little ill effect," Tom said, desperate not to be trapped in this sick berth with this doctor a minute longer.
"I'm glad to hear it. I would be glad if you would join me and my officers for dinner tonight?"
"Oh, sir, I'd be delighted!"
"Sir!" said the doctor vehemently.
The captain gave him a stern look which caused the doctor to cower, him being almost half his venerated captain's height.
"Oh, very well, sir!" the doctor decided at length, sounding much as if he had just made a decision to attempt murder on Prime-Minister Pitt in broad daylight with a wooden toothpick, "But I warn you sir, it is on your head when our good Mr Pullings passes away at the table,"
"Come, come, doctor, I'm sure that is not the case." Said the captain irritably, "If Mr Pullings feels in the least bit ill he can return to your nannying,"
Tom was watching this with amusement- he would have quite happily given a year of his life just to hear any of the Navy's surgeons (apart from perhaps Dr Maturin) give any of these rejoinders to their captains. But, such was the merchant service and Tom knew it well, having served in it as an unemployed midshipman.
