The Black Ring

by William Westbrook

  Barclay, his forehead swollen and his eyes blackened from the falling block, brought Rascal easily toward the headland that jutted out into the harbor. Farther on was where the dockyard was situated; Horatio Nelson had built it up significantly as commander-in-chief until he left his posting in 1787. Fallon could see many buildings and docks, a guardhouse, and a saw-pit shed. The whole dockyard was surrounded by a low stone wall, and just beyond the wall was a naval hospital.

  It called for finesse to bring Rascal in under sail to the wharf, as opposed to having her warped in, but Fallon knew it would be easier and faster to lower Beauty to the dock than to call for a boat from shore, for Rascal’s own boats had to be completely rebuilt after Doncella’s broadside. Fallon took the wheel and ordered the sails furled in sequence so that the ship lost way just as she approached the wharf. It was a deft maneuver, and shore-side sailors and merchants all stopped their business to watch it with admiration, not knowing that it was dictated by necessity. Quickly, the ship was secured and Colquist supervised the hands who moved Beauty up to the deck and over the side of the ship to the dock as gently as carrying eggs in a basket. It was a short walk to the hospital. Fallon led the way, Aja by his side, with Barclay left in charge of the ship.

  Once inside the hospital building, Fallon immediately found the administrator in charge, who announced his name as Kibbleman, and demanded to see the best doctor at the hospital. Kibbleman informed him it was a naval hospital for officers and men of the Royal Navy and, unless she was one or the other, Beauty couldn’t be admitted. He was quite clear on the point and didn’t deign to look at the fevered body on the stretcher, still held by Rascal’s men. Colquist made to intervene but was cut off immediately.

  “Let me tell you something,” said a barely-in-control Fallon. “This brave woman is dying for Great Britain, and you will find a bed for her this instant! I want the best doctor in the hospital or on the whole goddamned island to see her immediately, or I swear on my mother’s eyes that Admiral Davies will hang you for treason! Or I will! Or we both will!”

  Kibbleman paled and made to argue, but something in Fallon’s face told him his life was quite literally in danger. He directed the Rascals to carry the stretcher down the hall—gently now—suddenly worried about Beauty’s health. After locating an empty room outside the ward, something he felt Fallon would demand anyway, Kibbleman hastily left to find a doctor. Colquist had the men transfer Beauty to the bed as carefully as possible, though she was quite clearly unconscious.

  The room was spare and smelled of lye. One bed, a small table next to it, and a wooden chair against a plaster wall that needed painting.

  In short order, Kibbleman led the physician into the room, introducing Doctor Garón, who exclaimed, “Captain Fallon!” Both Fallon and Aja were shocked, but before either could respond Garón recognized the patient and bent over Beauty, examining her wound and conferring with Colquist in low tones as everyone else backed away into the hall. Fallon preceded Kibbleman, who by this time was wringing his hands that Doctor Garón knew these people, and perhaps Captain Fallon was somebody, and the threat of hanging wasn’t an idle one.

  “Is Doctor Garón your best physician?” asked Fallon as he rounded on Kibbleman in the hallway. “Answer me truthfully.” The or else was implied.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Kibbleman, swallowing heavily. “He is relatively new here, but he has some inventive techniques that most of our naval surgeons don’t have. He even insists we wash the sheets and all of the rooms every day. This patient has her best chance with him.”

  Fallon looked through the door at Garón and Colquist, serious and concerned looks on their faces, and finally they motioned him into the room.

  “Here is the situation as I see it, Captain,” began Garón. “I believe there is part of the splinter still in Beauty’s chest that is causing the infection. Señor Colquist took out all that he could see, but this splinter is likely imbedded in the tissue around the breast. It must be removed if she is to have any chance to live.”

  “Can you do it, Doctor Garón? Can you save her life?” asked Fallon, a plea in his eyes.

  “I am going to try, Captain. But I may have to remove her breast to do it. It is very infected, as you know. I … I must tell you I have never removed a breast before. I have done many kinds of surgeries, of course, but this … never.” Clearly, he seemed worried. Unsure, not of his diagnosis, but of what it required.

  “You’re her only chance, sir,” Fallon said. “Do what you have to do to save her life.” He thought of Beauty then, her pragmatism and common sense in tough situations. “She would understand, believe me,” he added.

  Garón took a deep breath, looked at Beauty lying on the bed, her chest red and inflamed, and nodded to Colquist.

  “Let’s get her into the operating room where the light is better,” he said. “You men bring her and, Captain Fallon, please come with us. I will want you to hold her hand and talk to her. She may hear you somehow, and it may give her strength.”

  After Beauty was moved, Aja led the men back to the ship and, after conferring with Barclay and spying an untended dockyard boat tied to the wharf, left in it with a small crew to find Avenger, Admiral Davies’ flagship. The two bays at the head of the harbor were about equal in size, though not visible from the dockyard. Aja ordered the bow of the boat pointed toward the bay on the left, the one more populated with buildings on the shore, and in very little time he could see Avenger swinging to her anchor, a massive shape compared with the other ships and vessels nearby. Aja urged the men to row faster, for, as he’d heard Fallon say many times before, there was not a moment to lose.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ADMIRAL DAVIES and Captain Kinis had been ashore at Government House when Rascal reached the wharf at the dockyard. They’d been summoned by the governor to explain yet another drunken incident involving British sailors and a bawdy house. Well, it was a simple explanation: They were sailors.

  After Kinis promised for what seemed like the hundredth time that it would never happen again, the sailors were released from confinement and a detachment of marines marched them to the admiral’s barge tied at the wharf. The sailors kept their eyes on the bottom of the boat, not wanting to see Davies’ face.

  Once aboard, the now-very-sober sailors were turned over to First Lieutenant Brooks for punishment. Brooks reported that while the officers were away Rascal had sailed into the harbor and was even now tied up at the dockyard wharf. A visibly surprised and elated Davies grabbed a telescope and, indeed, here was Aja—not Fallon—and a small crew rowing for all they were worth to Avenger. Suddenly, Davies had a feeling that something was wrong. Perhaps very wrong.

  In very little time, Aja was welcomed aboard and quickly blurted out the news of Beauty’s wounding, omitting the details of the battle in his haste to convey the most urgent news. Immediately, Davies called for his gig and left for the dockyard wharf, followed by Aja in the dockyard’s boat.

  As his gig’s crew rowed, Davies looked toward the hospital. Before he had installed Doctor Garon there, it had been a mephitic institution where sailors went to die, not to get well. The smart ones chose to stay aboard their ships, if they could, for their chances of recovery were better there, even under the care of ships’ surgeons, who were an uneven lot. But Garón had changed the level of care at the naval hospital, over that idiot Kibbleman’s objections, and Davies had backed him every step of the way. Now the hospital was spotless, the English doctors were learning from the Cuban doctor, and wounded sailors actually walked out instead of being carried out.

  They were drawing closer to the wharf, and Davies looked around the harbor. His two frigates were away and his several sloops were out to intercept privateers preying on slavers and merchant ships. His flagship was the sum total of his fleet in the harbor today.

  For Davies, English Harbor was his prison as much as his home, for he rarely left. The flagship was his command post, and His Majesty’s ships and sailors in the Car
ibbean came and went and returned home to Avenger like a touchstone. He envied Fallon; perhaps not at this very moment, of course, faced with the possible loss of his best friend. But at least Fallon was free, and if a ball or sword should find him, at least he would die at sea.

  FALLON STEPPED out of the hospital room, hope and fear in equal parts written on his face. He had talked softly to Beauty throughout the operation; her eyes fluttered once, but that was all. Whatever Garón had given her for pain had either done its work or she had simply given in to unconsciousness. She was sleeping now, her breathing labored and her chest rattling. Colquist had assisted Garón, the two of them working well together, saying little during the operation beyond what needed to be said.

  At last, Beauty had been sewn up and Garón stepped from the room to join Fallon. It was at that moment that Davies appeared, followed by Aja. Garón could give his report to all of them at once.

  “It was a very bad situation, and it still is,” said Garón, obviously very tired from performing the surgery. “The infection covers her chest and is in her whole body by this time. I did not take her breast and can only hope that was the right decision. I have done all I can do for her; she is in God’s hands now.”

  “How long until we … know?” asked Davies, looking at Fallon and reading the question on his face.

  “Usually an infection this bad must begin to resolve within a few days for the patient to have a chance,” answered Garón. “If it doesn’t begin to retreat by then, I’m afraid she is lost. She will be too weak for another operation. I will be with her night and day, have no fear on that point. My wife will join me here; she is very good at prayer.”

  With that, Fallon, Davies, and Aja left the hospital and walked to the wharf and the waiting boats. Fallon was beyond spent and could barely think. But he did have a question for Davies, and he was determined to ask.

  “Is Renegade in port, Admiral?” he asked.

  “No, she’s been out for two weeks,” answered Davies. “Why do you ask?”

  “We found her heavily engaged with one of the Spanish frigates, Doncella Española, three days ago. She was just on the point of being taken when we happened upon the battle. I believe she escaped but the Spaniards may have pursued. Beauty was hurt by a chance shot to our binnacle, and I was temporarily out of action, so I don’t know what happened next.”

  “I see,” said Davies, clearly concerned. “Had she hauled down her colors then?” Surrender was much frowned upon in the Royal Navy and had ended many captains’ careers. Particularly if it was premature.

  “I don’t know,” Fallon said without emotion. “I was knocked to the deck and couldn’t see. The last thing I remember was the Spaniard preparing to board Renegade.”

  He asked to give his full report to Davies in the morning, and Davies agreed, knowing there was much more for Fallon to report, not least about landing Wharton in Matanzas. He invited Fallon for a late breakfast, knowing he would want to check on Beauty first thing in the morning.

  When Fallon climbed through Rascal’s gangway it was almost time for dinner, but he had no thought for food. He asked Aja to let the hands know Beauty’s condition and gave him his letter for Elinore with instructions to find the next packet to Bermuda and get it aboard. That done, Fallon collapsed in his cot and was immediately asleep, the soft bumping of Rascal against the wharf like a metronome, marching him to a deep dream world.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  FALLON AWOKE abruptly at two bells in the morning watch and hastily dressed. It was still quite dark, but he knew the path to the hospital and made his way there quickly. The air was humid, with a light breeze doing little to keep the moisture at bay. A faint light shone on the east side of the hospital, and Fallon knew it came from Beauty’s room. He took heart that a candle still burned.

  When he entered her room, he found Doctor Garón and his very pregnant wife at Beauty’s bedside—Señora Garón knitting something and the doctor dozing in a chair. They both looked up with a start as Fallon joined them, but he went immediately to Beauty. She was still sleeping, perhaps a trifle more comfortably, but was feverish to the touch. Her face was the color of the muslin sheet that covered her body.

  “She was delirious most of the night, Captain,” said Garón, now quite awake. “She talked a little and called to you several times. Something about swimming to shore in a storm. Perhaps an hour ago I gave her something to relax her and help her sleep. She has a fever, as you felt. But that’s to be expected.”

  Fallon relaxed a little himself, his confidence in the doctor having grown exponentially since watching him operate. Señora Garón was standing off to the side, and Fallon turned to embrace her.

  “Thank you for coming and praying, Señora,” he said. “It is wonderful to see you again, but I wish it was a happier circumstance.”

  “Yes, Captain,” she replied. “But God has a plan for each of us. Beauty is in His hands now. I’m just trying to convince Him to let her stay with us.”

  “I hope He is listening to you, Señora,” Fallon said with a weak smile.

  A last look at Beauty, a few words spoken quietly and privately, and Fallon left to return to the ship. He needed to get his thoughts in order before breakfast with Davies. And he needed to shave and put on his best clothes. Though Davies was a good friend, he was still an admiral.

  DAVIES HAD thoughtfully sent his gig to bring Fallon to breakfast. Fallon and Aja sat in the stern sheets, unspeaking, consumed with worry for Beauty, and oblivious to the lovely day unfolding around them. As Fallon climbed through Avenger’s gangway, Kinis was there to welcome him and to show him below to the great cabin. Davies bid them both to sit for breakfast and, after asking about Beauty’s condition, asked Fallon to begin his report.

  Fallon described Luna’s explosion in Havana Harbor—“Beauty’s idea,” he told Davies—with the apparent loss of several ships within the harbor. Then James Wharton’s landing in Matanzas, uneventful really, and a promise to retrieve him in a month, now three weeks’ time. At Fallon’s mention of Paloma Campos, Davies’ mouth came open in surprise, but he did not interrupt to ask questions. Fallon described their trip to see sugarcane plantations and the meeting with Serles, the punishment of Young David, and Aja’s secret and successful effort to free him. At this, both Davies and Kinis slapped the desk in astonishment, surprised but not surprised, for both held very high opinions of Aja and could imagine him taking matters into his own hands.

  In fact, in the way of things aboard ship, Rascal’s crew had learned of Aja’s late-night escapade and viewed him with awe as a result. Most of the men had no real position on slavery one way or the other; rather, they accepted it as a way of life. But in their hearts the crew loved a good rescue, a daring kind of rescue, and Aja’s reputation as an enterprising and courageous fellow elevated him to heroic status in their eyes. No doubt that respect compelled them to follow Aja’s orders in the heat of the battle against Doncella.

  “Before I forget, sir,” said Fallon, remembering his duty. “I was asked to give you this message.” He slid the note from Paloma across the desk to Davies, who looked at it like a thirsty man would a cup of water. That is to say, with longing in his eyes. But he let the note sit there, deciding to read it later, privately. If Kinis was surprised, or even interested, he didn’t show it.

  “Pray continue, Captain Fallon,” Davies said quietly. “Your report is absorbing.”

  The breakfast came and with it hot coffee, bread, and real butter. Fallon found he was ravenously hungry, having had no supper the night before. Between mouthfuls he described the taking of Petite Bouton off the Mucarias shoals without a shot. Davies’ eyebrows went up, but Fallon merely attributed the capture to luck and an aged capitaine who made a wise decision. Then, with some little drama, he drew his fair copy of the letter found in the capitaine’s cabin from his breast pocket and pushed it across the desk to sit next to Paloma’s note. This one Davies picked up eagerly.

  “That was locked in the ca
pitaine’s desk aboard Petite,” said Fallon. “Do you read French, sir?”

  “I do somewhat, thank you,” replied Davies, and opened the letter and began reading. When he was finished he looked up in astonishment and said to Kinis: “The French government is asking the governor of Cuba to use Santiago as a staging ground in the event France decides to invade Saint-Domingue!”

  It took a moment for Davies and Kinis to absorb the importance of the letter, how the balance of power in the Caribbean would be affected by a French fleet action and the certainty of Louverture’s defeat. What then? Davies’ attention focused on the letter, and he looked up at Fallon with a question.

  “I see this is a fair copy, Captain. What happened to the original?”

  “I gave the original to Toussaint Louverture, sir,” said Fallon, holding his breath lest the admiral find fault with his decision.

  “Good God! You met with Louverture!” exclaimed Davies. “But how did you do that? What did he say? Good Lord!”

  Fallon told them of his journey to Jacmel and finding Louverture, omitting the whistling, and Louverture’s inscrutable reaction to the letter. And then Beauty’s observation that Louverture wasn’t surprised at the French government’s intentions.

  “Truly, you have acted in the best interests of Great Britain in this matter,” proclaimed Davies to a visibly relieved Fallon. “In fact, going to Jacmel was beyond the call of duty. Whatever in the world convinced you to do that? Really, I am astounded—and I thought your intrepidness could never astound me again!”

  In fact, Davies proclaimed himself astounded again as Fallon described the battle between Doncella and Renegade, and Rascal’s attempt to prevent Renegade being boarded.

  “You said earlier that Renegade escaped once you engaged, Captain Fallon. Was she crippled at all? I am trying to understand why she left you in such a precarious position after you put your ship in such danger to help her.”