Sea Change (8 page)

When Charley didn't eat in her cabin, she ate with Mr. Bryant and Mr. Purcell and "Sails," the sailmaster. The captain, she discovered, preferred to spend his scarce free moments with his brother or in his own cabin.

David Fletcher was enjoying a rare moment of quiet, a moment interrupted by a peremptory knock at the cabin door. He sighed and stood, setting aside the gothic novel he'd been reading, a secret vice he kept well hidden from his crew.

"Come in, Doctor."

Alcott strode into the cabin, frowning. "How did you know it was me?"

"I suspected it from that annoying knock."

"Oh." Alcott looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. "We need to talk, Captain Fletcher. You have been avoiding me these past days and I will not have it!"

David looked down at the feisty youngster. The doctor had balls, there was no doubt about it. It would be sad to have to chuck him over the side, but sometimes a captain did what a captain had to do.

On the other hand, there was Henry to think about. David pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the bunk. When he turned back, the doctor was staring at him and... Good Lord, the boy was blushing.

Alcott cleared his throat and said, "You have quite a collection of scars, Captain Fletcher."

David went to get a clean shirt from his chest, and pulled it over his head. Alcott was staring out the window, not watching him.

"Do my scars bother you, Doctor?"

Alcott adjusted his neckcloth, then looked back at David.

"No, Captain, certainly not. I expect in your line of work they are not at all unusual. It just...startled me." A smile twitched the doctor's lips. "Usually, people do not take off their clothes in my presence until I tell them to."

"I can see how that might cramp your social life with the ladies."

Alcott frowned again and crossed his arms. "I did not come here to discuss my social life, Captain Fletcher, but the state of your ship. I refuse to work in a pigsty! I do not care if you are the most ferocious pirate to ravage the shipping of the West Indies..."

"Privateer, and as a matter of fact, I am."

"...but I will not work under these conditions! You insist I doctor your men, fine! But first get them down into the bowels of this ship with more soap, vinegar, sulphur to fumigate..." He ticked off the list on his fingers. "Oh, and while you are at it, see if you can steal a cat. You have a rat population."

"All ships have a rat popul--see here, Doctor, there is something you need clarified. I am the captain, and I might add, the owner and master of this vessel. You are a doctor. And a prisoner. That means you do not give me orders. I give the orders, and you obey them."

"Or what?" Alcott sneered. "You will let me go? Have me flogged? Set me adrift in a boat? I do not think so, Captain Fletcher. You need me, and we both know it."

David fastened his shirt to keep his hands busy. Punching the doctor in the face was probably not the best way to resolve this, but it was a temptation. "You already have Miller assisting you, Doctor. Talk to Mr. Bryant, and he will know which men are available."

Suddenly the doctor's face changed as a smile broke through. A thought passed through David's mind that Dr. Alcott should smile more often if he ever hoped to attract a young lady willing to take her clothes off for something other than a medical examination.

"I do not need to bother Mr. Bryant with this, Captain, because Mr. Fletcher returned to duty."

"What?" David said, then felt his own smile flow across his face. "Why didn't you tell me right away?"

Dr. Alcott looked distracted for a moment, then blinked and said, "That is what I came to tell you, but a rat the size of a curricle ran across my foot and reminded me about the disgraceful condition of your ship. Mr. Fletcher is above and, in my opinion, is capable of resuming his duties."

"He is no longer in pain?"

"He still has pain. He will always have some pain, including phantom pains from the missing hand. But resuming his duties makes him feel needed and useful, and that will help his recovery."

"He is needed, and useful," David said. "If you say he's ready, then I will defer to your judgment."

"As you should," Dr. Alcott said recklessly. He turned to leave as David reached for his coat.

"And get a cat!" was the last thing he said as he closed the cabin door behind him, but this time David only smiled.

When he came above David saw Henry next to Mr. Bryant. His brother was standing straight and looked less drawn, though he was still too skinny and too pale from his ordeal. With Henry's left arm in a sling it was easy to fool the eye into thinking there was nothing more than a broken limb, until you looked closer and realized there was no hand coming through the other side of the cloth.

Bryant was going over some papers with the
Fancy
's second-in-command, and David walked over to see what they were discussing. The doctor was nowhere to be found, probably stirring up trouble elsewhere. Then the wind shifted and he caught a whiff of vinegar and brimstone, and he grinned. Clearly Dr. Alcott was wasting no time in putting his demands into effect.

"High time you stopped loafing about in your bunk, you sluggard! I was beginning to suspect you and that quack were in collusion to keep you from doing your duties."

Bryant and Henry looked over at him, and Henry's wide grin as he saw his brother was better than any medicine Dr. Alcott could have dispensed to David.

"Not at all, Captain! In fact, Dr. Alcott was just here ordering men right and left and putting them to work below."

David grunted. He was annoyed because the doctor had a way of getting on his nerves like no one else. But he knew inside that the doctor wasn't being unreasonable.

"If it keeps the men busy, then I see no problem with the doctor's demands," he acknowledged.

"And he wants a cat, too."

"I believe his exact words were we should 'steal a cat.'"

Henry chuckled, a sound that lifted David's spirits, and Mr. Bryant returned to his duties. The
Fancy
was humming like the well-tuned machine it was, each man knowing his task and his role in capturing goods and money to line their pockets and the coffers of the U.S. Treasury. It was no wonder the navy was having a difficult time getting sufficient sailors to man their ships, when the pickings and prizes were so much better aboard the privateers.

There was a fair wind from the southwest, and a lookout aloft kept an eye open for further opportunities for the crew to enrich itself.
And help the war effort, of course
, he thought, as he saw Dr. Alcott emerge from below.

The man was still a lubber and always would be, but David had to acknowledge, in all fairness, that the Englishman made a good faith effort to integrate himself into the crew. If the
Fancy
's captain did not give him such a difficult time, the doctor might consider staying aboard and becoming an American.

Dr. Alcott walked around the deck of the schooner, stopping to talk with the men at their tasks and ask questions of them. The crew laughed at the doctor's landsman ways, but it was good natured laughter. Mr. Bryant had been correct that having a sawbones aboard improved morale.

As if reading his mind, Henry said, "Dr. Alcott has become part of the crew in a short time. Do you think he will stay with us, or will he insist on being put ashore?"

"It is too early to say, Henry. I would like to do whatever I can to encourage Dr. Alcott to stay with us. He is young and by his own admission untrained, but he is better than nothing."

"Far better than some I have seen," Henry said. "You and I both know ship's surgeons whose hands shake from drink and who kill more than they save."

"I am hopeful, Henry, that even if Dr. Alcott wishes to leave the
Fancy
he will consider staying in the United States. We could use men of his talents, whether at sea or ashore. In the meantime," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "let us emphasize for our good doctor the benefits of casting his lot with us. If we make his stay aboard the vessel pleasant, he may not push so hard for his release."

Dr. Alcott joined them and looked Henry over with a professional eye. "The fresh air has put some color back in your face, Mr. Fletcher. I approve."

"It is good to be back at work, Doctor. But this sling hampers me!"

"Do not take it off!" Alcott said sternly. "You need to protect your arm until the sutures are removed. When you are in your cabin, you can stretch and move your arm carefully. You will lose strength in that limb; however, given your age and your general good health, you will regain it soon."

David did not want to make Henry feel like he was hovering over him, so he joined the doctor in strolling the deck.

"I need to do this more often," Dr. Alcott confessed. "Just as the fresh air has a salubrious effect on Mr. Fletcher, it is good for me as well. Sitting all day in the sick bay and not getting enough exercise will make me a candidate for illness."

"Do you not worry about catching a disease from those you treat?"

Dr. Alcott looked at him with a sidelong glance, a smile quirking his lips. "When I first started studying my father's texts I was sure I was developing every disease I read about. Not the women's complaints," he added hastily, "but every time my heart seemed to skip a beat, every time I felt flushed, I was sure I was coming down with some virulent plague. But I moved beyond that, and now know that with proper prevention I can do my best to avoid those ills. Exercise like this stroll, for example, and following the example of your sailors in drinking lime juice to prevent scurvy."

They walked in companionable silence, then the doctor stopped and looked up at Jenkins in the rigging.

"Your ship..."

"Not a ship, Doctor, a schooner."

"Ship, schooner, what difference does it make?"

"Ah, when you are sailing a beauty like this, it can make all the difference in the world." David smiled and lifted his face toward the sunshine, feeling the wind as the
Fancy
soared across the water in a broad reach. A man could ask for nothing finer than being master of his own vessel, feeling every plank and line of it in his bones, always aware of the wind and its direction and how it filled the sails.

"A ship has three masts and is square-rigged. The
Fancy
is rigged for speed," he said, pointing to the raking masts. "She's fine-lined and tall, and built in Baltimore, home of the fastest vessels afloat. And that ability to maneuver quickly is necessary, because unlike your British merchants, we do not have a fleet of navy ships escorting us everywhere. We Americans have to rely most on our own wits, our seamanship, and our gunnery skills to stay free."

"Your voice when you speak of this vessel is like how some men speak of their wives."

"I hope my wife will understand how I share my affections with this lady."

The doctor looked at him. "You are married, Captain Fletcher?"

"I have plans." He frowned. He didn't want to talk about his pending marriage or what it would mean to him.

"Come, let us continue our walk, Dr. Alcott. Do you realize this is the first time we have been able to engage in real conversation?"

That struck David at the same time he said it. The doctor had been aboard ship for over a week, yet they'd never shared a meal or talked about anything other than ship's business. If he was going to woo the good doctor to the cause of the United States, he would have to do better. He glanced sidelong at the young man beside him. He'd seen the doctor's possessions brought aboard and suspected he had little money. A young man of his caliber could do far better in the United States where doctors were at a premium and valued members of society, but he would need assistance, mentoring and advice.

For example, Dr. Alcott was dressed in his usual drab clothing. The sailors and officers of the
Fancy
favored colorful garments, where Dr. Alcott looked like he would easily blend into a stand of barren trees with his walnut-colored coat and mud-hued trousers. Even his waistcoat was a washed-out shade of mustard that if it was once a vibrant hue had left the color behind in the past.

"Is there something wrong with my coat?"

"I was just wondering why you dress yourself in such a lackluster wardrobe, Doctor."

Alcott looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"It is true, Doctor. You dress in a, dare I say, Quakerish manner. No flair at all."

"Not everyone feels incomplete without a yellow-dotted Belcher neckerchief, Captain."

"I simply dress as befits my status. The ladies expect a certain flair from Black Davy Fletcher. But you, Doctor, you dress as if you are trying to blend into the woodwork."

"I had no idea you were such an arbiter of fashion, Captain Fletcher," Alcott said with a smile that enhanced his unremarkable face but made him seem younger.

David wondered, not for the first time, if the lad was even shaving yet. If he was, he clearly did not need to do it daily based on the fuzz growing on his jawline.

"Don't those notions of colorful attire play havoc with your republican sensibilities in the United States?" Alcott said, bringing the conversation back 'round.

"Doctor! Have you never heard that clothes make the man? Even in an egalitarian land such as the United States we know this. Certainly in my native Maryland a man who does not dress well--he would have a hard time being taken seriously as a successful merchant."

"My clothing is perfectly suitable to my profession, Captain."

"All that brown!"

"Hides bloodstains, and other less savory fluids."

"Well, I will give you that," David acknowledged. "But if you ever wish to attract the young ladies, Doctor, I will give you this to mull over. Girls like the man who dresses with a sense of style. Think of it this way... The butterflies go to the most colorful flowers, not the drab ones."

"I will bear that in mind if I ever wish to consider myself an attractant to butterflies, Captain."