“No prayers, please, neither Jewish nor Christian—they won’t do. I’m not one thing or the other.”
I told him I understood his predicament, for I was equally a mixed creature, neither a handler of serpents like my father nor as ecumenically pious as my mother. I was east of Skepticism and north of Faith, with an unsettled compass and variable winds. But I could offer up a prayer as well as the next man, and leave it to Heaven to judge the result.
“I hope I don’t need praying over just yet,” said Sam, his voice losing some of its momentary clarity. “I wish I had my hand back, though. I seem to feel it there still—clenched and burning. Adam!” he called out suddenly, his eyes gone watery and vague. “Where’s Julian? Where’s Admiral Fairfield? We need to repulse the damned Dutchmen!”
“Calm down—you’ll aggravate your wound.”
“Damn my wound! Julian will want to send me away— don’t let him do it!
He needs my advice more than I ever needed my lost left hand! Tell him that, Adam—tell him—!”
Sam’s agitation attracted the attention of Dr. Linch, who forced a preparation of opium down Sam’s throat, and not long after that Sam’s anxiety yielded to silence, and he fell asleep again.
“Is he recovering?” I asked the doctor.
“His fever is increased. That’s not a good sign. There may be some putrefaction in the wound, judging by the smell.”
“He’ll get better soon, though?”
“This is a poor excuse for a hospital, Colonel Hazzard, and bound to deteriorate as supplies run low. Nothing is certain.”
I wanted more reassurance than that, but Dr. Linch was stubborn, and wouldn’t yield it up.
* * *
I did not expect that Julian would really send Sam away, but in fact that’s what happened.
Admiral Fairfield’s battered Basilisk anchored a little away from the harbor at Striver, and the Admiral came ashore in a launch. We still controlled the harbor, which was beyond the reach of the Dutch artillery, and we would have welcomed the American fleet had it arrived. But, as at Goose Bay , there was only Admiral Fairfield’s ship. The Basilisk, although a noble craft, looked small and forlorn against the chilly waters of Lake Melville and the distant spine of the Mealy Mountains , as sailors swarmed over her rigging repairing the damage she had taken in battle. The Admiral arrived at the dock in a bitter mood, and he was silent as I accompanied him to Julian’s headquarters.
In the privacy of that building, which had once housed the Dutch Mayor of Striver, in the upstairs bedroom Julian had commandeered for his office, Admiral Fairfield—whose initial skepticism of Julian’s abilities as a commander had yielded to grudging and finally enthusiastic approval—explained that his entire fleet had been ordered out of Lake Melville.
“Ordered out!” Julian exclaimed. “Why?”
“The command came without explanation,” Admiral Fairfield said with patent disgust. “From New York.”
“From my uncle, you mean.”
“I suspect so, though I can’t say for certain.”
“And all obeyed it but you?”
“Officially, the Basilisk is covering our retreat against any Dutch attack. That was my excuse for remaining behind long enough to contribute what I could at Goose Bay—which was little enough—and to come here to consult you.”
“But you’ll have to leave shortly,” Julian surmised. “And, obviously, you can’t deliver reinforcements.”
“I cannot, though it pains me to say so. All I can do is offload what extra provisions the Basilisk is carrying, and take away those of the wounded who need better treatment than a field hospital can supply.”
“Leaving us here,” Julian said, “besieged, until the day comes when we yield to starvation, or surrender ourselves to the Mitteleuropan forces… which is no doubt what my mad uncle intends.”
“My oath of loyalty prevents me from acknowledging the truth of it. In extremis, General Comstock, you might attempt to break out to the east. A road runs through to the Narrows , though it’s unimproved, and the fortifications there ought to remain in American hands long enough to receive you. But it would be a desperate attempt at best.”
“Desperate indeed, since we’re considerably outnumbered.”
“The decision is yours, of course.” Admiral Fairfield stood up. “Leaving you in these circumstances is inexcusable, but I’ve already stretched my written orders past the limits of interpretation.”
“I understand,” Julian said, taking the Admiral’s gnarled hand in his own with a touching sense of occasion. “I hold no grudge against you, Admiral, and I thank the Navy for everything it’s done on our behalf.”
“I hope the gratitude is not misplaced,” the Admiral said grimly.
* * *
Julian and I went down to the docks, where Sam and dozens of other seriously wounded men were carried to boats for removal to the Basilisk.
I delivered several typewritten sheets to that vessel’s Quartermaster—my war dispatches to the Spark, which the Quartermaster promised to post from Newfoundland.
We caught up with Dr. Linch, who was supervising the proceedings, and he led us to Sam, who rested in a litter with a woolly blanket wrapped around him and the fitful snow collecting in his beard. His eyes were closed, and fever-roses flourished on his weathered cheeks. “Sam,” said Julian, laying a gentle hand on his mentor’s shoulder.
Sam’s eyelids peeled back, and he gazed up into the rolling clouds a moment before his gaze fixed on Julian.
“Don’t let them take me,” he said in a shockingly frail voice.
“It’s a question of need, not wish,” said Julian. “Do as the doctor tells you, Sam, and soon you’ll be well enough to resume the fight.”
Sam wasn’t soothed by these homilies, however, and he reached up from the blankets with his good right arm and took Julian by the collar. “You need my advice!”
“I can hardly do without it; but if you have any advice, Sam, give it to me now, for the boats are preparing to cast off.”
“Use it, ” Sam said, cryptically but insistently.
“Use it? Use what? I don’t understand.”
“The weapon! The Chinese weapon.”
Julian’s eyes grew wide and his expression mournful. “Sam… there is no Chinese weapon.”
“I know that, you young fool! Use it anyway.”
Perhaps he was the victim of a febrile delusion. In any case, if he had more to say, we didn’t hear it; for the litter-bearers carried him off, and before long he was tucked aboard the Basilisk and bound for the Naval hospital at St. John’s.
I think I had never felt quite so alone as I did when the Basilisk weighed anchor and sailed east—not even on the snowy plains of Athabaska, with Williams Ford and all my childhood standing behind me like a closed door.
Then, at least, I had been in the familiar company of Sam and Julian. Now Sam was gone… and Julian, in his blue and yellow uniform (slightly tattered), seemed hardly a ghost of the Julian I had once known.
Among the goods Admiral Fairfield left us was a bag of mail. These packages and letters were distributed to the troops the same day. One of Julian’s adjutants brought me an envelope with my name written on it in Calyxa’s hand.
Night had fallen; so I took the letter close to a lamp, and opened it with trembling hands.
Calyxa had never been much of a correspondent—no one would call her wordy. The letter consisted of a salutation and three terse sentences: Dear Adam, The Dominion threatens me. Please come home soon, preferably alive. Also, I am pregnant.