Pride Of Duty: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 2

had been on his arrival. Most of the time, he and William had inventoried medical supplies. Cullen had gone over Dr. Andrew Morton’s logs for the last two years to get an idea of the state of the health of the officers and crew.
Young Morton had been very thorough in his accounting of the surgery, and helpful in explaining the ship’s shifts and routines. Cullen had not been surprised at the daily line of crewmen seeking medical assistance. When a ship was in port for provisioning, or re-fit, the men tended toward boredom, which in turn produced a steady stream of “ailments.” Once they were back at sea, and in action, the medical complaints would slow to a trickle.
He leaned closer to the argumentative young man. “Why can ye not see the wisdom in leaving the ship to continue yer studies in Edinburgh? Surely yer late father would want ye to follow in his profession.”
“I’ve been trained thoroughly by my father. Why, I know more than most of the second-year students at Edinburgh Medical School.”
Cullen sat up, re-assessing the rude young twig. “Then why not get at least yer first year so ye can set up a proper practice? What’s keeping ye here?”
He couldn’t see the young man’s neck for the voluminous wrapped neckcloth he affected, but he imagined that part of his anatomy burned as brightly as his boyish face. However, something about the long, sooty lashes framing cool gray eyes nagged and buzzed like an obnoxious fly at the back of Cullen’s brain.
“How old are you? Ye’ve not even the beginnings of a beard. Who are you to tell me ye know so much? I’ve been to Edinburgh. I completed my studies there, and I’ve been serving the King’s Navy ever since.”
William snapped his face away from Cullen’s inspection and stood, staring a long time out a window near their table. He turned suddenly, his face still a shade of scarlet. “I can see you resent my presence in the surgery, Dr. MacCloud. I won’t impose upon you any longer. I’m sure one of my father’s associates would be glad to have my assistance.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door only to be intercepted by the one of the Arethusa’s marines.
Cullen rose from the table at the look on the marine lieutenant’s face.
“Dr. MacCloud, Mr. Morton. We need you. There’s been an accident. Two men were fighting and fell from the tops.”
Cullen turned to hasten out the door in the wake of the marine and was a little surprised to see young William fall in behind without a sound. The boy’s usually dour face transformed into one of concern, and intent. It was only then he realized the insolent cub hadn’t revealed his age. What was he trying to hide?
Cullen raced across the deck of the Arethusa and slid down the steps accessing the surgery below decks. The two sailors had already been laid out on the wide operating table in the center of the sick bay. One of them still shrieked in agony while the second man was eerily silent. A great deal of blood pooled beneath the surgery slab.
After stopping to shed his uniform jacket, Cullen moved quickly to the side of the quiet patient whose eyes stared vacantly toward the bulkhead separating the surgery from the gun room. He pressed his fingers to the side of the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Since the man had not appeared to have fallen into the water, and the day was mild, Cullen carefully closed the man’s eyes after a few minutes of no life signs.
He moved to the other man, determined to save him if he could. Young Morton was already there and had ripped the man’s trousers up to mid-thigh.
At a nod from Cullen, one of the marines who had hauled the men into the surgery fetched a short piece of wood for the patient to bite down on.
The long bone supporting the thigh was cracked in two. Without petitioning Cullen for guidance, William had re-positioned the bone while fetching a screw tourniquet from the storage cabinet and putting pressure on the blood spurting from the nearby artery with a wadded length of linen. Cullen took over the pressure, and after only a slight nod toward the young man, William tied off the spurting artery with an expert knot.
The gaze he turned on Cullen was unmistakable. The young man’s gray eyes darted toward the chest where long lengths of linen were stored. Cullen filled his arms with the folded strips and returned to the table where they worked together silently.
Although his time at sea with the African Squadron had never lacked for violence and gore, he was used to pulling a surgeon’s mate or whatever crewman was available into duty to help with serious injuries. He’d never had an assistant like William who was not afraid to take the initiative to do the right thing before Cullen thought to order something done. But then this was a forty-gun frigate, much larger than the ships allotted the squadron, with a crew more extensive than those previously entrusted to his care.
Later, when they’d done as much as they could to keep the man from bleeding to death and had splinted the leg with a long board from the ship’s carpenter, Cullen sagged onto a chair bolted to the surgery floor and stared at the young man who just an hour or two ago had been a thorn in his side.
He saw him in a new light. Although Cullen would never admit it to Morton, the young man probably did indeed know as much as any second-year student at Edinburgh. But Cullen was convinced he should get his education and then return to the service, or at the very least set up his own practice. The insolent cub was beyond talented. He was gifted.
When they returned to their shared cabin to rinse the blood from their skin and clothing, young Morton