Mankillers

Back on deck he watched fascinated as giant hawsers were cast off and the great ship glided through the harbor, the paddlewheel splashing hypnotically. This is the way to travel, he thought. His opinion was altered a few minutes later when he began to experience a vague feeling of nausea, uncontrollable yawning and profound fatigue. Oh, no, hardly out of the harbor and I’m getting seasick. He kept moving, stayed outside on the deck in the breeze, and kept his eyes off the horizon. Soon the feeling passed.

By early afternoon he’d become accustomed to the roll of the ship and cadence of engine and paddlewheel. Their soporific effects and the warm sun combined to relax him. He napped in a deckchair for long intervals, more contented and relaxed than he’d been in years. He was surprised on one of his strolls to find Asa had left the cabin and was stretched out in a deckchair, napping, his face covered with a newspaper.

As if he sensed being stared at, Asa removed the paper and squinted up.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” Asa climbed to his feet and leaned on the ship’s rail, profound weariness manifest in his voice and movements. “Look at the sea, Buck. It’s so calm and peaceful.” He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. “But underneath there’s lots of life . . . and death. We just can’t see it.” He paused again. “Not like the land we left, all tore up and bloody forever. No matter what you do to it, the sea swallows up all its wounds.” He sighed. “It must be everlastingly peaceful down there.”

Buck drew back to observe him. This was Asa’s longest speech since his injuries. A good sign, but Buck was troubled by its morbid tone.

“We’ve both been through too much and may never be able to forget it all, but like the sea we have to overcome our sadness and pain. The sea has depth, Asa. We have time. Let it work its cure.” He placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “At least we’re going home.”

“I’ve almost forgotten what home’s like,” Asa murmured.

Melancholy enveloped Buck as he whispered to himself, “Do I even have a home anymore.” Silently he added: But there’s something more important I have to do. Finding a home can wait.

Chapter FIVE

Buck barely slept that night. He’d given his companion another dose of laudanum and locked their door from the inside. Asa wasn’t likely to awaken for hours, but even if he did, he couldn’t get out, since the key was under Buck’s pillow. Nevertheless he was unable to rest easy.

He’d finished his ablutions in the small compartment the next morning when the Shenandoah docked at Beaufort, North Carolina, to take on wood and water. Through the porthole Buck could see sweating Negroes toting split pine logs as if they were being paid by the piece. The strident creaking of the gangplank and loud thumps as the wood was stacked should have awakened everyone aboard, but when Buck reached the main deck he was surprised to find himself the lone passenger up and about. He paced along the deck inhaling deeply of the salt-tinged air and idly slapping myriads of persistent insects. The key to his room was in his pocket, the door locked securely.

What am I going to do? How can I help Asa?

His solemn mood was broken and he couldn’t help but smile when he heard workers pronounce the port’s name as “Bow-fort”. South Carolina also had a Beaufort, but South Carolinians, independent to the bone, pronounced their port city “Bew-fort,” and would never change.

He had no appetite this morning, but following the adage of Physician, heal thyself, made his way to the dining room, ordered a full breakfast and managed to eat a goodly portion of it. He was on his third cup of hot but weak coffee when the Shenandoah got under way again. Through the window the sea was as smooth as oiled glass, and the captain increased the vessel’s speed. Buck recalled Asa’s comment about the water’s surface camouflaging the turmoil beneath. With the change in the pulsing of the engines he watched the altered pattern of wavelets in his cup.

What to do about Asa?

He felt completely lost. None of his medical training had addressed sicknesses of the mind. Could they be cured? Or was the young man who’d served him and so many others with selfless dedication doomed to a life of despair?

The room slowly filled while Buck finished his repast. He ordered a breakfast tray for Asa and watched the sleepy man eat, again without relish, then return to his bunk without a word and once more fall fast asleep.

Buck left the room, locked the door behind him and retraced his steps to the dining room for yet another cup of coffee, perchance to think. . . . How could he help his patient?

When no answers came, he decided to take a stroll around the decks and smoke a cigar. As he weaved his way to the exit he made eye contact with a slender brunette at a corner table. The lady had high cheekbones, brown eyes, and was dressed entirely in black. Ever the gentleman, he bowed slightly in greeting. She brushed back a lock of raven hair from her forehead and responded with an almost imperceptible nod. An older man and woman at the table, obviously her parents, glanced his way. The mother politely smiled.

Buck hurried to the promenade deck, leaned against the railing and gazed at the ship’s turbulent wake. He tried to remember when he’d last been with a woman. Too long, his body answered. He toured the decks and selected a comfortable chaise on the starboard upper level, smoked his cigar, then overpowered by the previous night’s lack of sleep, fell into a doze.

“Doctor Thomson?” a woman’s voice addressed him. “Please forgive me for disturbing you.”

He opened his eyes and recognized the woman in black from the dining room. She was young, attractive and clearly in distress. He started to rise.

She put out a hand. “Please, please, don’t get up.”

Good ma

“My name’s Sarah Drexel. Please excuse my lack of decorum, but the captain mentioned you’re a medical doctor. I’m hoping I might prevail on you for professional advice.”

At the moment he felt hardly qualified to give anyone advice. Nevertheless he motioned her to the deckchair beside him. Only when she was seated, did he resume his former place.

“How may I be of assistance, madam? Are you ill?”

“It’s not me,” she replied sadly. “It’s my father. He hasn’t been himself lately and it seems to be getting worse.”

“In what way?”

“He’s become distant, inattentive, and has flashes of temper which are so unlike him. When I returned to our cabin a little while ago my mother was distraught. While she was changing clothes Father wandered off and she couldn’t find him. I finally located him standing among the horses on the deck below. I asked him what he was doing there. He acted confused and didn’t appear to recognize me. I questioned him further. He couldn’t remember his cabin number or even his name. One of the crew tried to help me get him back to our room, but he became quite hostile, nearly violently so. It took us a while to persuade him to return to the cabin with me.”

Buck frowned and pursed his lips. “Is this the first time this sort of thing’s happened?”

“My mother says it’s been occurring with increasing frequency over the past few months. I became acutely aware of it while we were traveling in Maryland. You must understand, Dr. Thomson, my father’s a very intelligent and successful businessman. He owns and manages a lucrative cotton exchange in Charleston, although I suspect now Mother’s been conducting most of the recent transactions.”