Hostile Shores

No longer being pawed at by Mainwaring’s large hands, Toulon stopped fretting and snuggled down, eyes shut and his head nodding as if he would fall asleep right there in Lewrie’s arms. His breath was faint.

“Perhaps … perhaps, it would be best did we proceed, Mister Mainwaring,” Lewrie sadly, slowly agreed.

“A towel, sir,” Durbin softly suggested, getting to his feet. “Something to swaddle him during the procedure?”

“A restraining towel, yes,” Mainwaring agreed, finishing his cool tea before rising, himself. “Perhaps at your dining table, sir?”

“Dram and a half, sir?” Durbin asked his superior.

“Hmm, best make it a full two,” Mainwaring proposed. “Prepare the clyster.”

Pettus fetched a used towel and laid it on the dining table. Lewrie carried Toulon to the table and gently sat him down on it, then folded the towel round him, petting and softly cooing affection to keep the cat calm. Pettus and Jessop came close to witness, with Jessop holding Chalky in his arms to keep him from interfering.

Surgeon’s Mate Durbin produced the clyster, a metal cylinder about six inches long with a plunger at one end, and a long, narrow, and hollow metal tube, no wider than a goose quill, at the other. He withdrew the plunger and laid it aside, put a finger over the end of the tube, and presented it to Surgeon Mainwaring, who carefully measured out 120 minims, or two fluid drams, into a graduated glass tube, then poured the laudanum into the clyster. Durbin re-inserted the plunger for him, still holding a finger over the needle’s opening to prevent spillage.

“I will take it now, Durbin,” Mainwaring said, placing his own finger over the needle’s aperture, allowing a drop or two to dribble out. “Even the tiniest bolus of air would impede the efficacious administering of the dose, do you see, Captain.”

“Umhum,” Lewrie replied, his heart in his throat.

“If you will hold him firmly, now, Captain, I will begin,” the Surgeon said, leaning down over the end of the table.

Toulon emitted a loud, outraged yeowl as the needle went up his anus and its contents were injected with a push of the plunger, and it was all Lewrie could do to hold him still in the folds of the towel.

“You tell him, Toulon,” Lewrie cooed, his eyes turning hot and moist as he tried to calm his cat. “I’d be at his throat with claws out if someone did that t’me, too! Hush, now. Hush, little man, it’s done. If God’s just, there’s a Fiddler’s Green for you, too, with all the mice and birds ye wish t’chase, milk pools, and all the fish and sausages ye’d ever want. Other cats t’play with … perhaps even old Pitt. Ye might get on with him. Hush, now. Go t’sleep, and dream a happy cat’s dreams. I always loved ye, d’ye know that, Toulon?”

“’Is fav’rite people, too, sir,” Jessop said in an awed whisper, “an’ ’im be there a’waitin’ on yer when ye goes t’Heaven yerself.”

“I pray so, Jessop,” Lewrie managed to choke out, “I surely do pray so.”

Toulon did calm down, muttering a bit and going limp after a minute or so. His front paws twitched as if he was having a chase dream, and his jaws chittered silently as he did when seeing a bird.

They all waited for a full five minutes, in silence. Toulon seemed completely asleep, with no response when Lewrie folded back the towel and gently stroked and caressed his fur. Chalky was having no part of it, mrring and wriggling out of Jessop’s grasp to run aft and fuss and groom.

“If I may, Captain,” Mainwaring said, at last. He bent down to press an ear to Toulon, gently rolling him onto one side. He used his amplifying horn device, a stethoscope he termed it, to listen even more carefully for a full minute more before leaning back and digging into his bag for a small mirror and a lancet.

“There is no sign of respiration, Captain,” Mainwaring said as he looked at the mirror. “I can no longer discern a heart beat, nor a bit of fog on the mirror.”

Lewrie thought it rather gruesome, but Mainwaring lifted a paw to expose the sensitive pads and made a first light jab with the lancet, then a stronger second. Lastly, he pricked Toulon on his nose, with no response.

“I believe I may state in perfect conviction that he is gone, sir,” Mainwaring said with a slight nod of satisfaction. “I am sorry for your loss. He was dear to you, and a great companion.”

“Thank you, Mister Mainwaring,” Lewrie managed to say, with a curt nod. “Pettus, will you go pass word for the Master Gu

“Yes, sir,” Pettus muttered, wiping his eyes as he left.

*   *   *

The towel was sacrificed for a winding cloth, the requested baize bag, quickly sewn together out of the red baize usually used to hold a defaulter’s “cat-o’-nine-tails”, was three times normal size, as if Bosun Sprague knew its purpose beforehand, and Jessop added one of Toulon’s favourite old woven wool toys before Lewrie drew and tied the bag shut, and went out on deck to the waist, then up the ladderway to the quarterdeck. He threaded his way aft through the Afterguard and watchstanders, surprised by the presence of not only the men of the watch but most of the hands who were at that hour off watch on deck and along the sail-tending gangways. Officers, Mids, and petty officers doffed their hats as he passed. It was impossible to keep secrets from any ship’s company; they all knew of the Surgeon’s speculations and the fact that the Captain had requested his help to ease his pet’s passing.

Lewrie got to the taffrails right aft and took off his own hat, laid it down atop the flag lockers, and stood bareheaded with the bag cradled in both arms.

“I’m sorry, Toulon,” he whispered, “but it had to be done, and I meant for you t’go easy. I loved you from the first sight of you, and always will.” A captain’s stern dignity be-damned, Lewrie lifted the bag to bestow a last kiss on the baize, then extended his arms over the stern. “Goodbye, littl’un. See you in Heaven.”

He let go of the bag and watched it drop into the white trail of the frigate’s wake, where it made a small splash before sinking to the deeps.

The ship’s fiddler and the Marine flutist began “Joh

They tryin’ t’break my heart? Lewrie thought, unable to turn to face forward without showing his sudden tears. He had not heard “Joh

At last, Lewrie pulled a handkerchief from a coat pocket, blew his nose, and dabbed his eyes before shoving it back away and clapping his hat on his head to turn away from the taffrails and face his crew.

He got to the forward edge of the quarterdeck, and was amazed to see all hands standing with their hats off. No one had ordered it, but they had done it. Doffing his hat to them, he called out, “Thank you, lads. Thank you,” then made a slow way down to the waist and to the doors to his great-cabins, nodded to his Marine sentry, and went inside.

*   *   *

Lewrie stayed aft and below the rest of the afternoon, going to the quarterdeck for a breath of fresher and cooler air round the middle of the Second Dog Watch. Though there was no point in doing so, he did go aft to the taffrails for a while, looking far astern. Bisquit, now allowed the liberty of the quarterdeck, joined him and sat down atop the flag lockers, nuzzling for attention and pets, and Lewrie rewarded him before returning to his cabins for a silent and bleak supper. There was only one feeding bowl at the foot of the dining table for Chalky, who seemed oblivious that his long-time friend was no longer present. Once fed, the younger cat came to be petted, arching under Lewrie’s hands and rubbing his cheeks on his fingers before flopping on his side to play.