JOE HAD KNOWN fear all his life. He had seen it in his mother’s face when his father was dying. He had felt his whole body shake when an Eagle crewman had spotted the first Union flags on the horizon and quiet despair when he realized their bloody battle was lost. He remembered the trickle of sweat that had run down his back as he descended the decks of the prison ship. He felt that same terror now.
‘I shook his hand,’ he said. It was a hoarse, harsh whisper.
‘You both had gloves on,’ said Sam, then added, ‘Of a kind …’
‘His were more like bandages,’ said Joe, unconvinced. ‘And anyway, they’d be full of the pox.’ He held his arms away from his body, as though that might keep infection at bay. In front of him stretched out a long, chaotic, single file of men. No one walked near anyone else. He could just see Gramm and Tilson out in front: stumbling, wretched, hysterical. They moved only at gunpoint, four guards with scarves over their faces stalking them like wild animals. Joe made out multiple, overlapping, panicky orders as they were hurled forward. ‘What they sayin’?’ asked Sam.
‘They’re saying they’ll shoot them if they come any closer,’ answered Joe.
Next came the One inmates, panicking, fearful and constantly, relentlessly, checking their own hands for any sign of a rash. A gap of fifty yards, then the men of Four, and behind them, in self-imposed isolation, Habs, Joe and Sam.
‘We was all too close. We was too close!’ said Sam. ‘We was walkin’ in their shadows. Oh, my dear God.’
‘How close is too close?’ asked Habs. ‘Anyone know?’
They trudged on a few steps, the last of the troops, bayonets drawn, dictating their pace.
‘We had an outbreak back in ’09,’ said Joe. He wanted to talk. It drowned some of the groaning. ‘That’s what my folks told me. A village near us lost nearly everyone – three farms, I think it was. A few houses. Ma said it was the most terrible thing she ever saw. They used to leave food in baskets at the village boundary, then retreat. They watched from a distance. Men and women covered in bloody sheets came to get it. She knew everyone in that village – called out to them – but they just took the food and went away.’
‘So living in the same house is too close?’ Habs looked at Joe, who nodded.
‘Well, tha’s everyone in Block One,’ said Sam. ‘Tha’s a thousand men.’
‘And what about us?’ asked Habs. ‘Did we march too close? Work too close?’ He stared at Joe, then at Sam.
Joe, head down, said nothing. He was too busy fighting the voice in his head. Its message was clear: ‘You know you were too close.’
By the time they got to Dartmoor, the hospital was already overwhelmed. The first cases had been confirmed shortly after the work party had left, and Magrath had ordered Block One to be quarantined. Soldiers stood at its closed door with orders to shoot anyone who tried to break out.
In Shortland’s office, Magrath, his hand shaking on his stick, was brisk.
‘It will be a miracle if we keep the outbreak confined to Block One but, at the moment, all sixty confirmed cases come from there. Two were on the work party with inmates from Block Four. They’re being watched, but that’s all I can do. Three hundred and seven have early signs of the rash. Nearly all my extra staff have deserted, so we need help from Plymouth, from London, from anywhere we can find it. There will be deaths, of course. Many deaths, I fear. They will need to be taken away for burial. Your men must do this. I will inoculate all of them, naturally, but I can’t say it will be popular work.’
Shortland, his face grey, regarded his surgeon. ‘I will ask for volunteers,’ he said.
‘And then you might need to order them,’ said Magrath. ‘I need all the resources you can find me.’
‘I will make sure you have them, George, but I think, too, of your safety. Without you, we are lost. I should have had the vaccination back on the Canopus in ’02. I will rectify that error right away.’
‘I am safe from the disease,’ said Magrath. ‘I caught cowpox a few years back, and it has made me immune. But I suggest I vaccinate you and Elizabeth immediately. I would inject you with a tiny amount. It is the only way to stop it. We can bandage, we can soothe, but we’ll only stop it with the needle.’
Shortland swallowed. ‘Very well.’
‘And Elizabeth?’
‘If you recommend it, I’m sure she will oblige.’
‘Thank you,’ said Magrath, ‘and I would like it done in public. In the courtyard. So the men – the prisoners and the soldiers – see your example.’ As Shortland made to protest, Magrath pressed. ‘If this breaks out of One, the whole prison will sink. I’m sure of it. If the men take the vaccine, you have a chance of holding the prison till they go home. There is no time, Thomas, none at all. As your surgeon, I must insist.’
Shortland looked up from rearranging his books, blotter and pen and rose from his desk.
‘As you wish, George,’ he said wearily. ‘As you wish.’
Thomas and Elizabeth Shortland, escorted by a guard commander and six of the Derbyshire militia, walked the short distance from their house, across the market square and through the gates into the prison courtyard. With every step, they could hear and see more of the gathering crowd before, finally, an improvised stage came into view, King Dick standing tall at the front of it. A clearly uncomfortable Dr Magrath was standing high on a dozen crates that had been dragged from the barracks, two medical bags at his feet.
‘This feels more like an execution than an injection,’ said the Agent.
‘Agreed,’ said Elizabeth, their pace brisk. ‘But it was the right decision, Thomas.’
‘Thank you.’
She interpreted his swiftest of glances as surprise at a rare moment of agreement.
As the gates were unlocked, Elizabeth’s eyes swept the courtyard. ‘I’ve never seen it this full,’ she said. ‘Maybe they’re hoping for an execution, too.’
‘Never heard them so quiet either,’ said Shortland.
‘They’re scared, George. We all are.’
Redcoats stood at each corner of the stage, rifles held in anticipation of an imminent attack. One of them produced some crates to make steps and the Shortlands climbed up. Elizabeth surveyed the sea of faces for another sight of her newcomer before remembering he was one of the quarantined.
King Dick and Magrath were talking head to head for the first time.
‘Physician, my men from the work party have been isolated in the cockloft. How long must they stay there?’
‘A week,’ said Magrath. ‘Preferably longer. Ten days. You’ll know by then.’
‘Uh-huh. You doin’ the needles?’
‘Actually, no needles. It’s a skin stab with a fork. Many will not allow it, I know that. The Agent and Mrs Shortland have agreed, as you can see.’
‘You come to Four,’ said the King. ‘When you’re done with them, you bring your science to us.’ He turned and pushed his way back towards his block. Magrath was nodding his thanks as he was summonsed by Shortland.
‘Get this done, then, Magrath,’ he said, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. He glanced at the physician’s brown glass bottle. ‘That it?’
‘That is it, yes.’
‘What is it, exactly?’
‘It’s actually material from lesions in the udder of a cow with cowpox,’ said Magrath. ‘Local man called Jesty injected his whole family with it back in ’74. Made them immune. It’ll do the same for you.’ The Agent nodded, then looked away.
The crowd surged forward, straining for a view. Elizabeth saw her husband’s jaw lock and his fists clench. The procedure didn’t concern her overly but she knew he would rather lead a frigate into battle than face the vaccination. Magrath uncorked the bottle then dipped in a long silver two-pronged fork. The size of it brought an audible gasp from the watching inmates, followed by a shout of ‘Stick it in the bastard’s eye!’
Shortland blanched.
‘Don’t mind them,’ said Magrath, ‘they’re just being tars. Ours’d be no different.’ He wiped Shortland’s arm when he was done and pulled his sleeve down.
Next, Elizabeth sat down, her sleeve already rolled high and her eyes flashing Magrath a warning. When the Agent had turned to talk to one of the soldiers, she leaned in close. ‘Someone will shout about us. I’m sure of it.’
Magrath nodded, his face taut with concentration. Again, he dipped the fork in the bottle; again, he checked he had taken enough vaccine. With one hand, he held Elizabeth’s arm; with the other, he stabbed her skin in two short, jerking motions. She winced, and a voice, clear and unchallenged, rang through the courtyard.
‘Prickin’ ’er, like most nights, then!’
As the laughter rolled, Elizabeth jumped up and took her husband by the arm, escorting him from the stage.
‘It was the right and the brave thing to do, Thomas, even if we did get abuse. I’m proud of you.’
The colour had returned to the Agent’s cheeks but he was silent as they returned to the house.