And here you are the mother's laps.

"What do you think has become of the young

and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women

and children?

"They are alive and well somewhere,

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death . . .

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier."

Melville stood on the upper quarterdeck. They were moving out toward Stolsh s.p.a.ce to warn them of the vast, slow moving Guldur fleet that was approaching. He'd sent Fielder and the middies to bed for four hours. Each of the sections also bedded down everyone they could, keeping only a skeleton crew on duty. For four hours Melville stood on the quarterdeck of his Ship (his Ship!) and rejoiced. He forced himself to eat and drink. His body ached. His soul ached, but the naval officer that was his core, his Keel, was rejoicing.

Above him the off-white sails were like clouds blocking the view of the starry heavens. The mizzenmast, mainmast and foremast all had three sails spread. Beneath the sails he could see the bowsprit pointing the way toward their navigation mark. Beneath the bowsprit another sail was spread.

There was little for him to do as he watched the sand trickle out for four turns of the hourgla.s.s. Every hour the gla.s.s was turned and they calculated their speed by the age-old process of casting the log. He wanted to test the new guns, but not now. He wanted to play with the sails and rigging, but not now, not with this skeleton crew. It seemed that every living creature who wasn't on duty was sleeping. Mostly he listened to the beautiful distant music, the song of Flatland, and just . . . was.

In four hours Fielder relieved him, the skeleton crew was rotated, and the men continued to sleep. Melville made a short visit to the hospital, where Elphinstone and Vodi escorted him as he visited the wounded.

Heavy gravity could be deadly to injured men, so it was vital to get them as far up above the plain of Flatland as reasonably possible. So they'd put the hospital in the cabin below the lower quarterdeck. The great windows in the stern looked out on the beautiful constellations of two-s.p.a.ce, which was a balm to the soul of every sailor. They lay stacked up on pallets, wrapped in blankets.

They were hurt so very badly, these warriors of his. Many had lost limbs and were now destined to live a maimed and crippled life. Some might not last through the day. In the corner, slightly out of the way, removed from the others, one sailor was gasping out his last few breaths. They were brave, but in the end they were so frail, so very fragile.

Too delicate is flesh to be

The shield that nations interpose

'Twixt red ambition and his foes a"

The bastion of liberty.

Their efforts had saved all their lives, had given them victory in battle against a base, cowardly foe. But somehow, at moments like this it all seemed so hollow. Melville found himself overwhelmed with affection for these men, these brave men, these n.o.ble warriors, this "delicate flesh" that had followed him into battle and made their victory possible.

Was there love once? I have forgotten her.

Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine.

Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir

More grief, more joy, than love of thee and thine.

The men were in remarkably good spirits. They seemed to take particular joy from his monkey. Cats and dogs were there to keep them constant company, but they considered the monkeys to be a particular talisman of luck and success. Wild tales of the monkeys' contribution to their battles were already circulating. Melville's monkey seemed to take the cautious stroking and petting as its rightful due.

Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth,

Lined by the wind, burned by the sun;

Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth,

As whose children we are brethren: one.

The hardest part was knowing that they would probably have to do it again. These men, of whom so much had already been asked, would have more to do. They would mend and heal their bodies, only to do it all again. Worse yet, their enemy could attack them at any moment, before they were healed, and these brave men would have to huddle helplessly in the hospital, where death could still find them.

His job was to protect them. How could he take them into harm's way again?

And any moment may descend hot death

To shatter limbs! Pulp, tear, blast

Beloved soldiers who love rough life and breath

Not less for dying faithful to the last.

Melville moved to the corner, where he knelt and held the hand of the dying sailor. It seemed like a very long time as the sailor shuddered out his last few minutes of life.

O the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony,

Opened mouth gushing, fallen head,

Lessening pressure of a hand, shrunk, clammed and stony!

O sudden spasm, release of the dead!