Salt water was brought and poured over the wound. The patient blenched, gritted his teeth and writhed in silent torment. When the pain had subsided, he said to his brother: ‘Give us your knife.’ Javel the elder handed it to him.

‘Hold the arm up, straight. Stretch it up.’

They did as he asked. He then began to cut himself. Gently and thoughtfully at first, he sliced back the last few tendons with the razor-sharp blade until finally only a stump remained. He gave a deep sigh, and declared: ‘Had to be done. It’d had it.’

Breathing heavily now, he seemed relieved, and carried on pouring water on what was left of his limb. It was a foul night again, with no hope of landing. When day broke, young Javel picked up his severed arm and examined it for a long time. It was definitely putrefying. His mates came and looked also, passing it around, feeling it, turning it over and sniffing it.

His brother said: ‘Better chuck it overboard, smartish.’

At this, young Javel got annoyed. ‘Not on your life, mate! Not having that! Whose arm is it anyway?’

He took it back and tucked it between his knees.

‘It’ll rot, you watch,’ said the elder brother.

Suddenly, an idea came to the wounded man. To keep fish fresh on board a ship likely to be at sea for some time, they were piled into barrels of salt.

‘What about pickling it?’ he asked.

‘That’ll do it,’ the others declared. They then emptied one of the barrels full of the latest catch and placed the arm at the bottom. Having poured salt all over it, they replaced the fish, one by one.

One of the sailors joked: ‘As long as we don’t put it in the auction.’

Everyone apart from the two Javel brothers laughed.

The wind was still gusting, and just off Boulogne they sailed close-hauled till ten the next morning. The wounded man continued to pour water on the injury, walking from time to time from one end of the boat to the other. His brother, watching him from the helm, shook his head. Finally they reached port.

The doctor examined the wound and declared it to be in satisfactory condition. Having bandaged it all up, he prescribed rest. Javel, however, would not go to bed before retrieving his arm. He hurried back to the harbour to find the barrel he had marked with a cross. It was emptied for him and he picked up the limb which had kept well in the brine and looked fresh and puckered. He wrapped it in the towel he had brought with him, and returned home.

His wife and children studied this relic of the father, touching the fingers and picking off grains of salt stuck under the nails. They then called for a carpenter to come and measure it for a small coffin.