One of the two men looked up, his face ashen in the lantern light. His eyes shone wetly. ‘I was on the mallet, Mr Penrose.’ He pointed at the massive hammer beside a long piece of iron and Caleb shuddered. To be hit on the hand by such a heavy instrument driven at full force … he was surprised there were not more such accidents. The men had to be skilled to do this job.

‘Me grip slipped.’ The man’s voice shuddered. ‘I—doc you’ve got to save him.’

Caleb hunkered down beside the injured man, who clutched at his jacket with his uninjured hand and began to sob.

‘I’ve a wife and bairns …’

Caleb laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘You’ll see them again.’

A lesser man would have screamed as Caleb gave the injury a cursory examination, but Geordie set his teeth, only whimpering at Caleb’s touch.

Caleb patted the man on the shoulder to reassure him as best he could, but he had dealt with similar injuries in the long years of the war and knew the prognosis.

‘I can’t treat him here,’ he said to Penrose. ‘Carry him out into the daylight.’

With as much gentleness as they could manage, the man’s comrades lifted him on to a stretcher.

Out of the mine, Penrose took charge, directing the men to carry the stretcher through to the crib room. They set the stretcher down on a long table and pulled the benches to one side. Caleb glanced around. It would have to do.

‘What are you going to do?’ Penrose asked.

Caleb looked at his friend. ‘His wrist and hand are shattered,’ he said quietly. ‘I can’t save it.’

The colour drained from Penrose’s face. ‘Does that mean—’

‘Amputation is the only way to save his life.’ Caleb turned to the miners. ‘Get some water boiling, and I need towels or sheets.’

As the men busied themselves, Caleb walked out into the yard to steady his nerves and think through what needed to be done. Adelaide toiled up the hill towards him, her skirts bunched in one hand and a basket in the other. Beside her, Amos Burrell carried the familiar oaken box and a large Gladstone bag. A sweating Bowen trailed in their wake. Caleb swore softly under his breath. The last thing he needed was an indignant, drunken doctor asserting his authority.

Amos’s normally cheerful face was set and grim and as he reached Caleb, he jerked his head at the doctor, who had stopped to catch his breath.

‘Insisted on coming,’ he said in a low voice.

Bowen mopped his face with a large handkerchief. His red-rimmed eyes met Caleb’s. ‘Where’s the patient?’ he asked.

‘In the crib room,’ Caleb said but as the doctor took a step towards the cabin, he stood in front of him.

‘Sorry, Bowen, I can’t let you deal with this matter,’ Caleb said.