Medical Life in the Navy, Gordon Stables [classic fiction .txt] 📗

take up

my appointment--to join the service in reality.

 

It was a cold raw morning, with a grey and cheerless sky, and a biting

south-wester blowing up channel, and ruffling the water in the Solent.

Alongside of the pier the boats and wherries were all in motion,

scratching and otherwise damaging their gunwales against the stones, as

they were lifted up and down at the pleasure of the wavelets. The

boatmen themselves were either drinking beer at adjacent bars, or

stamping up and down the quay with the hopes of enticing a little warmth

to their half-frozen toes, and rubbing the ends of their noses for a

like purpose. Suddenly there arose a great commotion among them, and

they all rushed off to surround a gentleman in brand-new naval uniform,

who was looking, with his mouth open, for a boat, in every place where a

boat was most unlikely to be. Knowing at a glance that he was a

stranger, they very generously, each and all of them, offered their

services, and wanted to row him somewhere--anywhere. After a great deal

of fighting and scrambling among themselves, during which the officer

got tugged here and tugged there a good many times, he was at last

bundled into a very dirty cobble, into which a rough-looking boatman

bounded after him and at once shoved off.

 

The naval officer was myself--the reader's obsequious slave. As for the

boatman, one thing must be said in his favour, he seemed to be a person

of religious character--in one thing at least, for, on the Day of

Judgment, I, for one, will not be able to turn round and say to him "I

was a stranger and ye took me not in," for he did take me in. In fact,

Portsmouth, as a town, is rather particular on this point of

Christianity: they do take strangers in.

 

"Where away to?" asked the jolly waterman, leaning a moment on his oars.

 

"H.M.S. `Victory,'" replied I.

 

"Be going for to join, I dessay, sir?"

 

"You are right," said I; "but have the goodness to pull so that I may

not be wet through on both sides."

 

"Can't help the weather, sir."

 

"I'll pay here," said I, "before we go alongside."

 

"Very good, sir."

 

"How much?"

 

"Only three shillings, sir."

 

"_Only_ three shillings!" I repeated, and added "eh?"

 

"That's all, sir--distance is short you know."

 

"Do you mean to say," said I, "that you really mean to charge--"

 

"Just three bob," interrupting me; "flag's up--can see for yourself,

sir."

 

"The flag, you see--I mean my good man--don't tell me about a flag, I'm

too far north for you;" and I tried to look as northish as possible.

 

"Flag, indeed! humph!"

 

"Why, sir," said the man of oars, with a pitying expression of

countenance and voice, "flag means double fare--anybody'll tell you

that, sir."

 

"Nonsense?" said I; "don't tell me that any one takes the trouble of

hoisting a flag in order to fill your confounded pockets; there is half

a crown, and not a penny more do you get from me."

 

"Well, sir, o' condition you has me again, sir, you know, sir,--and my

name's McDonald;" and he pocketed the money, which I afterwards

discovered was a _leetle_ too much. "McDonald," thought I--"my

grandmother's name; the rascal thinks to come round me by calling

himself a Scotchman--the idea of a McDonald being a waterman!"

 

"Sir," said I, aloud, "it is my unbiassed opinion and firm conviction

that you are--" I was going to add "a most unmitigated blackguard," but

I noticed that he was a man of six feet two, with breadth in proportion,

so I left the sentence unfinished.

 

We were now within sight of the bristling sides of the old `Victory,' on

the quarter-deck of which fell the great and gallant Nelson in the hour

of battle and triumph; and I was a young officer about to join that

service which can boast of so many brave and noble men, and brave and

noble deeds; and one would naturally expect that I would indulge in a

few dreams of chivalry and romance, picture to myself a bright and

glorious future, pounds' weight of medals and crosses, including the

Victoria, kiss the hilt of my sword, and all that sort of thing. I did

not. I was too wretchedly cold for one reason, and the only feeling I

had was one of shyness; as for duty, I knew I could and would do that,

as most of my countrymen had done before me; so I left castle-building

to the younger sons of noblemen or gentry, whose parents can afford to

allow them two or three hundred pounds a year to eke out their pay and

smooth the difficulties of the service. Not having been fortunate

enough to be born with even a horn spoon in my mouth, I had to be

content with my education as my fortune, and my navy pay as my only

income.

 

"Stabird side, I dessay, sir?" said the waterman.

 

"Certainly," said I, having a glimmering idea that it must be the proper

side.

 

A few minutes after--"The Admiral's gig is going there, sir,--better

wait a bit." I looked on shore and _did_ see a gig, and two horses

attached to it.

 

"No," said I, "decidedly not, he can't see us here, man. I suppose you

want to go sticking your dirty wet oars in the air, do you?"--(I had

seen pictures of this performance). "Drive on, I mean pull ahead, my

hearty"--a phrase I had heard at the theatre, and considered highly

nautical.

 

The waterman obeyed, and here is what came of it. We were just

approaching the ladder, when I suddenly became sensible of a rushing

noise. I have a dim recollection of seeing a long, many-oared boat,

carrying a large red flag, and with an old grey-haired officer sitting

astern; of hearing a voice--it might have belonged to the old man of the

sea, for anything I could have told to the contrary--float down the

wind,--

 

"Clear the way with that (something) bumboat!" Then came a crash, my

heels flew up--I had been sitting on the gunwale--and overboard I went

with a splash, just as some one else in the long boat sang out. "Way

enough!"

 

Way enough, indeed! there was a little too much way for me. When I came

to the surface of the water, I found myself several yards from the

ladder, and at once struck out for it. There was a great deal of noise

and shouting, and a sailor held towards me the sharp end of a boathook;

but I had no intention of being lugged out as if I were a pair of canvas

trowsers, and, calling to the sailor to keep his pole to himself--did he

want to knock my eye out?--I swam to the ladder and ascended. Thus then

I joined the service, and, having entered at the foot of the ladder, I

trust some day to find myself at the top of it.

 

And, talking of joining the service, I here beg to repudiate, as an

utter fabrication, the anecdote--generally received as authentic in the

service--of the Scotch doctor, who, going to report himself for the

first time on board of the `Victory,' knocked at the door, and inquired

(at a marine, I think), "Is this the Royal Nauvy?--'cause I'm come till

jine." The story bears "fib" on the face of it, for there is not a

Scottish schoolboy but knows that one ship does not make a navy, any

more than one swallow does a summer.

 

But, dear intending candidate, if you wish to do the right thing, array

yourself quietly in frock-coat, cap--not cocked hat, remember--and

sword, and go on board your ship in any boat you please, only keep out

of the way of gigs. When you arrive on board, don't be expecting to see

the admiral, because you'll be disappointed; but ask a sailor or marine

to point you out the midshipman of the watch, and request the latter to

show you the commander. Make this request civilly, mind you; do not

pull his ear, because, if big and hirsute, he might beat you, which

would be a bad beginning. When you meet the commander, don't rush up

and shake him by the hand, and begin talking about the weather; walk

respectfully up to him, and lift your cap as you would to a lady; upon

which he will hurriedly point to his nose with his forefinger, by way of

returning the salute, while at the same time you say--

 

"_Come_ on board, sir--to _join_, sir."

 

It is the custom of the Service to make this remark in a firm, bold,

decided tone, placing the emphasis on the "_come_" to show clearly that

you _did come_, and that no one kicked, or dragged, or otherwise brought

you on board against your will. The proper intonation of the remark may

be learned from any polite waiter at a hotel, when he tells you,

"Dinner's ready, sir, please;" or it may be heard in the "Now then,

gents," of the railway guard of the period.

 

Having reported yourself to the man of three stripes, you must not

expect that he will shake hands, or embrace you, ask you on shore to

tea, and introduce you to his wife. No, if he is good-natured, and has

not had a difference of opinion with the captain lately, he _may_

condescend to show you your cabin and introduce you to your messmates;

but if he is out of temper, he will merely ask your name, and, on your

telling him, remark, "Humph!" then call the most minute midshipman to

conduct you to your cabin, being at the same time almost certain to

mispronounce your name. Say your name is Struthers, he will call you

Stutters.

 

"Here, Mr Pigmy, conduct Mr Stutters to his cabin, and show him where

the gunroom--ah! I beg his pardon, the wardroom--lies."

 

"Ay, ay, sir," says the middy, and skips off at a round trot, obliging

you either to adopt the same ungraceful mode of progression, or lose

sight of him altogether, and have to wander about, feeling very much

from home, until some officer passing takes pity on you and leads you to

the wardroom.

CHAPTER FIVE. - HASLAR HOSPITAL. THE MEDICAL MESS. DR GRUFF.

 

It is a way they have in the service, or rather it is the custom of the

present Director-General, not to appoint the newly-entered medical

officer at once to a sea-going ship, but instead to one or other of the

naval hospitals for a few weeks or even months, in order that he may be

put up to the ropes, as the saying is, or duly initiated into the

mysteries of service and routine of duty. This is certainly a good

idea, although it is a question whether it would not be better to adopt

the plan they have at Netley, and thus put the navy and army on the same

footing.

 

Haslar Hospital at Portsmouth is a great rambling barrack-looking block

of brick building, with a yard or square surrounded by high walls in

front, and with two wings extending from behind, which, with the chapel

between, form another and smaller square.

 

There are seldom fewer than a thousand patients within, and, independent

of a whole regiment of male and female nurses, sick-bay-men, servants,

cooks, _et id genus omne_, there is a regular staff of officers,

consisting of a captain--of what use I have yet to learn--two medical

inspector-generals, generally three or four surgeons, the same number of

regularly appointed assistant-surgeons, besides from ten to twenty

acting assistant-surgeons [Note 1] waiting for appointments, and doing

duty as supernumeraries. Of this last class I myself was a member.

 

Soon as the clock tolled the hour of eight in the morning, the

staff-surgeon of our side of the hospital stalked into the duty cabin,

where we, the assistants, were waiting to receive him. Immediately

after, we set out on the morning visit, each of us armed with a little

board or palette to be used as a writing-desk, an excise inkstand slung

in a buttonhole, and a quill behind the ear. The large doors were

thrown open, the beds neat and tidy, and the nurses "standing by."