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

Up

each side of the long wards, from bed to bed, we journeyed; notifying

the progress of each case, repeating the treatment here, altering or

suspending it there, and performing small operations in another place;

listening attentively to tales of aches and pains, and hopes and fears,

and just in a sort of general way acting the part of good Samaritans.

From one ward to another we went, up and down long staircases, along

lengthy corridors, into wards in the attics, into wards on the basement,

and into wards below ground,--fracture wards, Lazarus wards, erysipelas

wards, men's wards, officers' wards; and thus we spent the time till a

little past nine, by which time the relief of so much suffering had

given us an appetite, and we hurried off to the messroom to breakfast.

 

The medical mess at Haslar is one of the finest in the service.

Attached to the room is a nice little apartment, fitted up with a

bagatelle-table, and boxing gloves and foils _ad libitum_. And, sure

enough, you might walk many a weary mile, or sail many a knot, without

meeting twenty such happy faces as every evening surrounded our

dinner-table, without beholding twenty such bumper glasses raised at

once to the toast of Her Majesty the Queen, and without hearing twenty

such good songs, or five times twenty such yarns and original bons-mots,

as you would at Haslar Medical Mess. Yet I must confess we partook in

but a small degree indeed of the solemn quietude of Wordsworth's--

 

"--Party in a parlour cramm'd,

Some sipping punch, some sipping tea,

But, as you by their faces see,

All silent--and all damned."

 

I do not deny that we were a little noisy at times, and that on several

occasions, having eaten and drunken till we were filled, we rose up to

dance, and consequently received a _polite_ message from the inspector

whose house was adjoining, requesting us to "stop our _confounded_ row;"

but then the old man was married, and no doubt his wife was at the

bottom of it.

 

Duty was a thing that did not fall to the lot of us supers every day.

We took it turn about, and hard enough work it used to be too. As soon

as breakfast was over, the medical officer on duty would hie him away to

the receiving-room, and seat himself at the large desk; and by-and-bye

the cases would begin to pour in. First there would arrive, say three

or four blue-jackets, with their bags under their arms, in charge of an

assistant-surgeon, then a squad of marines, then more blue-jackets, then

more red-coats, and so the game of _rouge-et-noir_ would go on during

the day. The officer on duty has first to judge whether or not the case

is one that can be admitted,--that is, which cannot be conveniently

treated on board; he has then to appoint the patient a bed in a proper

ward, and prescribe for him, almost invariably a bath and a couple of

pills. Besides, he has to enter the previous history of the case,

verbatim, into each patient's case-book, and if the cases are numerous,

and the assistant-surgeon who brings them has written an elaborate

account of each disease, the duty-officer will have had his work cut out

for him till dinner-time at least. Before the hour of the patient's

dinner, this gentleman has also to glance into each ward, to see if

everything is right, and if there are any complaints. Even when ten or

eleven o'clock at night brings sleep and repose to others, his work is

not yet over; he has one other visit to pay any time during the night

through all his wards. Then with dark-lantern and slippers you may meet

him, gliding ghost-like along the corridors or passages, lingering at

ward doors, listening on the staircases, smelling and snuffing, peeping

and keeking, and endeavouring by eye, or ear, or nose, to detect the

slightest irregularity among the patients or nurses, such as burning

lights without orders, gambling by the light of the fire, or smoking.

This visit paid, he may return to his virtuous cabin, and sleep as

soundly as he chooses.

 

Very few of the old surgeons interfere with the duties of their

assistants, but there _be_ men who seem to think you have merely come to

the service to learn, not to practise your profession, and therefore

they treat you as mere students, or at the best hobble-de-hoy doctors.

Of this class was Dr Gruff, a man whom I would back against the whole

profession for caudle, clyster, castor-oil, or linseed poultice; but

who, I rather suspect, never prescribed a dose of chiretta, santonin, or

lithia-water in his life. He came to me one duty-day, in a great hurry,

and so much excited that I judged he had received some grievous bodily

ailment, or suffered some severe family bereavement.

 

"Well, sir," he cried; "I hear, sir, you have put a case of ulcer into

the erysipelas ward."

 

This remark, not partaking of the nature of question, I thought required

no answer.

 

"Is it true, sir?--is it true?" he continued, getting blue and red.

 

"It is, sir," was the reply.

 

"And what do you mean by it, sir? What do you mean by it?" he

exclaimed, waxing more and more wroth.

 

"I thought, sir--" I began.

 

"You thought, sir!"

 

"Yes, sir," continued I, my Highland blood getting uppermost, "I _did_

think that, the case being one of ulcer of an _erysipelatous_ nature, I

was--"

 

"Erysipelatous ulcer!" interrupting me. "Oh!" said he, "that alters the

case. Why did you not say so at first? I beg your pardon;" and he

trotted off again.

 

"All right," thought I, "old Gruff. I guess you are sorry you spoke."

 

But although there are not wanting medical officers in the service who,

on being promoted to staff-surgeon, appear to forget that ever they wore

less than three stripes, and can keep company with no one under the rank

of commander, I am happy to say they are few and far between, and every

year getting more few and farther between.

 

It is a fine thing to be appointed for, say three or four years to a

home hospital; in fact, it is the assistant-surgeon's highest ambition.

Next, in point of comfort, would be an appointment at the Naval Hospital

of Malta, Cape of Good Hope, or China.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Note 1. The acting assistant-surgeons are those who have not as yet

served the probationary year, or been confirmed. They are liable to be

dismissed without a court-martial.

CHAPTER SIX. - AFLOAT. A STORM IN BISCAY BAY. A WORD ON BASS'S BEER.

For the space of six weeks I lived in clover at Haslar, and at the end

of that time my appointment to a sea-going ship came. It was the

pleasure of their Lordships the Commissioners, that I should take my

passage to the Cape of Good Hope in a frigate, which had lately been put

in commission and was soon about to sail. Arrived there, I was to be

handed over to the flag-ship on that station for disposal, like so many

stones of salt pork. On first entering the service every medical

officer is sent for one commission (three to five years) to a foreign

station; and it is certainly very proper too that the youngest and

strongest men, rather than the oldest, should do the rough work of the

service, and go to the most unhealthy stations.

 

The frigate in which I was ordered passage was to sail from Plymouth.

To that town I was accordingly sent by train, and found the good ship in

such a state of internal chaos--painters, carpenters, sail-makers, and

sailors; armourers, blacksmiths, gunners, and tailors; every one engaged

at his own trade, with such an utter disregard of order or regularity,

while the decks were in such confusion, littered with tools, nails,

shavings, ropes, and spars, among which I scrambled, and over which I

tumbled, getting into everybody's way, and finding so little rest for

the sole of my foot, that I was fain to beg a week's leave, and glad

when I obtained it. On going on board again at the end of that time, a

very different appearance presented itself; everything was in its proper

place, order and regularity were everywhere. The decks were white and

clean, the binnacles, the brass and mahogany work polished, the gear all

taut, the ropes coiled, and the vessel herself sitting on the water

saucy as the queen of ducks, with her pennant flying and her beautiful

ensign floating gracefully astern. The gallant ship was ready for sea,

had been unmoored, had made her trial trips, and was now anchored in the

Sound. From early morning to busy noon, and from noon till night, boats

glided backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore, filled

with the friends of those on board, or laden with wardroom and gunroom

stores. Among these might have been seen a shore-boat, rowed by two

sturdy watermen, and having on board a large sea-chest, with a naval

officer on top of it, grasping firmly a Cremona in one hand and holding

a hat-box in the other. The boat was filled with any number of smaller

packages, among which were two black portmanteaus, warranted to be the

best of leather, and containing the gentleman's dress and undress

uniforms; these, however, turned out to be mere painted pasteboard, and

in a very few months the cockroaches--careless, merry-hearted

creatures--after eating up every morsel of them, turned their attention

to the contents, on which they dined and supped for many days, till the

officer's dress-coat was like a meal-sieve, and his pantaloons might

have been conveniently need for a landing-net. This, however, was a

matter of small consequence, for, contrary to the reiterated assurance

of his feline friend, no one portion of this officer's uniform held out

for a longer period than six months, the introduction of any part of his

person into the corresponding portion of his raiment having become a

matter of matutinal anxiety and distress, lest a solution of continuity

in the garment might be the unfortunate result.

 

About six o'clock on a beautiful Wednesday evening, early in the month

of May, our gallant and saucy frigate turned her bows seaward and slowly

steamed away from amidst the fleet of little boats that--crowded with

the unhappy wives and sweethearts of the sailors--had hung around us all

the afternoon. Puffing and blowing a great deal, and apparently panting

to be out and away at sea, the good ship nevertheless left her anchorage

but slowly, and withal reluctantly, her tears falling thick and fast on

the quarter-deck as she went.

 

The band was playing a slow and mournful air, by way of keeping up our

spirits.

 

_I_ had no friends to say farewell to, there was no tear-bedimmed eye to

gaze after me until I faded in distance; so I stood on the poop, leaning

over the bulwarks, after the fashion of Vanderdecken, captain of the

Flying Dutchman, and equally sad and sorrowful-looking. And what did I

see from my elevated situation? A moving picture, a living panorama; a

bright sky sprinkled with a few fleecy cloudlets, over a blue sea all in

motion before a fresh breeze of wind; a fleet of little boats astern,

filled with picturesquely dressed seamen and women waving handkerchiefs;

the long breakwater lined with a dense crowd of sorrowing friends, each

anxious to gain one last look of the dear face he may never see more.

Yonder is the grey-haired father, yonder the widowed mother, the

affectionate brother, the loving sister, the fond wife, the beloved

sweetheart,--all are there; and not a sigh that is sighed, not a tear

that is shed, not a prayer that is breathed, but finds a response in the

bosom of some loved one on board. To the right are green hills,

people-clad likewise, while away in the distance the steeple of many a

church "points the way to happier spheres," and on the flagstaff at the

port-admiral's house is floating the signal "Fare thee well."

 

The band has ceased to play, the sailors have given their last ringing

cheer, even the echoes of which have died away, and faintly down