CHAPTER LXXVII.
THE HOSPITAL IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
After running with a fine steady breeze up to the Line, it fell calm,and there we lay, three days enchanted on the sea. We were a mostpuissant man-of-war, no doubt, with our five hundred men, Commodore andCaptain, backed by our long batteries of thirty-two and twenty-fourpounders; yet, for all that, there we lay rocking, helpless as aninfant in the cradle. Had it only been a gale instead of a calm, gladlywould we have charged upon it with our gallant bowsprit, as with astout lance in rest; but, as with man-kind, this serene, passivefoe--unresisting and irresistible--lived it out, unconquered to thelast.
All these three days the heat was excessive; the sun drew the tar fromthe seams of the ship; the awnings were spread fore and aft; the deckswere kept constantly sprinkled with water. It was during this periodthat a sad event occurred, though not an unusual one on shipboard. Butin order to prepare for its narration, some account of a part of theship called the "_sick-bay_" must needs be presented.
The "_sick-bay_" is that part of a man-of-war where the invalid seamenare placed; in many respects it answers to a public hospital ashore. Aswith most frigates, the sick-bay of the Neversink was on theberth-deck--the third deck from above. It was in the extreme forwardpart of that deck, embracing the triangular area in the bows of theship. It was, therefore, a subterranean vault, into which scarce a rayof heaven's glad light ever penetrated, even at noon.
In a sea-going frigate that has all her armament and stores on board,the floor of the berth-deck is partly below the surface of the water.But in a smooth harbour, some circulation of air is maintained byopening large auger-holes in the upper portion of the sides, called"air-ports," not much above the water level. Before going to sea,however, these air-ports must be closed, caulked, and the seamshermetically sealed with pitch. These places for ventilation beingshut, the sick-bay is entirely barred against the free, naturaladmission of fresh air. In the Neversink a few lungsful were forceddown by artificial means. But as the ordinary _wind-sail_ was the onlymethod adopted, the quantity of fresh air sent down was regulated bythe force of the wind. In a calm there was none to be had, while in asevere gale the wind-sail had to be hauled up, on account of theviolent draught flowing full upon the cots of the sick. An open-workpartition divided our sick-bay from the rest of the deck, where thehammocks of the watch were slung; it, therefore, was exposed to all theuproar that ensued upon the watches being relieved.
An official, called the surgeon's steward, assisted by subordinates,presided over the place. He was the same individual alluded to asofficiating at the amputation of the top-man. He was always to be foundat his post, by night and by day.
This surgeon's steward deserves a description. He was a small, pale,hollow-eyed young man, with that peculiar Lazarus-like expression sooften noticed in hospital attendants. Seldom or never did you see himon deck, and when he _did_ emerge into the light of the sun, it waswith an abashed look, and an uneasy, winking eye. The sun was not madefor _him_. His nervous organization was confounded by the sight of therobust old sea-dogs on the forecastle and the general tumult of thespar-deck, and he mostly buried himself below in an atmosphere whichlong habit had made congenial.
This young man never indulged in frivolous conversation; he only talkedof the surgeon's prescriptions; his every word was a bolus. He neverwas known to smile; nor did he even look sober in the ordinary way; buthis countenance ever wore an aspect of cadaverous resignation to hisfate. Strange! that so many of those who would fain minister to our ownhealth should look so much like invalids themselves.
Connected with the sick-bay, over which the surgeon's stewardpresided--but removed from it in place, being next door to thecounting-room of the purser's steward--was a regular apothecary's shop,of which he kept the key. It was fitted up precisely like anapothecary's on shore, dis-playing tiers of shelves on all four sidesfilled with green bottles and gallipots; beneath were multitudinousdrawers bearing incomprehensible gilded inscriptions in abbreviatedLatin.
He generally opened his shop for an hour or two every morning andevening. There was a Venetian blind in the upper part of the door,which he threw up when inside so as to admit a little air. And thereyou would see him, with a green shade over his eyes, seated on a stool,and pounding his pestle in a great iron mortar that looked like ahowitzer, mixing some jallapy compound. A smoky lamp shed a flickering,yellow-fever tinge upon his pallid face and the closely-packedregiments of gallipots.
Several times when I felt in need of a little medicine, but was not illenough to report myself to the surgeon at his levees, I would call of amorning upon his steward at the Sign of the Mortar, and beg him to giveme what I wanted; when, without speaking a word, this cadaverous youngman would mix me my potion in a tin cup, and hand it out through thelittle opening in his door, like the boxed-up treasurer giving you yourchange at the ticket-office of a theatre.
But there was a little shelf against the wall of the door, and uponthis I would set the tin cup for a while, and survey it; for I neverwas a Julius Caesar at taking medicine; and to take it in this way,without a single attempt at dis-guising it; with no counteractinglittle morsel to hurry down after it; in short to go to the veryapothecary's in person, and there, at the counter, swallow down yourdose, as if it were a nice mint-julep taken at the bar of ahotel--_this_ was a bitter bolus indeed. But, then, this pallid youngapothecary charged nothing for it, and _that_ was no smallsatisfaction; for is it not remarkable, to say the least, that a shoreapothecary should actually charge you money--round dollars andcents--for giving you a horrible nausea?
My tin cup would wait a long time on that little shelf; yet "Pills," asthe sailors called him, never heeded my lingering, but in sober, silentsadness continued pounding his mortar or folding up his powders; untilat last some other customer would appear, and then in a sudden frenzyof resolution, I would gulp clown my sherry-cobbler, and carry itsunspeakable flavour with me far up into the frigate's main-top. I donot know whether it was the wide roll of the ship, as felt in thatgiddy perch, that occasioned it, but I always got sea-sick after takingmedicine and going aloft with it. Seldom or never did it do me anylasting good.
Now the Surgeon's steward was only a subordinate of Surgeon Cuticlehimself, who lived in the ward-room among the Lieutenants,Sailing-master, Chaplain, and Purser.
The Surgeon is, by law, charged with the business of overlooking thegeneral sanitary affairs of the ship. If anything is going on in any ofits departments which he judges to be detrimental to the healthfulnessof the crew, he has a right to protest against it formally to theCaptain. When a man is being scourged at the gangway, the Surgeonstands by; and if he thinks that the punishment is becoming more thanthe culprit's constitution can well bear, he has a right to interfereand demand its cessation for the time.
But though the Navy regulations nominally vest him with this highdiscretionary authority over the very Commodore himself, how seldomdoes he exercise it in cases where humanity demands it? Three years isa long time to spend in one ship, and to be at swords' points with itsCaptain and Lieutenants during such a period, must be very unsocial andevery way irksome. No otherwise than thus, at least, can the remissnessof some surgeons in remonstrating against cruelty be accounted for.
Not to speak again of the continual dampness of the decks consequentupon flooding them with salt water, when we were driving near to CapeHorn, it needs only to be mentioned that, on board of the Neversink,men known to be in consumptions gasped under the scourge of theboatswain's mate, when the Surgeon and his two attendants stood by andnever interposed. But where the unscrupulousness of martial disciplineis maintained, it is in vain to attempt softening its rigour by theordaining of humanitarian laws. Sooner might you tame the grizzly bearof Missouri than humanise a thing so essentially cruel and heartless.
But the Surgeon has yet other duties to perform. Not a seaman entersthe Navy without undergoing a corporal examination, to test hissoundness in wind and limb.
One of the first
places into which I was introduced when I firstentered on board the Neversink was the sick-bay, where I found one ofthe Assistant Surgeons seated at a green-baize table. It was his turnfor visiting the apartment. Having been commanded by the deck officerto report my business to the functionary before me, I accordinglyhemmed, to attract his attention, and then catching his eye, politelyintimated that I called upon him for the purpose of being accuratelylaid out and surveyed.
"Strip!" was the answer, and, rolling up his gold-laced cuff, heproceeded to manipulate me. He punched me in the ribs, smote me acrossthe chest, commanded me to stand on one leg and hold out the otherhorizontally. He asked me whether any of my family were consumptive;whether I ever felt a tendency to a rush of blood to the head; whetherI was gouty; how often I had been bled during my life; how long I hadbeen ashore; how long I had been afloat; with several other questionswhich have altogether slipped my memory. He concluded hisinterrogatories with this extraordinary and unwarranted one--"Are youpious?"
It was a leading question which somewhat staggered me, but I said not aword; when, feeling of my calves, he looked up and incomprehensiblysaid, "I am afraid you are not."
At length he declared me a sound animal, and wrote a certificate tothat effect, with which I returned to the deck.
This Assistant Surgeon turned out to be a very singular character, andwhen I became more acquainted with him, I ceased to marvel at thecurious question with which he had concluded his examination of myperson.
He was a thin, knock-kneed man, with a sour, saturnine expression,rendered the more peculiar from his shaving his beard so remorselessly,that his chin and cheeks always looked blue, as if pinched with cold.His long familiarity with nautical invalids seemed to have filled himfull of theological hypoes concerning the state of their souls. He wasat once the physician and priest of the sick, washing down his boluseswith ghostly consolation, and among the sailors went by the name of ThePelican, a fowl whose hanging pouch imparts to it a most chop-fallen,lugubrious expression.
The privilege of going off duty and lying by when you are sick, is oneof the few points in which a man-of-war is far better for the sailorthan a merchantman. But, as with every other matter in the Navy, thewhole thing is subject to the general discipline of the vessel, and isconducted with a severe, unyielding method and regularity, making noallowances for exceptions to rules.
During the half-hour preceding morning quarters, the Surgeon of afrigate is to be found in the sick-bay, where, after going his roundsamong the invalids, he holds a levee for the benefit of all newcandidates for the sick-list. If, after looking at your tongue, andfeeling of your pulse, he pronounces you a proper candidate, hissecretary puts you down on his books, and you are thenceforth relievedfrom all duty, and have abundant leisure in which to recover yourhealth. Let the boatswain blow; let the deck officer bellow; let thecaptain of your gun hunt you up; yet, if it can be answered by yourmess-mates that you are "_down on the list_," you ride it all out withimpunity. The Commodore himself has then no authority over you. But youmust not be too much elated, for your immunities are only secure whileyou are immured in the dark hospital below. Should you venture to get amouthful of fresh air on the spar-deck, and be there discovered by anofficer, you will in vain plead your illness; for it is quiteimpossible, it seems, that any true man-of-war invalid can be heartyenough to crawl up the ladders. Besides, the raw sea air, as they willtell you, is not good for the sick.
But, notwithstanding all this, notwithstanding the darkness andcloseness of the sick-bay, in which an alleged invalid must be contentto shut himself up till the Surgeon pronounces him cured, manyinstances occur, especially in protracted bad weather, where pretendedinvalids will sub-mit to this dismal hospital durance, in order toescape hard work and wet jackets.
There is a story told somewhere of the Devil taking down theconfessions of a woman on a strip of parchment, and being obliged tostretch it longer and longer with his teeth, in order to find room forall the lady had to say. Much thus was it with our Purser's steward,who had to lengthen out his manuscript sick-list, in order toaccommodate all the names which were presented to him while we were offthe pitch of Cape Horn. What sailors call the "_Cape Horn fever_,"alarmingly prevailed; though it disappeared altogether when we got intothe weather, which, as with many other invalids, was solely to beimputed to the wonder-working effects of an entire change of climate.
It seems very strange, but it is really true, that off Cape Horn some"_sogers_" of sailors will stand cupping, and bleeding, and blistering,before they will budge. On the other hand, there are cases where a manactually sick and in need of medicine will refuse to go on thesick-list, because in that case his allowance of _grog_ must be stopped.
On board of every American man-of-war, bound for sea, there is a goodlysupply of wines and various delicacies put on board--according tolaw--for the benefit of the sick, whether officers or sailors. And oneof the chicken-coops is always reserved for the Government chickens,destined for a similar purpose. But, on board of the Neversink, theonly delicacies given to invalid sailors was a little sago orarrow-root, and they did not get _that_ unless severely ill; but, sofar as I could learn, no wine, in any quantity, was ever prescribed forthem, though the Government bottles often went into the ward-room, forthe benefit of indisposed officers.
And though the Government chicken-coop was replenished at every port,yet not four pair of drum-sticks were ever boiled into broth for sicksailors. Where the chickens went, some one must have known; but, as Icannot vouch for it myself, I will not here back the hardy assertion ofthe men, which was that the pious Pelican--true to his name--wasextremely fond of poultry. I am the still less disposed to believe thisscandal, from the continued leanness of the Pelican, which could hardlyhave been the case did he nourish himself by so nutritious a dish asthe drum-sticks of fowls, a diet prescribed to pugilists in training.But who can avoid being suspicious of a very suspicious person?Pelican! I rather suspect you still.