Medical Life in the Navy by Gordon Stables (the dot read aloud .txt) 📕

cabin-boy.

Another nice little amusement the officer of the watch may give himself

on fine clear nights is to set fire to and let go the lifebuoy, at the

same time singing out at the top of his voice, "Man overboard."

A boatswain's mate at once repeats the call, and vociferates down the

main hatchway, "Life-boat's crew a-ho-oy!"

In our navy a few short but expressive moments of silence ever precede

the battle, that both officers and men may hold communion with their

God.

The men belonging to this boat, who have been lying here and there

asleep but dressed, quickly tumble up the ladder pell-mell; there is a

rattling of oars heard, and the creaking of pulleys, then a splash in

the water alongside, the boat darts away from the ship like an arrow

from a bow, and the crew, rowing towards the blazing buoy, save the life

of the unhappy man, Cheeks the marine.

And thus do British sailors rule the waves and keep old Neptune in his

own place.

If the disposing, in the service, of even a ship-load of

assistant-surgeons, is considered a matter of small moment, my disposal,

after reaching the Cape of Good Hope, needs but small comment. I was

very soon appointed to take charge of a gunboat, in lieu of a gentleman

who was sent to the Naval Hospital of Simon's Town, to fill a death

vacancy--for the navy as well as nature abhors a vacuum. I had seen the

bright side of the service, I was now to have my turn of the dark; I had

enjoyed life on board a crack frigate, I was now to rough it in a

gunboat.

The east coast of Africa was to be our cruising ground, and our ship a

pigmy steamer, with plenty fore-and-aft about her, but nothing else; in

fact, she was Euclid's definition of a line to a t, length without

breadth, and small enough to have done "excellently well" as a Gravesend

tug-boat. Her teeth were five: namely, one gigantic cannon, a

65-pounder, as front tooth; on each side a brass howitzer; and flanking

these, two canine tusks in shape of a couple of 12-pounder Armstrongs.

With this armament we were to lord it with a high hand over the Indian

Ocean; carry fire and sword, or, failing sword, the cutlass, into the

very heart of slavery's dominions; the Arabs should tremble at the roar

of our guns and the thunder of our bursting shells, while the slaves

should clank their chains in joyful anticipation of our coming; and best

of all, we--the officers--should fill our pockets with prize-money to

spend when we again reached the shores of merry England. Unfortunately,

this last premeditation was the only one which sustained disappointment,

for, our little craft being tender to the flag-ship of the station, all

our hard-earned prize-money had to be equally shared with her officers

and crew, which reduced the shares to fewer pence each than they

otherwise would have been pounds, and which was a burning shame.

It was the Cape winter when I joined the gunboat. The hills were

covered with purple and green, the air was deliciously cool, and the

far-away mountain-tops were clad in virgin snow. It was twelve o'clock

noon when I took my traps on board, and found my new messmates seated

around the table at tiffin. The gunroom, called the wardroom by

courtesy--for the after cabin was occupied by the lieutenant

commanding--was a little morsel of an apartment, which the table and

five cane-bottomed chairs entirely filled. The officers were five--

namely, a little round-faced, dimple-cheeked, good-natured fellow, who

was our second-master; a tall and rather awkward-looking young

gentleman, our midshipman; a lean, pert, and withal diminutive youth,

brimful of his own importance, our assistant-paymaster; a fair-haired,

bright-eyed, laughing boy from Cornwall, our sub-lieutenant; and a "wee

wee man," dapper, clean, and tidy, our engineer, admitted to this mess

because he was so thorough an exception to his class, which is

celebrated more for the unctuosity of its outer than for the smoothness

of its inner man.

"Come along, old fellow," said our navigator, addressing me as I entered

the messroom, bobbing and bowing to evade fracture of the cranium by

coming into collision with the transverse beams of the deck above--"come

along and join us, we don't dine till four."

"And precious little to dine upon," said the officer on his right.

"Steward, let us have the rum," [Note 1] cried the first speaker.

And thus addressed, the steward shuffled in, bearing in his hand a black

bottle, and apparently in imminent danger of choking himself on a large

mouthful of bread and butter. This functionary's dress was remarkable

rather for its simplicity than its purity, consisting merely of a pair

of dirty canvas pants, a pair of purser's shoes--innocent as yet of

blacking--and a greasy flannel shirt. But, indeed, uniform seemed to be

the exception, and not the rule, of the mess, for, while one wore a blue

serge jacket, another was arrayed in white linen, and the rest had

neither jacket nor vest.

The table was guiltless of a cloth, and littered with beer-bottles,

biscuits, onions, sardines, and pats of butter.

"Look out there, Waddles!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant; "that beggar

Dawson is having his own whack o' grog and everybody else's."

"Dang it! I'll have _my_ tot to-day, I know," said the

assistant-paymaster, snatching the bottle from Dawson, and helping

himself to a very liberal allowance of the ruby fluid.

"What a cheek the fellow's got!" cried the midshipman, snatching the

glass from the table and bolting the contents at a gulp, adding, with a

gasp of satisfaction as he put down the empty tumbler, "The chap thinks

nobody's got a soul to be saved but himself."

"Soul or no soul," replied the youthful man of money as he gazed

disconsolately at the empty glass, "my _spirit's_ gone."

"Blessed," said the engineer, shaking the black bottle, "if you devils

have left me a drain! see if I don't look out for A1 to-morrow."

"Where's the doctor's grog?" cried the sub-lieutenant.

"Ay, where's the doctor's?" said another.

"Where is the doctor's?" said a third.

And they all said "Where is the doctor's?" and echo answered "Where?"

"Steward!" said the middy.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"See if that beggarly bumboat-man is alongside, and get me another pat

of butter and some soft tack; get the grub first, then tell him I'll pay

to-morrow."

These and such like scraps of conversation began to give me a little

insight into the kind of mess I had joined and the character of my

future messmates. "Steward," said I, "show me my cabin." He did so;

indeed, he hadn't far to go. It was the aftermost, and consequently the

smallest, although I _ought_ to have had my choice. It was the most

miserable little box I ever reposed in. Had I owned such a place on

shore, I _might_ have been induced to keep rabbits in it, or

guinea-pigs, but certainly not pigeons. Its length was barely six feet,

its width four above my cot and two below, and it was minus sufficient

standing-room for any ordinary-sized sailor; it was, indeed, a cabin for

a commodore--I mean Commodore Nutt--and was ventilated by a scuttle

seven inches in diameter, which could only be removed in harbour, and

below which, when we first went to sea, I was fain to hang a leather

hat-box to catch the water; unfortunately the bottom rotted out, and I

was then at the mercy of the waves.

My cabin, or rather--to stick to the plain unvarnished truth--my burrow,

was alive with scorpions, cockroaches, ants, and other "crawlin'

ferlies."

"That e'en to name would be unlawfu'."

My dispensary was off the steerage, and sister-cabin to the pantry. To

it I gained access by a species of crab-walking, squeezing myself past a

large brass pump, and edging my body in sideways. The sick came one by

one to the dispensary door, and there I saw and treated each case as it

arrived, dressed the wounds and bruises and putrefying sores, and

bandaged the bad legs. There was no sick-berth attendant; to be sure

the lieutenant-in-command, at my request, told off "a little cabin-boy"

for my especial use. I had no cause for delectation on such an

acquisition, by no means; he was not a model cabin-boy like what you see

in theatres, and I believe will never become an admiral. He managed at

times to wash out the dispensary, or gather cockroaches, and make the

poultices--only in doing the first he broke the bottles, and in

performing the last duty he either let the poultice burn or put salt in

it; and, finally, he smashed my pot, and I kicked him forward, and

demanded another. _He_ was slightly better, only he was seldom visible;

and when I set him to do anything, he at once went off into a sweet

slumber; so I kicked him forward too, and had in despair to become my

own menial. In both dispensary and burrow it was quite a difficult

business to prevent everything going to speedy destruction. The best

portions of my uniform got eaten by cockroaches or moulded by damp,

while my instruments required cleaning every morning, and even that did

not keep rust at bay.

Imagine yourself dear reader, in any of the following interesting

positions:--

Very thirsty, and nothing but boiling hot newly distilled water to

drink; or wishing a cool bath of a morning, and finding the water in

your can only a little short of 212 degrees Fahrenheit.

To find, when you awake, a couple of cockroaches, two inches in length,

busy picking your teeth.

To find one in a state of decay in the mustard-pot.

To have to arrange all the droppings and eggs of these interesting

creatures on the edge of your plate, previous to eating your soup.

To have to beat out the dust and weevils from every square inch of

biscuit before putting it in your mouth.

To be looking for a book and put your band on a full-grown scaly

scorpion. Nice sensation--the animal twining round your finger, or

running up your sleeve. _Denouement_--cracking him under foot--

full-flavoured bouquet--joy at escaping a sting.

You are enjoying your dinner, but have been for some time sensible of a

strange titivating feeling about the region of your ankle; you look down

at last to find a centipede on your sock, with his fifty hind-legs--you

thank God not his fore fifty--abutting on to your shin. _Tableau_--

green and red light from the eyes of the many-legged; horror of yourself

as you wait till he thinks proper to "move on."

To awake in the morning, and find a large and healthy-looking tarantula

squatting on your pillow within ten inches of your nose, with his

basilisk eyes fixed on yours, and apparently saying, "You're only just

awake, are you? I've been sitting here all the morning watching you."

You know if you move he'll bite you, somewhere; and if he _does_ bite

you, you'll go mad and dance _ad libitum_; so you twist your mouth in

the opposite direction and ejaculate--

"Steward!" but the steward does not come--in fact he is forward, seeing

after the breakfast. Meanwhile the gentleman on the pillow is moving

his horizontal mandibles in a most threatening manner, and just as he

makes a rush for your nose you tumble out of bed with a shriek; and, if

a very nervous person, probably run on deck in your shirt.

Or, to fall asleep under the following circumstances: The bulkheads, all

around, black with cock-and-hen-roaches, a few of which are engaged

cropping your toe-nails, or running off with little bits of the skin of

your calves; bugs in the crevices of your cot, a flea tickling the sole

of your foot, a troop of ants carrying a dead cockroach over your

pillow, lively mosquitoes attacking you everywhere, hammer-legged flies

occasionally settling on your nose, rats running in and rats running

out, your lamp just going out, and the delicious certainty that an

indefinite number of earwigs and scorpions, besides two centipedes and a

tarantula, are hiding themselves somewhere in your cabin.

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Note 1. Officers, as well as men,