Medical Life in the Navy - Gordon Stables (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📗

these soon settle down, and, if they are

not dismissed by court-martial for knocking some one down at cards, or

on the quarter-deck, turn out good service-officers. Indeed, after all,

I question if it be good to know too much of fine-gentility on entering

the service, for, although the navy officers one meets have much that is

agreeable, honest, and true, there is through it all a vein of what can

only be designated as the coarse. The science of conversation, that

beautiful science that says and lets say, that can listen as well as

speak, is but little studied. Mostly all the talk is "shop," or rather

"ship." There is a want of tone in the discourse, a lack of refinement.

The delicious chit-chat on new books, authors, poetry, music, or the

drama, interspersed with anecdote, incident, and adventure, and

enlivened with the laughter-raising pun or happy bon-mot, is, alas! but

too seldom heard: the rough joke, the tales of women, ships, and former

ship-mates, and the old, old, stale "good things,"--these are more

fashionable at our navy mess-board. Those who would object to such

conversation are in the minority, and prefer to let things hang as they

grew. Now, only one thing can ever alter this, and that is a good and

perfect library in every ship, to enable officers, who spend most of

their time out of society, to keep up with the times if possible. But I

fear I am drifting imperceptibly into the subject of navy-reform, which

I prefer leaving to older and wiser heads.

 

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Note 1. Combatant (from combat, a battle), fighting officers,--as if

the medical offices didn't fight likewise. It would be better to take

away the "combat," and leave the "ant"--ant-officers, as they do the

work of the ship.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. - ODDS AND ENDS.

 

There is one grievance which the medical officers, in common with their

combatant brethren, have to complain of--I refer to _compulsory

shaving_; neither is this by any means so insignificant a matter as it

may seem. It may appear a ridiculous statement, but it is nevertheless

a true one, that this regulation has caused many a young surgeon to

prefer the army to the navy. "Mere dandies," the reader may say, "whom

this grievance would affect;" but there is many a good man a dandy, and

no one could surely respect a man who was careless of his personal

appearance, or who would willingly, and without a sigh, disfigure his

face by depriving it of what nature considers both ornate and useful--

ornate, as the ladies and the looking-glass can prove; and useful, as

the blistered chin and upper lip of the shaven sailor, in hot climates,

points out. From the earliest ages the moustache has been worn,--even

the Arabs, who shave the head, leave untouched the upper lip. What

would the pictures of some of the great masters be without it? Didn't

the Roman youths dedicate the first few downy hairs of the coming

moustache to the gods? Does not the moustache give a manly appearance

to the smallest and most effeminate? Does it not even beget a certain

amount of respect for the wearer? What sort of guys would the razor

make of Count Bismark, Dickens, the Sultan of Turkey, or Anthony

Trollope? Were the Emperor Napoleon deprived of his well-waxed

moustache, it might lose him the throne of France. Were Garibaldi to

call on his barber, he might thereafter call in vain for volunteers, and

English ladies would send him no more splints nor sticking-plaster.

Shave Tennyson, and you may put him in petticoats as soon as you please.

 

As to the moustache movement in the navy, it is a subject of talk--

admitting of no discussion--in every mess in the service, and thousands

are the advocates in favour of its adoption. Indeed, the arguments in

favour of it are so numerous, that it is a difficult matter to choose

the best, while the reasons against it are few, foolish, and despotic.

At the time when the Lords of the Admiralty gave orders that the navy

should keep its upper lip, and three fingers' breadth of its royal chin,

smooth and copper-kettlish, it was neither fashionable nor respectable

to wear the moustache in good society. Those were the days of

cabbage-leaf cheeks, powdered wigs, and long queues; but those times are

past and gone from every corner of England's possessions save the navy.

Barberism has been hunted from polite circles, but has taken refuge

under the trident of old Neptune; and, in these days of comparative

peace, more blood in the Royal Navy is drawn by the razor than by the

cutlass.

 

In our little gunboat on the coast of Africa, we, both officers and men,

used, under the rose, to cultivate moustache and whiskers, until we fell

in with the ship of the commodore of the station. Then, when the

commander gave the order, "All hands to shave," never was such a

hurlyburly seen, such racing hither and thither (for not a moment was to

be lost), such sharpening of scissors and furbishing up of rusty razors.

On one occasion I remember sending our steward, who was lathering his

face with a blacking-brush, and trying to scrape with a carving-knife,

to borrow the commander's razor; in the mean time the commander had

despatched his soapy-faced servant to beg the loan of mine. Both

stewards met with a clash, nearly running each other through the body

with their shaving gear. I lent the commander a Syme's bistoury, with

which he managed to pluck most of the hairs out by the root, as if he

meant to transplant them again, while I myself shaved with an amputating

knife. The men forward stuck by the scissors; and when the commander,

with bloody chin and watery eyes, asked why they did not shave,--"Why,

sir," replied the bo'swain's mate, "the cockroaches have been and gone

and eaten all our razors, they has, sir."

 

Then, had you seen us reappear on deck after the terrible operation,

with our white shaven lips and shivering chins, and a foolish grin on

every face, you would, but for our uniform, have taken us for tailors on

strike, so unlike were we to the brave-looking, manly dare-devils that

trod the deck only an hour before.

 

And if army officers and men have been graciously permitted to wear the

moustache since the Crimean war, why are not we? But perhaps the navy

took no part in that gallant struggle. But if we _must_ continue to do

penance by shaving, why should it not be the crown of the head, or any

other place, rather than the upper lip, which every one can see?

 

One item of duty there is, which occasionally devolves on the medical

officer, and for the most part goes greatly against the feelings of the

_young_ surgeon; I refer to his compulsory attendance at floggings. It

is only fair to state that the majority of captains and commanders use

the cat as seldom as possible, and that, too, only sparingly. In some

ships, however, flogging is nearly as frequent as prayers of a morning.

Again, it is more common on foreign stations than at home, and boys of

the first or second class, marines, and ordinary seamen, are for the

most part the victims.

 

I do not believe I shall ever forget the first exhibition of this sort I

attended on board my own ship; not that the spectacle was in any way

more revolting than scores I have since witnessed, but because the sight

was new to me.

 

I remember it wanted fully twenty minutes of seven in the morning, when

my servant aroused me.

 

"Why so early to-day?" I inquired as I turned out.

 

"A flaying match, you know, sir," said Jones.

 

My heart gave an anxious "thud" against my ribs, as if I myself were to

form the "ram for the sacrifice." I hurried through with my bath, and,

dressing myself as if for a holiday, in cocked hat, sword, and undress

coat, I went on deck. We were at anchor in Simon's Bay. All the

minutiae of the scene I remember as though it were but yesterday,

morning was cool and clear, the hills clad in lilac and green, seabirds

floating high in air, and the waters of the bay reflecting the bine of

the sky and the lofty mountain-sides, forming a picture almost dreamlike

in its quietness and serenity. The men were standing about in groups,

dressed in their whitest of pantaloons, bluest of smocks, and neatest of

black silk neckerchiefs. By-and-bye the culprit was led aft by a file

of marines, and I went below with him to make the preliminary

examination, in order to report whether or not he might be fit for the

punishment.

 

He was as good a specimen of the British marine as one could wish to

look upon, hardy, bold, and wiry. His crime had been smuggling spirits

on board.

 

"Needn't examine me, Doctor," said he; "I ain't afeard of their four

dozen; they can't hurt me, sir,--leastways my back you know--my breast

though; hum-m!" and he shook his head, rather sadly I thought, as he

bent down his eyes.

 

"What," said I, "have you anything the matter with your chest?"

 

"Nay, Doctor, nay; its my feelins they'll hurt. I've a little girl at

home that loves me, and--bless you, sir, I won't look her in the face

again no-how."

 

I felt his pulse. No lack of strength there, no nervousness; the artery

had the firm beat of health, the tendons felt like rods of iron beneath

the finger, and his biceps stood out hard and round as the mainstay of

an old seventy-four.

 

I pitied the brave fellow, and--very wrong of me it was, but I could not

help it--filled out and offered him a large glass of rum.

 

"Ah! sir," he said, with a wistful eye on the ruby liquid, "don't tempt

me, sir. I can bear the bit o' flaying athout that: I wouldn't have my

messmates smell Dutch courage on my breath, sir; thankee all the same,

Doctor." And he walked on deck and surrendered himself.

 

All hands had already assembled, the men and boys on one side, and the

officers, in cocked hats and swords, on the other. A grating had been

lashed against the bulwark, and another placed on deck beside it. The

culprit's shoulders and back were bared, and a strong belt fastened

around the lower part of the loins for protection; he was then firmly

tied by the hands to the upper, and by the feet to the lower grating; a

little basin of cold water was placed at his feet; and all was now

prepared. The sentence was read, and orders given to proceed with the

punishment. The cat is a terrible instrument of torture; I would not

use it on a bull unless in self-defence: the shaft is about a foot and a

half long, and covered with green or red baize according to taste; the

thongs are nine, about twenty-eight inches in length, of the thickness

of a goose-quill, and with two knots tied on each. Men describe the

first blow as like a shower of molten lead.

 

Combing out the thongs with his five fingers before each blow, firmly

and determinedly was the first dozen delivered by the bo'swain's mate,

and as unflinchingly received.

 

Then, "One dozen, sir, please," he reported, saluting the commander.

 

"Continue the punishment," was the calm reply.

 

A new man and a new cat. Another dozen reported; again, the same reply.

Three dozen. The flesh, like burning steel, had changed from red to

purple, and blue, and white; and between the third and fourth dozen, the

suffering wretch, pale enough now, and in all probability sick, begged a

comrade to give him a mouthful of water. There was a tear in the eye of

the hardy sailor who obeyed him, whispering as he did so--

 

"Keep up, Bill; it'll soon be over now."

 

"Five, six," the corporal slowly counted--"seven, eight." It is the

last dozen, and how acute must be the torture! "Nine, ten." The blood

comes now fast enough, and--yes, gentle reader, I _will_ spare your

feelings. The man was cast loose at