The Midshipman Prince (8 page)

      
This time, however, the men pretended to be suddenly busy with something else—anything else—when she came on deck. They knew what she was carrying, and they knew why the instruments needed to be sharpened. They just preferred not thinking about it, that’s all.

      
When the armorer was done, she came over to Walker who was standing by the larboard rail. “Mr. Walker, may I have a word with you?” she said rather sternly.

      
“Of course, Susan. How are you doing?”

      
She ignored his question. “Do you know what’s in this chest?”

      
“Yes, I saw the armorer sharpening them. They’re surgical instruments... some rather nasty-looking saws and knives.”

      
Susan nodded. “And do you know what they’re for?”

      
Walker was getting a bit disturbed.
Why is she talking to me like I am a child,
he thought. “Yes, I do. If we get into a battle men are going to be hurt, some very seriously. Some will have to be operated on, legs removed and such.”

      
“Uh-huh. And precisely who do you think will be wielding these instruments if and when that comes to pass?”

      
It was at that point that the enormity of Hudson’s words came back to him: “...and you will also be the Ship’s Surgeon.”

      
“Holy Mother of God,” he muttered. “Susan, you’re not suggesting that I... I mean, look, I have no training, no experience at all in... I couldn’t possibly...” Walker was unable to get out a coherent sentence.

      
“Mr. Walker, like it or not, you
are
the Ship’s Surgeon. Now, I’ve been doing the sick calls and all the other work ever since you were appointed. I don’t mind that, but you’re going to have to start pulling your weight.”

      
“No, you don’t understand, Susan. You see I am NOT a physician. All right, I know a little about anatomy, sure, but that doesn’t qualify me to take care of the sick and wounded, and it certainly doesn’t qualify me to perform operations.”

      
Susan looked at Walker for a long moment, cocked her head and said: “Do I somehow look like I went to Oxford?”

      
“No, but...”

      
“But nothing. I was made assistant to a surgeon who hasn’t had two back-to-back days of sobriety since I’ve known him. Men were suffering, and in some cases dying, because of his incompetence. So, do you know what I did?”

      
Walker shook his head dumbly.

      
“I learned, Mr. Walker. I
learned
.” And, with that, she spun on her heels and proceeded below to the infirmary.

* * *

      
Walker’s routine changed once again. When Smith was off-watch, Walker was with him learning at least something about both the practical and theoretical aspects of seamanship. When Smith was on-watch, either he was with Susan Whitney learning the practical aspects of medical care, or he was reading the many medical textbooks his predecessor had brought aboard. In his private time, what little of it there was, he thought about his predicament.

      
In many ways, the easiest thing to learn was the medical side. In 18th Century Britain, it was not required to have a college degree in order to practice medicine. Indeed, you could do so without any formal training whatsoever. Some of the universities, most notably Aberdeen, would award the M.D. degree upon payment of the appropriate fees. Attending classes was completely optional.

      
So, Walker didn’t have far to go to become at least as good as some of those who were, on land, considered full-fledged practicing physicians. Helping also was the fact that the field of medicine itself was not terribly complicated.

      
To the physician of the time, all disease was caused by one of three factors. The first possibility was that the patient was simply predisposed to the illness because of occupation or station in life. Everyone knew, for example, that Walker’s seamen were predisposed to pneumonia, scurvy, diarrhea, and dysentery. Why? Because they were seamen.

      
The second possibility was that the patients symptoms were caused by “antecedent causes.” either miasma’s or contagions. “Miasma’s” were invisible disease causing particles that were produced by rotting animal or vegetable matter; and “contagions” were similar particles emitted from other people who had the disease.

      
The third possibility was that there was a disturbance in one or more of the “six non-naturals.” These were air, quality of food and drink, sleep, exercise, and mental state.

      
While all disease was considered the result of one of those three factors, the classification was not of much help in knowing what to do about the problem. Diseases were not classified and treated according to their causes. At that time, the symptom
was
the illness and no further inquiry need be made.

      
Nevertheless, some standard procedures did evolve. For example, in the case of a fever, it was noticed that the patients usually had a rapid pulse. So, obviously, the first thing a competent physician would do is to reduce the “irritability of the heart” by inducing vomiting. This helped to rid the body of whatever it was that had upset its “balances.” Failing that, he might give the patient a tonic to strengthen the heart and arteries. This, in turn, would also speed the removal of whatever factors were causing the imbalance and thus the illness. In short, the chief task of the physician, Walker learned, was to restore the normal balances of the patients’ humors, the tensions within his circulatory system, and/or the body’s acid and base levels.

      
Fortunately, seamen were, in general, a healthy lot. Over 50% of the illnesses reported by the men were colds, flu or pneumonia. Another 25% was accounted for if you added diarrhea and dysentery. He knew that with most of those diseases people would recover no matter what he did—or if he did nothing at all. Add to that syphilis, gonorrhea, and scurvy (about which neither he nor anyone else could do a thing), and these illnesses would account for about 80% of his “practice.” It was the other 20% that worried him. While colds and flu might account for 80% or his patients, injuries accounted for 80% of the deaths and disabilities, and that scared the wits out of Walker.

      
Injuries were a fact of life aboard any sailing ship. You have several hundred men, working in a very confined space, under almost impossibly dangerous conditions; so, of course, you’re going to have accidents—lots of them. Fortunately, Susan Whitney and her wealth of practical experience came to the rescue.

      
She showed him how to apply olive oil to burns to keep the air away and to keep the skin soft while healing; how to manipulate a loop of intestine back into the abdominal cavity and how to design a truss that would keep the hernia closed; how to cut and drain boils and abscesses; set broken bones and even how to pull teeth—at which Walker eventually got to be quite good.

      
In return, he taught her everything he knew about anatomy, chemistry, and biology. Together they were forming a close-knit team, and Walker found himself very much enjoying the time he spent with her. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he found himself… comfortable... just being around her.

      
However, there was one area that neither one of them wanted to bring up—combat injuries. Susan didn’t mention it because she knew first hand what happens to small men on big wooden ships when shot starts to fly. Walker didn’t want to bring the subject up because he didn’t want to think about the responsibility that would be in his hands when he had to root around for a musket ball lodged in a person’s chest, or when the first leg or arm had to come off. He honestly didn’t know if he could do it and told Susan as much.

      
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “No one knows if they can do anything until the time comes and there are simply no other options.”

      
Walker could see that some hideous scenes were replaying in her mind; so, he decided to say nothing and just put his arm around her.
 

      
The peace and tranquility of that moment was transformed by a call from one of the lookouts.

      
“On deck, there!”

      
“Deck, aye,” replied someone from the quarterdeck.

      
“Sails dead ahead!”

* * *

      
As the
Richmond
sailed toward the line of ships, a frigate broke station on the outside of the battle line and headed toward her.

      
“Message from the approaching ship, sir,” called the signal midshipman who was stationed with a telescope at the maintop, a platform about halfway up the main mast.

      
“He’s sending an identification challenge: the four-flag at the maintop and seven at the foretop.”

      
Rooney went to the binnacle box and pulled out a small book entitled: “Private Signals: American Station.” The first page held the “Table for Challenging and Distinguishing Friend from Enemy” which consisted of four vertical columns divided horizontally into 10 rows. In the top left box were the numbers 1, 11, 21, 31 and referred to those dates. The next box down held, 2, 12, 22; the next, 3, 13, 23, and so on until all ten boxes were filled and every date of the month was covered. At the top of the next column were the words: “The First Signal Made is—” and the column to the right of that was entitled: “Answered by a—.” The next two columns were titled: “Main topmast head” and “Fore Topmast head” respectively and each box contained a number.

      
Rooney quickly found the correct date and ran his finger over to the correct reply.

      
“Send them our ship number followed by eight on the foretop and seven at the main,” he called back with the challenge reply number for all British ships anywhere on the American Station that day. The midshipman got busy seeing that the proper signal flags were hoisted.

      
“She’s replying with her ship number: 288.”

      
Rooney leafed to the back of the book and said to the captain, “It’s the
Santa Monica
, sir.”

      
“The
Santa Monica
. That’s one of Hood’s frigates. Mr. Rooney, steer for Admiral Graves’ flagship and have the signalman run up: ‘Enemy sighted’ and ‘Report to Follow.’”

      
Twenty minutes later, the
Richmond
was drawing close to the biggest wooden object Walker had ever seen. Admiral Grave’s flagship was the H.M.S.
London
, a 98-gun ship of the line. She was 176 feet long, 46 feet wide and had three ominous looking gun decks that were operated by a ship’s company of over 800 officers and men.

      
The
London
acknowledged the
Richmond
’s signal, replied with “Send Report,” and took in enough sail to allow the
Richmond
’s Second Lieutenant to be rowed over to deliver Hudson’s written report on what they had seen on the Chesapeake.

      
A half-hour later, he was back with a handwritten note from Graves that said:

Charles,

      
Well done.

      
You and your ship are hereby assigned to Adm. Hood’s division. He has only one frigate and could use your help.

      
      
Regards.

      
      
      
Graves

      
And as Captain Hudson was wont to say: “There we have it.”
 

      
The
Richmond
took her place in the line of battle, heading to the Chesapeake and a winner take all fight with the French.

* * *

      
Walker had to admit, it was the most spectacular sight he had ever seen—twenty-seven men of war, under full sail, in calm seas, on an absolutely gorgeous day. It was nothing short of breathtaking.