7th June, Morning watch: Report of action taken

(Sew is reporting this accident.)

It was a rather interesting sight the officer of the watch would see coming towards him through the clear morning light. As Sew had to cross the long weather deck, the hands around him had time to study the blood on his face, the rip in the sleeve of his uniform and his uncharacteristically awkward movements.

When he went up the quarterdeck, he had even to grip the handrail. As soon as he spotted the officer of the watch, he turned straight towards him and made an effort to come to attention and salute:

"Slight incident to report, Sir! Cannon came halfway loose. Fixed for the moment, but needs attention. De Guarde has been very helpful."

At the sound of the voice, Bush turned and saw the Marine lieutenant heading in his direction. He opened his mouth to speak, but then noticed the frightful state the man seemed to be in, and he was rather startled and concerned by it. Not to mention his concern over the mention of a cannon breaking loose.

"Mister Sewell...good God man, are you alright? And you say a cannon broke loose? Has it been secured?"

And De Guarde had been somehow helpful in this affair? Bush resisted the urge to scoff at that information. He was much more worried about the cannon anyway.

Bush. Good. Sensible. No need to explain the implications to him.

Sew wiped the blood from his eyes and gathered his last reserves to make a sensible report. Then he would go below, finally have DeGuard put a proper bandage around his head, find something to eat and just perhaps be able to get one or two hours of sleep.

Succinctly he recounted what had happened and what they had done to solve the problem.

"Gun's secured for the moment, Sir. Tightly lashed against the hull, but Mr. Hennock needs to see to it before it it can do damage there. It crushed into it a few times already."

Bush listened as Sewell gave his report. Not good news, but it could have been much worse.

"Well thank you for informing me, Mister Sewell. I am glad to know the cannon has been secured, and I will pass the word for Mister Hennock to see to it right away. But am concerned for your well-being. I think you had better report to the surgeon to have yourself looked at."

"Surgeon's sleeping. Sickbay's keeping him busy. Think it's just a cut, anyway. DeGuard can fix it up again."

He mentally checked. Incident had been reported, all concerned named, further implications pointed out. Good. He was just about to excuse himself when the ship hit another wave, listed, and he inexplicably lost his footing, hit his head for the third time, and crashed down in a huge bulk right in front of Mr. Bush.

For the first time in the last thirty-six hours, nothing had stopped him from laying down and closing his eyes.

Tom Oxley fidgeted from one foot to the other. He was bored just standing here with nothing to do.

He was about to start counting the ringbolts in the deck from his position moving for'rard when a crash from the quarterdeck above and behind him made him start. He stepped forward and turned around enough to see Mister Sewell lying full-length on the deck.

"Coo!"

Bush only had enough time to take a step back to avoid being crushed as the big Marine pitched foward and fell right there on the deck. Obviously the man had been worse off than even he himself had thought. The cannon would have to wait. Sewell needed assistance immediately.

"Lend a hand here!" Bush shouted to the deck at large, not knowing what else to do. Anyone who could help would be sufficient; there just needed to be more than one of them to hoist the Marine lieutenant up. He was much too large to be lifted by one man. Surely they would need several pairs of arms to get him to the sickbay. "And pass the word for the surgeon and his mates! I don't care if he's sleeping! Wake him, damn it!"

It wasn't as though he could be much use in trying to help lift Mister Sewell; the officer was far too big and heavy for him to manage. And anyway, several sailors had stopped at the sound of Mister Bush's voice and were now hurrying aft.

He could go for the surgeon, though. He had just laid the drum down and taken half a step forward when he saw one of the ship's boys dive down the companionway, obviously on the same errand.

Bother. He'd hoped to get out of at least some of the rest of the watch, but it seemed it wasn't to be.

Thompson came running up on deck a few moments later, wearing a concerned look. The boy had run down and passed him on the way to fetch the surgeon.

There was no way Thompson was going to be able to lift Mister Sewell himself. Of course.

Ther were several sailors crowding around now, and Thompson stepped back to let them through to lift the Lieutenant off the deck.

Ships were noisy places, Stephen knew this well. The drumming of feet above his head and past his cabin, shouting and singing; all perfectly normal whilst at sea. Suffice it to say that he sat unmoving and hunched over his notes and did not stir until there came a sharp knock at his door.

"Doctor Maturin? Sir-"

With a frown, he stood; answering the summon with a wordless, flat look. The boy who greeted him pointed back the way he came, "it's Mister Sewell. He's collapsed on deck with a bump to the head - and I tried to fetch for Doctor Gallien, sir, only he's -"

"Asleep, yes -" Stephen pulled his door to with a murmur, "kept up half the night treating the flux I shouldn't wonder."

"And I didn't know who else to ask for -"

He held a hand up to quieten the boy, instructing him calmly as he rolled up his sleeves, "tell the men to bring him to the sick bay and I shall see what's to be done. And mind him," he called to the lad's retreating back, though he hoped it didn't need to be stressed, "especially his head."

It felt like an eternity before the boy came back up on deck.

"Docter Matterin's a-comin' - says to be careful of 'is 'ed," the boy panted out, before folding double, holding his side.

Thompson nodded and stepped forwards. "Careful there, lads, let the doctor through," he said, hoping that Doctor Maturin wouldn't be too far behind the boy.

Sew was out cold. Partly it was exhaustion, partly three consecutive hits on the head, and partly the fact that while he had not really succumbed to the general illness, his body had to fight it, too, and was running a fever now.

So he remained oblivious of the problem he had caused - for now. Which was probably good; hiding the amount of mortification this scene was going to cause him would in no way be good for his health.

"Matthew?"

Picking his way past the sweating men who lay in their cots, Stephen took a quick stock of the sick-bay situation and met the eyes of the temporary loblolly boy with a pointed look, "Mister Sewell has collapsed on deck with a head injury. Could you prepare dressings and a little more light down here, please?"

He gathered his bag and left him then; climbing up not far behind the boy who'd delivered the message in the first place. There was already a small assembly crowded round the unfortunate lieutenant, and Stephen nodded in thanks to Thompson. Without his order, he would have been unable to reach his patient.

"How long has he been here?" He asked, checking for a pulse with two fingers and frowning at the blood, "does anyone know how he came to hit his head?"

"I think he was helpin' sort out a loose cannon down on the gundeck, sir," Thompson said. "An' he's bin doin' double tides anyhow... reckon he was jus' that tired he fancied a lie-down on deck, like, sir." Which was a simplified version of events, in all probability, but Thompson had been doing double-tides himself, which was no mean feat for someone who could only just read his name and who was still trying to work out exactly what his new duties entailed.

"He ain't bin here long, though - I sent for the surgeon soon as I saw summat warn't right, sir."

De Guarde nodded quickly. Mister Sewell's poor health had alarmed him, as he had been alright just a little time ago and he had tended to him, unwilling to disturb the surgeon. He knew he should not have done so, and should have called for help, but even Sewell assured him it was nothing that he needed to worry about.

He hurried to the table and the small cupboard where he had left the bandages. They were all still folded quite neatly and ready to be used, clean and untarnished, not like those that were on the limbs of the injured. He had hurried about, preparing all that was necessary. While he did not expect Mister Sewell to bleed profously, he still prepared a bowl that was filled with clean water and a few rags that could be used and dipped in it. A few tools were set aside, glistening in the dim light.

He had hurried then to have the room lit better, arranging it so, that when the patient would come, most of it would shine in the better part of the room where he would be laid down and tended to. He felt nervous as he waited down below, glancing about trying to remember if there was anything at all he still needed to do.

Though the meaning of 'double tides' swam just out of reach in the Doctor's mind, from the explanation he could deduce it meant Sewell had been on his feet an awful long time before he'd collapsed. What he hadn't yet found out was why the man had, not one, but a series of injuries to his head. Not only this, but there was older blood mixed in with the new; he swiped his thumb against one crimson dribble to double check the consistency, rubbing it between his thumb and forefingers in thought.

"You did right to send for me as soon as you did, Mister Thompson." He straightened and pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, having also checked the lieutenant's temperature with a cool hand pressed both to his cheeks and forehead. "We need to have our dear Mister Sewell transported below deck at once. I believe his exhaustion may not simply be due to hard work, but the sooner I can dress that head of his, the better."

A red-haired, freckled young marine came hurrying up the stairs, saluting Leads, then including Stephen in the gesture, obviously a bit unsure about his status, but wanting to be polite.

"If I can help with that, Sir ...", he said in a broad Gaelic accent, positioning him next to Sewell's head. He was certainly well-muscled, but it would still take at least one other person to move the lieutnenant - even if one man could manage the weight alone, Sewell's height meant that his feet would drag on the floor and make the task much harder, not to mention the discomfort to himself.

"It's Corp'ral Thompson, sir," that man said with a self-conscious grin. "Good man, MacTavish," he added, as the younger Marine came up, with Vining behind him. They weren't going to leave their officer's care to the sailors, not if they could help it!

Having expected Gaillen to answer the summons, Bush was rather surprised when Maturin made his appearance. But even though he was only taking passage aboard ship, he was still a physician and thus perfectly able to assist Sewell.

"My thanks for coming to our aid, Doctor Maturin," Bush said, as the Marines began to gather to heft their injured lieutenant up, "Mister Sewell is greatly in need of aid. Obviously we are quite fortunate to have two physicians aboard at the moment."

"Ah! Is it? Pardon me," he apologised, moving aside to let them assist their shipmate. The freckled, red-haired young man who moved to take Sewell's head was given an insistent nod and Stephen indicated with a gesture that at least another man ought to take his feet as well, "yes, yes; please. But carefully." He'd watched plenty of sailors being brought to the sick bay in the midst of a battle having received more bruises in that short journey than they'd had from the fight itself and wished to avoid any further calamity to this man. "Will someone take his legs?"

With an look to Bush, the doctor waved his hand, "I am more than happy to assist Lieutenant," his voice taking a quiet, private tone so as not to let the other men overhear, "did you happen to notice the bleeding before, or after he collapsed? I only ask as Mister Sewell has suffered multiple contusions-" here, Stephen's fingers grazed his own scalp to mirror the extent of the damage on his patient, noting with a pointed glance the state of Sewell's uniform, "was he of sound mind when you saw him?"

Normally Russell was one to wake up and get to work fairly early in the morning. However, he had spent the past night tending to the sick and by the time he had lain to rest, it was rather later. As a result, he had unintentionally slept in. Now that it was morning, his body had instinctively woken up at the time it usually would have but being incredibly exhausted, Russell’s heavy eyes fell shut again and he drifted off into sleep, dreaming about things that terrified him.

When he had again woken up, Russell felt clammy and sweaty. He was still dressed in his clothes from the previous day and despite his feelings of grogginess, his immediate thought was to return to the sickbay to see what he could do there. After stretching, ensuring that his hair wasn’t too terrible, and letting out a yawn, he exited his private quarters and made his way to the sickbay. As his body was still trying to wake itself up, he made no eye contact as he moved briskly but almost dizzily.

Once he reached the sickbay, his eyes surveyed the area before it fell onto De Guarde. “It seems that you’ve prepared the place...” Russell commented as he raised a hand to rub his blue eyes, realising that he had forgotten his glasses in his slightly sleepy daze.

Thompson looked around, shrugged and bent for the Lieutenant's legs himself. He was only a very newly-promoted Corporal and even if he wasn't, standing and watching other people doing something did not sit right with him - especially when the 'something' was easy enough to do and was a job he would naturally turn to help with before the promotion.

"He was wearin' a bandage when he come up, earlier, sir, I think," he replied, before addressing his men. "Careful with him, lads. We'm takin' him down to sickbay - easy, there."

"Doctor Maturin has been called on deck,..Mister Gallien, ..there has been.. an incident in which.." He bit his lip, tugging at the sleeve of his left hand. "..I was told to prepare these, so that they can be used when the patient comes down, ter be treated." He looked ever more hesitant as he glanced at the tools. Not all that he had prepared had been asked to be done so, but he decided that perhaps some of the tools could be needed and laid them out. Of course those did not belong to Maturin.

" The other patients are well...still sleeping for the most part. " He shifted position a bit.

Russell nodded as he glanced towards the sleeping patients, his expression was calm and patient as he noted to check each and every one of them after the current predicament was settled. His mind was becoming less tired and much clearer with every moment. “An incident, you say…?” Russell repeated curiously until he recognised the tools that De Guarde had laid out, it was only then that a slight hint of exasperation entered his voice, “Next time something happens, I would like you to wake me up.” Of course, the thought that anyone was right to fear disturbing the man from his sleep as he would likely have become incredibly unpleasant to deal with didn’t cross his mind.

He ran a hand through his curly light reddish-brown hair and let out a sigh. He then burst into a series of questions, “Do you know what happened at least? Are you certain that you’ve brought everything out? Have you seen him? Do you believe he requires some laudanum?”

"I'll wake you up, sir." He nodded quickly, deciding that he would do so if needed and regretting he had failed to do so moments ago. But at least the man was not quite in the bad mood and was , by the looks of it, more interested in the patient that was to be brought below.

"It is Mister Sewell that had suffered the fall or rather , I have been told he's collapsed on deck n' what'for they've been callin' the surgeon really. "It has been 'is head, only... it's not this collapsin' that got it all knocked about." He spoke nervously, the tug on his sleeve becoming more insistent. Once he had realised what he was doing however both hands came to rest behind his back. They did continue what they had begun infront, but at least now, they were out of view.

"He's gotten hurt couse o' things what happened before... in ways sir. Only we'd thought it was all fine, really. Been just a bump there..n'all." He bit his lip. "Think laudanum would be brilliant ! For him.. possibly. If he is hurting." Of course he would have loved some for himself. While the welts across his posteriors had been healing, there was still tenderness there and laudanum was something that made any one feeling a deal better!