7th June, Morning watch: Report of action taken

"Yes, yes-" he nodded, "you are quite right. It would not do to perform such an examination until Mister Sewell is set to rights. Unless you feel it simply cannot wait, then perhaps we can go elsewhere."

He felt it a little unnecessary to traipse the length of the ship simply to use his quarters (and was somewhat reluctant to this) and the dispensary was out of the question. Stephen was also aware that under no circumstances was the Lieutenant to be rushed from the sick bay.

And as another thought struck him, he took another look toward Mathew and asked, "when was the last time you had any laudanum?"

Sew shook his head a few times to make sure that neither it nor the bandage fell off. When both only wobbled slightly, he nodded.

"Good. Sits well. Gun room. Cook will still have food on the stove."

“Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Sewell,” Russell said as he backed away from the cot and made his way towards both Stephen and Mathew, wondering what on Earth they might have been discussing. “Am I interrupting something,” the surgeon asked, “or may I request that Mathew retrieve breakfast for both the Lieutenant and I?”

"Actually-" Stephen addressed the other doctor matter-of-fact, pushing his glasses higher on his nose and regarding him with a sober expression; "Mathew has brought a matter to my attention that I feel requires examination. So I would prefer that he remains here for the moment." He thought for a second, and then added, "I can go - if you wouldn't mind taking a look at him yourself?"

Dropping his voice, he added, slipping into Latin, "he tells me the welts from his reprimand last week are still causing him considerable discomfort; I'm concerned, after this long - has he mentioned this to you?"

Russell glanced momentarily at Mathew as he listened to Stephen, paying attention as best he could while his stomach growled. “He had mentioned earlier that he was in pain,” responded Russell calmly in Latin before returning to the English language, “and I believe I had promised to give him laudanum.” He grinned slightly as he drew the bottle out from his pocket and held it out for the older doctor to see. De Guarde had been quite helpful and as a result, Russell did not see any issues with rewarding him with a little laudanum; after all, he was a child and children liked treats. He shifted where he stood, his mind travelling slightly to thoughts of breakfast, “At any rate, you are welcome to examine his posterior if you would like.”

Sew inwardly frowned. Probably none of the doctor's knew he had understood them (frankly he was surprised himself how much he still remembered despite his attempts to forget), and it wasn't his business anyway - but punishment from more than a week ago shouldn't hurt that much anymore. Either whoever had dealt it out had laid it on uncommonly thick - or there was something else wrong. And if there was, perhaps it was his business after all; De Guarde wanted to become a marine, so in some way, he already was Sew's responisbility.

So instead of leaving, he opened the door and stuck his head out, and when he saw a Marine lingering nearby - he was trying very hard to make it look quite accidental - he ordered:

"Tell Kock please - something to eat for three here."

Kock had been ‘slaving’ away in the kitchens for hours cooking when suddenly he was greeted by a marine who told him that he had to prepare a quick breakfast for three - he took a few things here and there that had already been cooked. He had prepared something quick and simple, a bit of eggs, meat, slab of butter, and hot rolls.

And by himself he decided to make way to the sickbay holding three plates. Two balanced on one arm and his right hand, which was free, holding one plate.

A boy had offered to help the man but he shook his head, stating that he was quite alright. Wilfred made his way into the room where he had been to go. He was walking steadily and slowly, hoping to God that the other men weren’t looking at him as he entered. He suddenly halted in the middle of the room, nodding as if to greet them all.

“Good day to you all,” he said nervously. “And would you like any tea to go with your meals?”

It took Russell two glances to realise that Sewell had removed himself from his cot and went to the door to order someone to retrieve breakfast for three. Russell was uncertain on whom the third breakfast was for but he did not ask. Instead he turned his attention away from both Stephen and Mathew and gasped at the fact that Sewell was out of bed. He then asked in a shrill, almost inaudible voice, sounding almost like a fussy mother than a thirty-year old man, “What are you doing?”

When Wilfred had come in with three warm plates of breakfast, Russell felt his stomach growl once again and immediately rushed over towards the large cook, taking two of the plates. One of them he held out for the Marine Lieutenant, while the last one he left alone as he was uncertain who it was intended to go to.

“No, thank you, Mr. Kock,” Russell said in response to the cook’s offer to bring tea, “however, it would be nice if you can bring us some hot chocolate.” The last words were spoken with a very innocent smile.

De Guarde wished that the bottle had either been handed over, or well, actually he had really just wished it was handed over and the permission was given that he take some from it. He did not believe the examination completely necessary, though he would humour the surgeons if that got him some laudanum.

He glanced impatiently at the two men, and then a little more patiently and worriedly at Sewell, the officer, he hoped, would have no more problems from his injury. He stood there then, watching as food was being brought in, and debating whether he should put away the dressings and other tools since they appeared no longer needed. It would also clear the table, if the men wished to have it used.

Making up his mind he began with the clearing, dutifully checking what tools had not been used and were thus clean, and which , if any, needed another scrub before they were returned to their cupboards.

Sew accepted his plate eagerly and shoved the third one at Maturin.

"Thank you, Kock. Smells good. Tea would be nice."

He accentuated his thanks with a nod that made him slightly wince again before he retreated back to the cot he had woken up in and pointedly sat down, giving a kind of calming, humoring smile to Gallien.

“If hot chocolate is what everyone else wishes to also drink, D-doctor, then of course I shall bring some when I do return,” he said feeling a bit annoyed as he had prepared tea and was more than ready to retrieve it if they had wanted him to.

Wilfred stood there awkwardly with the last plate, wondering who it was to go to, and he looked from the patient to De Guarde to the two doctors to the plate. It was soon given to the other doctor.

And with a nod he left to go retrieve tea and make some hot chocolate from some sweet tooth.

"I prefer to err on the side of caution-" he said to Dr. Gallien, about to address Mathew when he was interrupted. Sewell was out of his cot having already passed the order for some food, and this had sent a ripple of discord throughout the ordinarily calm sickbay resulting in Russell raising his voice. Surgeons were ever so particular about their stations; everything had to be just so, and a patient out of bed simply wasn't right.

As the lieutenant passed him to retrieve his food from the cook, Stephen lifted his finger; "Mister Sewell, I really do think-" he began, only to be interrupted for the second time by a plate being thrust at him. He grabbed for it, but his hand; his useless hand that still failed him all these months later would not grip it. The plate clattered to the floor.

Sew, more from reflexes than thinking, dived from the cot to catch the plate. He even managed it. But it only meant that he and the plate clattered to the floor, as his head protested against the sudden movement. Well, at least part of the food had remained on the damn thing.

With one short, descriptive and not printable word, Sew held it up to Maturin again.

"Thank you."

Rubbing at his temple in exasperation, Stephen accepted the plate from Sewell with his other hand, rescuing the yolk from the burst egg with his fork. He was visibly embarrassed, plus the man had clearly hurt himself in the process and so he was obliged to be grateful. He placed the plate on the nearest flat surface and bent to lend the marine a hand; though it likely looked ridiculous considering their relative sizes. "Really, lieutenant," he chided beneath his breath, "I'm sure everyone here values your head more highly than my breakfast."

The whole sequence of Stephen dropping his plate and Sewell thrusting himself from the cot seemed to have passed Russell by as he stood in shock. Whatever the younger doctor had in his mouth had fell to his plate and when Stephen had hastened to assist Sewell, Russell followed by placing his plate where he could and rushing over to help as well. Over-worried about the patient’s head again, he decided not to yell at the marine in case that would cause anymore damage to it.

A very disgruntled Sew allowed the two surgeons to help him up again. With a wave of his hand in direction of Maturin's hand, he grunted:

"Apologies!"

With nod to both of them, probably indicating that he meant the next as a reply to his unceremonious descend to the floor, he added, 'Sorry!' and picked up his own plate again.

De Guarde turned from the table where he had been clearing the tools in alarm, but he could not have been over fast enough and could just observe, with eyes wide, as Sewell clattered to the ground. The two surgeons were already assisting him then so that all that was left was to clean up the mess the other portion of the plate's contents, made on the floor.

"Scuse me." He murmured as he moved past the two surgeons and the lieutenant. he gazed at him with concern in his eyes, wanting to see that he was really feeling ok. "..Careful not to slip here." Where the food was on the ground, one could step and slip quite easily. Without being told to he began to wipe it off. Good food had gone to waste! When he crouched it had been done more tenderly and slowly, with a few quick tugs to release some of the tension from the fabric. "I can go fetch a new plate for you, Mister Maturin.."

"No, no." Stephen shook his head, "that's quite all right. No-" he was about to tell Mathew to stop cleaning up his mess, so that he could treat him for his injuries. However, he imagined it would be a breach of duty or some unwritten rule for him not to, plus the food was now a bit of a hazard should any of the patients decide they needed to go above. So Stephen reigned his commentary in, pressing his fist to his mouth and letting the boy do his job. It did not serve to curb his embarrassment, though.

"No." He professed at last, adding as an afterthought, "thank you. I would much rather take a look at you and then see about that laudanum, please." Pointing to a quiet corner, he took up a candle so as to better see what he was doing.

"Yes, sir." De Guarde murmured once he was quite satisfied with the way the floor was looking. Nobody was in danger of slipping now, so it meant that he might as well go with the surgeon and have his does of laudanum. He smiled at the thought of that and slowly straightened up.

He glanced at the other surgeon and then quickly followed Maturin. "Will I be allowed that amount of laudanum once you have seen it, sir?" He asked hopefully.

In a tone reminiscent of a parent talking to a child, Stephen answered Mathew with a tempered, "we'll see." If the boy truly was in such pain to be requesting that much laudanum, he couldn't have carried out his duties; he wouldn't have been able to. But that didn't necessarily mean he was lying, or exaggerating. One man's tolerance for pain could be quite different to another's, and Mathew was still a boy.

"It's more a matter of being thorough -" he gestured for him to drop his trousers, "than a question on whether or not you can have some laudanum. Though I believe your current dose may be far too high."

"Hardly. It's barely sufficient." The boy lied. He frowned then slowly began to unbutton his trousers. Once done he eased them over his bum. Some of the welts had recently opened up and were bleeding under the dressing, causing that to stick to his skin. The disturbance of it however was rather fresh and could have happened had the boy landed on his bum too hard. Only he did not claim any such thing had happened.

"..So?.. can I get the laudanum?" He asked keeping his shirt at waist heght. "Please, sir?" He added, having that most innocent and pleading look averted towards Maturin. He had learned it was not as effective on Thompson, especially since he had overused it, but this man was new to it and could perhaps be swayed.

"Oh?" Stephen queried, wondering to himself how Mathew could claim to know nothing about infection (as that was a medical matter) and yet was exceedingly well versed in matters of analgesia; even going to far as to claim his dose of laudanum was not high enough. The doctor said nothing to this, lifting the corner of the dressing and peering at the wounds beneath. They were inflamed at the edges, bleeding into the dressing, but there was nothing overly untoward.

With a gesture to indicate he was finished and Mathew could dress again, Stephen took the boy's chin in his hand and stared at his pupils for a moment or two before releasing him, pressing a hand to his forehead and then announcing, "yes, you may. Though perhaps a more moderate dose than what you're used to. It would not do to turn you into an opium eater now, would it?"

" More moderate dose, sir?.. Can we moderate it when I am completely well and I do not need it any longer.. and thus.. " He bit his lip starting to button his trousers up. " Is it looking alright though? Healing as it should be? " He touched his forehead, then realised it would probably have been needed. If his temperature had been up, then perhaps the surgeon would give him something else as well. Or if his pupils were.... looking how exactly?

"Sir.. I know it isn't in my.. place to ask, but could you tell me what I am to look for, when inflamation or similar sets in a man? So that.. if I assist and see that happen to one of our men at night, I know it is serious and can call one of you to see to the patient?" He adjusted his shirt tenderly into his trousers. "And ..and can you tell me, will Mister Sewell be alright? He's fallen twice. That is not going to be pemanent, will it? He won't die?" He looked genuinely concerned.

"I only agreed to tend to his injury on the head because I thought it was nothing but a bump and.. he promised he would go see a surgeon once morning came. And he seemed alright. said he was, that he had just his his head.. and.." He finally took a breath of air. "....I really don't want him to suffer because of it, sir...I'm sorry." He bowed his head and frowned.

Sewell was a beast, thought the younger doctor as he helped the Marine lieutenant to his feet before returning to his plate. His stomach made an unusual and slightly embarrassing noise as he started to eat what little meat he had on his plate. He wandered back and forth from Sewell’s cot towards where Stephen and Mathew were, although he did not stand too close in order to provide the boy a little more privacy. Instead he hovered nosily in the background; eyes cast down on his food as he ravenously finished it off.

He settled his plate on a table and made his way towards the doorway, deciding to let Stephen deal with Mathew’s lengthy questions. “I shall disappear a moment,” Russell announced, running a hand through his curls, “I’ll see if anything has happened to the tea… and my hot chocolate.”

Mathew's questioning left Stephen surprised, but pleasantly so. He liked it when people took an interest; he enjoyed teaching, and he looked at the boy with a quizzical ghost of a smile, "of course it's your place; I'd expect anyone lending a hand in the sick bay to-" maybe under his watch, perhaps. It may not have been customary aboard the Terpsichore to explain physical matters to the loblolly boy.

"Surely you must have seen a wound in which infection has taken hold?" Though as Mathew was asking, Stephen imagined he had not. Thus, he held his palm out flat, and with a forefinger traced the edges of an imaginary injury; "usually we can observe redness and swelling - around the edges like so, and if infection has taken hold it becomes purulent; there is pus and a foul smell." He paused for a moment in thought, and then said, "though I would stress you ought to look for those things with your eyes, and not your hands; disturbing the dressing on a wound can often make it worse."

"As for Mister Sewell," he glanced at the lieutenant in question and stated quite firmly, "he will certainly not die; not if either myself or Dr. Gallien have a say in the matter." But Mathew went on; words tumbling garbled from his mouth as though he were confessing something that had weighed on his conscience for quite some time. At the end of it all, when he paused for breath, the doctor frowned and reiterated, "I'm sure what happened was not your fault, Mathew. Mister Sewell will be quite all right with rest, and close observation."

"Before you leave, doctor," Stephen made a gesture to keep Russell behind a moment longer; hand out in mid-air with his fingers spread, "the laudanum." This would have been that much easier had this been his sickbay, where there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. "For Mathew - may I have it?"