June 20th, Afternoon Watch: A Venereal Predicament

It was now around lunchtime. Earlier in the morning, both Russell and his mate had finished a sequence of tasks that the surgeon had outlined in a scribble on a piece of paper. It wasn’t until they returned to the sickbay and began checking the patients who were lying in their cots that a seaman had come in complaining about difficulty moving due to pains coming from his groin. They listened to the man’s account about how the pains had started ever since he had had been with a woman in Oporto. The man had only decided to seek medical assistance now because the pain had grown worse and it was becoming more difficult to urinate.

“Mr. Johnson, do you mind lying back and taking your trousers off so we can inspect it?” Russell asked. The man obliged and settled himself back on the nearest cot and began struggling to follow the rest of the surgeon’s order.

Russell turned to René and mumbled under his breath, “do you mind assisting him?”

René narrowed his eyes. Yes, a fine thing this. Alone in a room with Dr. Gallien where a man's got to pull down his trousers. Yes, why don't I just inspect his cock. Let me handle it for you. Have they told you I do that a lot? Whoever has will get a spider in his ale and a crab in his bed.

Mr. Johnson looked positively white, shrugging off his suspenders to unbutton and expose the area of his groin from the confines of his union suit.

"Your symptoms?" René asked indelicately, trying not to blush as he bent forward to examine the area. Yellow discharge, swelling. "Are you sore in any other places, m'sieur..." He didn't wait for him to answer before sticking his face close to his and examining his eye. "Inflamed. Red. The Clap."

Mr. Johnson looked displeased and said nothing. René looked to Dr. Gallien expectantly. Attempting to reign in the sense of wanting to bounce about him like a lovesick puppy. Straightening his spine, adjusting his waistcoat. Prim.

Russell stood back, his arms folded across his chest as he curiously watched René examine their patient. When the boy administered his diagnosis, he gave him an encouraging, yet slightly patronising smile and slowly stepped forwards to take a look at the man’s genitalia himself. All the while, Mr. Johnson supported his upper body on his elbows so he could watch the examination, his face filled with complete worriment at the mention of ‘the clap’.

Squinting as he leaned closer, Russell nodded and said, “You’re quite right, it does appear he may have gonorrhoea. You can see that there’s some running there, in which case...” He did not continue his sentence as something had caught the surgeon’s eye and he immediately wondered if the man was suffering from two distinct things; however, he could not tell as a part of the man’s groin was obscuring his view. “Do you mind lifting that for me?” the surgeon said looking to his side at René before he continued, “I would like a closer look at his testes. That’s a good boy.” He felt slightly uncomfortable when it came to these sorts of matters and as a result, decided that perhaps René would be better off doing it.

Russell had casually settled a hand on Mr. Johnson’s shoulder as if to give him some comfort and sympathy; although, admittedly, it was a poor attempt due to how emotionlessly the man said to René, “In regards to his strangury, I think for now we should give him some poultice in hopes of reducing the swelling as well as some opium and an ointment. If the poultice doesn’t work, we should prepare the irrigation syringe for drainage.” He then turned to the patient, “Mr. Johnson, don’t you worry yourself, you’re in good hands now.” The man’s face was even whiter than it had previously been.

Touch it. To contrast aptly to Mr. Johnson's white pallor René was completely red. He frowned to keep his guard up and took a cloth from the table to lift the member with. Taking great care, as if it might shatter upon shoddy handling. Blinking rapidly, staring at the doctor and trying to pry up some dignity, but in the end he fell flat because he was holding someone's cock in front of Russell Gallien and he may as well be naked himself and dancing with a carp.

Though when he said Mr. Johnson was in good hands...he liked to think that was at least something. But then he also might be wishful and stupid and if only he were older and English and had facial hair...He might just be impressive then.

He had taken care of most of the patients, checking on them, giving them some drink, taking away any bucket that had been filled with unmentionables. He had been rather attentive to each of them, except of course Cattling, which he had tried to avoid for the most part and had gone to him only once called. There was not much that needed doing with that man. He was pretty much healed and had only complained of belly ache, where there was none. The days past, had offered a diminishing number of new patients and even the old had picked up, and some had been released from the sick bay all together.

He had gone to fetch clean water again, this time for the new patient he had heard , was coming. He stood just to the side, still a good few steps away, and blinked at what they were doing.

Kock had been asked to bring some lunch for Doctor Gallien and his assistant; it was a simple toast, eggs, and tea on a tray. Kock would have cooked something more extravagant but a lot of the ingredients and foods were wasted on the officer’s meals. As well, the amounts of foods found in the ship were limited (or so Kock thought, it was nothing like being back in England as a cook). The Cook’s Mate was still in the kitchen watching the food and cleaning where things needed to be cleaned.

He entered the sickbay; he could see Doctor Gallien and his little French friend working on a man. Somewhere was a little blonde boy who he had seen every here and there on the ship. Holding the tray and very curious, he walked over to see what the fuss was all about.

“Your lunch, sirs,” he said out loud. So far he was having the most splendid day.

To his horror he saw a man’s penis being held up, yellow discharge, pinkness, and swelling… Kock felt himself turn green rather quickly. He felt his stomach churn and dance, his throat tightened and his legs began shaking. The poor big, friendly giant suddenly felt woozy. This sort of business was definitely not for the faint-hearted.

“Good,” announced Russell when René had followed his request and drawing his hand away from Mr. Johnson, he settled his arms back into their comfortable position of being folded across his chest. The surgeon returned to where he had previously stood close towards Mr. Johnson’s legs and then re-examined the man’s genitals, scrutinising every inch of the testes in his view, as he was doing so Mr. Kock had entered the room. They were swollen as well; however, he was still uncertain about whether they were due to the gonorrhoea or due to a common problem amongst seaman who travelled up and down the ropes of the ship in between their legs. Either way, the man had already decided that he would treat the man for both, just in case. To René, he asked, “do you mind fetching me poultice from the dispensary? Once you do that, you may have your lunch.”

When Mr. Kock had come closer to the cot, Russell turned to welcome the man and upon recognising the sickened expression of his face, he said with a slight laugh, “What’s the matter, Mr. Kock? I’m certain that you’ve seen a man’s penis before.” He took one of the teas from the tray and sipped it, wrinkling his nose at its sugarless taste. The pause as he drank the tea allowed him to realise that the cook’s legs were shaking. “De Guarde, do you mind coming over and taking the tray from Mr. Kock? He seems an awful fright.” The last words were said with a grin and a slight chuckle.

De Guarde had nearly cursed at being discovered, but when he found that his duty was far from doing the dirty work (not that he mostly minded doing that, really) he moved closer quickly and held his hands out to take hold of the plate before it was upturned or its contents scattered on the ground.

"'scuse me, Mr. Kock,... I will take this, thank you." He said politely, all smiles. He glanced towards the patient with mildest of curiosities. "...That don't look comfortable at all." He murmured matteroffactly. "'s that gotten from a lass?" He remembered what THompson had warned him off, and wondered if this is how it looked, when it turned bad and if it really was, then he'd rather thank him from stopping his trip to the whore house even when his curiosity and pride might have nearly gotten him there.

Russell forced himself to take another sip of tea before motioning Mr. Johnson to rest back and politely promising the man that he would give him some opium shortly after the poultice arrived. He reckoned it would be best for the seaman to remain the sickbay and rest, especially since when the patient had arrived in the sickbay his manner of walking was so stiff that it was clear the was in pain. “Mmm,” Russell nodded to De Guard in the midst of swallowing his tea. He then said, “You’re right, he did contract it from a woman. If he had waited any longer to have come, the condition would have been much worse than you see it now and treatment would likely have been less helpful. I’ve seen men die from penile conditions in Jamaica and at sea. So remember that next time you think about courting a woman.”

Gallien spoke to him – clearly mocking him. Him, Mister Kock, see a man’s penis before? Never! He wasn’t that sort… Of course leave it to the sugar-tongued man to make a joke of it. It was punishable by death, was it not? Not that Kock cared a whole lot about what other people did under the covers.

Next, his tray was taken away. He hadn’t noticed it at first since he had been staring off into space. He let himself listen to what Gallien was telling the young boy… a thought came that made the big giant blush as well as feel ill.

I will have no more children… Kock thought, looking at the patient's penis. Every trip to the sickbay ended in, well, horrific dreams and thoughts.

René gave a bit of a double-take at the doctor's orders. Yes, lunch is just the thing to ease the nauseous image of puss emerging from the head of a penis. Considerate of you, m'sieur.

He went and came back to find M. Kock and a young boy who looked a bit younger than himself had appeared. So much for privacy. He felt a bit bad for M. Johnson, but not much. A flicker of it perhaps.

"It is not in my best of tastes to consume anything next to a diseased man." He gave the poultice to Dr. Gallien and sat on a chair nearby and laced his hands together, deciding that this was quite possibly the most unromantic thing in the world and it was stupid of him to be blushing. Except perhaps in disgust. But he'd assumed one would pale during such an event instead. Perhaps he, himself, was diseased in the mind.

"Scuse me, Sir. But.. if it's given off by touch.. won't touching be a bit unsafe like?..."He glanced at the lad, older than him, that just returned. It was the same who he had seen helping out earlier. He studied him, startled at the colour he thought he saw on his cheeks. Ah, had to be embarrassment at what he had had to do. He was not surprised. It was a rather unpleasant task and worse even than cleaning up after the sick.

He shifted to the side, giving the other some space. "..what do you need me for, sir." He asked instead, his eyes on the surgeon, only skimming past the cook. He was hungry, but it was not until his mess was fed, that he could expect a bite.

He crossed his legs and puffed out his chest a bit. "He could have gotten it from anyone." Even on the ship. Which would mean there's some bloke who one ought not fumble around with when the lights were low. But ah, non, we can't talk about that. Just let things fester and fester until they dig deep into the gut and kill you from the inside out.

That somehow was and was not a metaphor. He wrinkled his nose and wished he could stop thinking.

"But you were touching him.. so could you get it from him now too?" De Guarde asked and then with a slightly politer tone added. "...Or does it only transfer ter another.. with a certain sort o' touch?" He may have sounded politer, but his words certainly have not changed into anything more pleasant.

He was glad for certain things and those he would not elaborate on, nor explain. He also wished Cattling could get something like this and die of it.Of course, that would not happen, but it was a nice thought.

"I did not touch him with my naked hands. That would be a stupid thing." He raised his nose high in the air at the boy. Hmph. Tell me how to do my job will you...

"But one cannot contract the disease unless seminal fluid comes to touch the mouth or nether parts. Unlikely to be passed from the hand to another hand."

"..Careful you don't touch your mouth with any o..." He began haughtily, the tone that he was spoken to, quite annoying him. But then he reminded himself of his station, present one, and then of René's and he continued in a cool and calm voice. " What would I know.. I have only done most of your job.. for the past what.... a good long time, certainly." He said it just quiet enough that it was not as easy to understand or hear it by the surgeon and the cook.

Unbeknownst to Russell, Mr. Kock had taken all that he had said out of the context and thought his friendly comment was a jest at his manhood. The subject the cook had mistaken, had the surgeon known, would have caused Russell to turn completely shy and possibly even feeling vulnerable. When his surgeon mate returned with the poultice, Russell took it immediately and in response to René’s comment, he said dismissively in a quiet voice, “whatever pleases your highness.” He then exhaled as he set his tea cup back on to the tray and made his way back towards where all the men were gathered.

He applied the poultice gently on the whole of Johnson’s penis before leaving to retrieve just a spoon of opium for the seaman, missing the majority of the discourse between Mathew and René. When he returned he heard someone say something but couldn’t quite catch what it was and inquired, “Did one of you two boys ask me something?” The surgeon looked at the two of them expectantly as Mr. Johnson took his dose of opium, the man’s face expression was not only full of embarrassment but also of disgust from the bitter taste of the tincture.

He raised a definitive eyebrow at the doctor. Why, again, did you hire me? And why, again, do I really give a damn about you?

Mysteries, such mysteries.

"Le...garçon...he is unhappy, it seems." Yes, little twit. I took your job purely to spite you. All I do is spite you. My existence is just for little tiny you. Such venom from such a sprig.

Not that he, René, was venomous. Not at all.

"I Have asked, sir." Mathew replied politely, ignoring René's remark. "..I only wondered about the ways that is transmitted to others, in case I am to tend to any of such patients, that I do not contract it myself." He certainly did not want to accidently get something of the sort and would have been grateful to know - or he might later read it in the other surgeon's book - how to avoid getting it from its original source.

"And I would ask whether you need me for anything else, sir.. t' sick, which are fewer now, have been checked, changed and are now at rest."

“Ah, you’re a bright boy!” Russell said approvingly, young boys were always so full of questions. “I am capable of managing everything at the moment; however, I may need you later tonight or early next morning depending on whether or not Mr. Johnson’s swelling goes down.” He held out the spoon he had given Mr. Johnson and discarded it to the side with the cloth that René had used earlier. His hands hung forwards limply, intending to clean them before he thought of eating his lunch, which hopefully hadn’t grown cold by now. He moved towards a bucket of water to wash his hands; even though, he had not touched anything, let alone Johnson’s saliva.

“Venereal diseases are spread through sexual intercourse between a man and a woman… the Latin origin of the word coming from the goddess of love, after all,” he explained as he shook his hands to dry them, he was clearly unaware of the fact that René had already explained to Mathew and like many, his answer deliberately ignored the existence of sodomy. “It is transmitted through the mucosae of the penis or vulva; although, I have seen it infect elsewhere, such as the throat, mouth, or like our poor Mr. Johnson, the eyes.”

“You’re right to be afraid of contracting it. If ever you’re in a situation like this, I would advise that you avoid any sort of contact with the infected regions at all costs. That’s why René had used a cloth,” he added.

When no one was looking, René began mouthing along to the other boy's words and rolling his eyes. He nearly fell off his chair from the dramatics of it. To cover the slip he stood up and went to the doctor's side.

"Nothing else I can do for you, m'sieur le docteur...?"

De Guarde glanced at Chastain, just to catch the last expression of his, and his mouth moving, without uttering an actual word. He narrowed his eyes, then rather than be quite unpleasant, his voice and his manner had gone to the other extreme, which was far from honest.

"It has been a delight seeing you here again... let us hope that you indeed persist in coming to do your duties more often.. Once every first Sunday might not be to the benefit of our patients." Then he tilted his head a bit. "Think there's one of the patients what has just emptied ..onto the floor boards...might you be so kind as to look there?" Wiping his hands on a different cloth, and at being dismissed he was quite glad to leave Chastain with the cleaning up and what he had thought he heard happen with one of the patients.

It had not been Guus' fault. It had been the fault of the ugly tophatted bastard who had sent him in the riggage.
What kind of idiot, he thought as he tried find his way to the sickbay, orders someone who has just been on a ship for a few weeks into the top mast.
Offcourse he damn well understood nobody knew how much experience had, that every man should be able to climb the mast and that he had just been a lazy ass in the eyes of the bosun, but when angry, there is no place for reasoning so he just damned the man a hundred times.

And he damned the ship! Where was the sickbay? He held his hand on his bleeding forehead, and he could feel the warm blood dripping into his hair and onto the floor. Never mind the dozen smaller cuts and broozes on his arms and face. He had to use his left hand to hold his balance, and every time he touched the wall, there would be a little trace of blood from a small cut.
He remembered the sickbay was somewhere in the front, and so he walked there as fast as he could. Which meant a snail could catch up with him.

Leaving a trail of Dutch blood, he entered the sickbay, wondering why there were so many people present. They all ignored him, seemingly all intrested in a central sailor who looked like he had just lost a fortune on the gambling table.
He tried to knock, but it turned out as a bloody punch to the wall, followed by a groan.

Kock had been in his own little universe, thinking about what Gallien was saying and about the disease or whatever it was before him – every now and then feeling as though he should just take his trousers off and check. Paranoia would be the death of him.

There was a loud knock on the door and Kock turned ‘round to see who and what that was about. And there stood a boy bleeding, there mere sight of blood caused Kock to feel sicker than he already felt.

Kock moved over to Gallien, “D-doctor, I think you may have another patient and he seems very cross.”

When Russell had finished talking, he realised that the both boys’ attentions had wandered elsewhere and the only one that was left truly listening to him was Kock. The surgeon offered the cook a seemingly defeated shrug as if the older man would understand exactly what Russell was thinking on the matter before he expressed himself, “oh young boys, so much energy and so little time to play.” He had not yet finished his thoughts when Kock pointed out there was another patient whose head appeared to have been cut open, and squinting allowed Russell to recognise the new arrival as the Dutch boy.

A strange sound emitted from Russell’s throat, in origin it was supposed to be remark made out of surprise but barely formed upon the realisation that the child would hardly understand him. Wiping his hands on the waist of his coat, the tanned man went over immediately and pointed towards his own forehead with a patronising smile across his face as he said very slowly, “Can I see?” He hoped that he would understand in making his injury easier to examine and as Russell patiently waited, he made note of the boy’s bruises and such.

Over his shoulder he asked as if the fact that the boy could not converse in English bored him, “Do you have children, Mr. Kock?” His blue eyes fell on the man briefly, but he did not wait for answer at all, instead he continued rather enthusiastically, “I was reading through my collection of poetry last night after going through my notes and you know what I found? I found works by William Blake! They were published in the late half of the last century. I believe they were against child labour. What do you think of that?”