Preparing to sail

"Thank you, Mister Fletcher. We'll be right up." Crozier felt his face flush, actually flushing like a boy, at being addressed as "doctor' in front of a physician. He would have to have words with the midshipman, and probably everybody else on board. He hoped that at least M'Clure and Bridgens would remember. He looked down as he busied himself with the teapot again. "Well Doctor, shall we go up?"

"We shall, sir, we shall - settle back now, Captain." Stephen gave Padstowe a blanket and warnings that should he damage his shoulder the sorrows of Munster would not compare to his, then followed Crozier and the midshipman through the ship.

Fletcher was rushing eagerly ahead, and Crozier decided to speak his mind. "Doctor Maturin, I'm - Please pay no attention that they call me doctor sometimes. I'm trying to break them of the habit." Never mind that it was as much his fault as anyone's that they had gotten into the habit in the first place. "It started with - well, sailors are easily impressed at times, and they had never seen a trepanning before."

He looked up and grinned as Doctor Maturin hurried through the Marines' messdeck to the aft companionway, obviously heading up to see the Captain.

He couldn't believe that the Doctor had remembered his name.... his, George Thompson's, name. And he was a Marine, not even a sailor, and it had been years ago. He hadn't thought the Doctor knew one Marine from another, even on Surprise, though he knew the sailors well enough. He hadn't had much to do with the Marines, after all, even though he'd pulled a musket ball out of Thompson's hip after one brush with the French.

Be nice if they got the chance to talk, even a little bit, though he couldn't see it happening. And he'd probably want to poke around with Thompson's sprained ankle once he heard about it, as well.

Stephen waved his hand. "Not at all, dear sir - for God's love, if it gives the men more confidence in your ability, I advise you to use every trick that occurs to you. Latin works wonders, to be sure, and if the men derive some comfort from your being addressed as 'doctor' then I shall do the same." He smiled. "A trepanning? It is always an impressive procedure, if successful, and even more so as it must be conducted in close to full view of the foredeck. Have you seen Lavoisier's new trephine? The most charming little instrument, upon my word."

Crozier smiled shyly. "No, I haven't. Lavoisier? I didn't know he made surgical instruments. But - oh, I'm thinking of the wrong Lavoisier, of course. But you perform your surgery in the open? In full view?" Crozier was stunned. "I suppose the light is much better, yes... but don't the men call out and distract you?"

"Not if unless they want to be at the head for the next week," said Stephen with a conspiratorial smile.

[I'm sorry, I know everyone's coming to talk to the captain now, but sadly it's dinner time for the captain's player. I'll be back later, though I'll probably be too late to have any conversation. Apologies again!]

Crozier grinned back at him. "I wonder if I could do that. Perhaps I'll try it some time. But aren't your patients embarrassed to have their surgeries witnessed by all? Many of my patients seem to act as if they're immortal in battle, and then pretend like they're still immortal in the sick bay and don't want anyone to see anything that suggests otherwise. Even their own messmates."

Stephen chuckled. "The only surgeries that I perform in what you might call 'full view' are trepannings, and if the patient is in need of trepanning then they are comatose, and thus not embarrassed at all." He took hold of the rope on the side of the ladder. "Now, as for your own phenomenon, most of the seamen I have observed have been hypochondriacs to the man, and are in love with the idea of being physicked, proudly describing operations in excruciating detail to those unfortunate enough not to witness to injury or the operation itself. Except in cases of the lues venera, which are of course the most common need of attention from the marine medical man. You have a ship of Stoics yourself."

"Maybe I do. Maybe - doctor, I think we'll find the captain this way, on the quarter deck. But this new trephine, does it have a crank or do you turn it by hand?"

"Ah, of course, of course," said Stephen, turning around. "A crank; a small delicate wheel, but exerting remarkable force for its size - a very clean cut."

"Do you prefer that to turning it by hand?"

"There are advantages for and against: by hand the incision tends to be more jagged - especially a consideration when operating at sea - while of course the more mechanical the instrument the greater the steadiness of the cutting. But by hand, if one has the experience, one has more feel of the material beneath the blade. However, having experimented with Lavoisier's new trephine on a cadaver, I believe it is delicate enough to provide an admirable compromise between the two."

Crozier smiled. "I'd like to try that. I usually use a hand-turned, and I like to have my other hand on the patient's head." He noticed with satisfaction that young Fletcher had hurried ahead to take himself out of earshot of their grim conversation. "But can you tell me, if it's not imprudent, what's wrong with Captain Padstowe? I hope he'll be comfortable on our journey. Let me know if you need anything from my - from the ship's dispensary."

"He was robbed, I am afraid - I can tell you no more than that," said Stephen, gentle but firm. "Thank you for the offer, sir, but it is a matter of rest and sufficient food more than anything, I believe; anorexia and obstinacy are an ugly mix."

"He won't eat? I find sometimes..." He stopped, finding himself on the brink of giving advice to a physician. He cleared his throat awkwardly and began again. "I hope our cook will be able to tempt him, then."

"What do you find?" asked Stephen politely.

Raoul leaned on the rail and looked out towards the shore. The ship swung slightly on its two anchors as the tide began to slacken. Soon it would turn, and the Terpsichore would leave the shelter of the Tagus on the ebb flow. The captain and the officers had been courteous, but he had not missed some angry glances at him and his uniform. It was still, he told himself, a safer means of travel than the overland journey. Which reminded him - Noix de Mai was below decks, with Captain Padstowe's mare. He would have to go and see her, make sure that she was comfortable and not distressed at being at sea. He would need to find out where she was...

Crozier mentally swore at himself as he laughed sheepishly. "It's a trick my grandmother employed. I learned it from her. When my grandfather was ill and wouldn't eat, she would cook an onion. The smell would fill the house and it would be enough to make him hungry, and then he would eat whatever she was feeding him, even if it had no onion in it at all." He smiled down at his feet as they walked. "Nothing like what they teach at university, but I've found it to work a few times." As if he knew what they taught at university. Crozier wished that he could keep his mouth shut. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "There's the capitaine."

"It certainly sounds as though it would work - I have always found the smell of frying onions - or, indeed, even imagining the smell - to be a great enhancer of appetite. If there are any aboard I will certainly employ it." Stephen looked up at Raoul and smiled. "I will talk to him after we have spoken to the Captain - unless he should come too?"

"He wanted to speak to the captain too. But maybe he already has. We must wait for the captain to acknowledge us."

It was odd to actively think about the formalities that usually came as second nature, and it was odd to act as guide for a stranger aboard one's own ship. Three strangers, really. Crozier was eager for them all to be comfortable, and he was also eager for the captain to approve of their behavior. He hoped nothing untoward would happen on the voyage. He already felt a bit to blame for the horses, since they belonged to what he considered his guests. He felt awkward about the animosity many of the seamen felt towards the French hussar on their ship - on the very quarterdeck. They would not like that! And he felt awkward for the hussar himself to be on the receiving end of those dirty looks. And Doctor Maturin - he hoped Doctor Maturin would not view him as a complete and utter fool. At least Captain Padstowe would be comfortable and quiet. Probably.

Bridgens came running up the ladder and hurrying across the quarterdeck, skidding to a halt and then standing a respectful distance away as if waiting for the surgeon to notice him, if the noise had not been enough.

"Yes, what is it Bridgens? Oh. Excuse me, doctor, I'm needed below."


[To The sick bay]

Stephen gave a shallow bow. "Of course, dear sir; the Capitaine and I will wait for the Captain here."

Raoul turned when he heard the voices and saw Dr Maturin come onto the deck. He walked impulsively towards him, smiling. "Doctor. We will be weighing the anchor soon - and then the Captain will be free for your to pay your respects, though I have already spoken to him."

He gestured back towards the taff rail. "Here, as you no doubt know, we are out of the way, and can watch while everyone else works."