Free Powder Monkey by Paul Dowswell Page A

‘mad’ when he meant ‘angry’ and ‘closet’ when he meant ‘cupboard’. But we understood each other well enough. He called the marines ‘lobsterbacks’, and employed words in a way that made me smile. ‘Is there anyone else aboard the ship,’ he’d say, ‘who comes from your neck of the woods?’
    Two weeks into the voyage the pain of my broken tooth became a constant distraction. I could put off a visit to Dr Claybourne no longer. I was reluctant to see him as I was deeply suspicious of medical men. When I was eight I had a sickness which left me weak and dizzy. A doctor friend of the Reverend Chatham came to see me and took me for a walk to the village pond. When I was least expecting it, he pushed me into the water. I dragged myself out, covered in mud and vegetation, and ran home. He followed me back, told my mother to makeme drink a small bottle of gin, and then to rest. I forced the gin down, and my head spun so much when I laid it on my pillow that I was violently sick. The shock, explained the doctor, would do me good. After that I had a high fever for a day, but was up and about by the end of the week. I’m sure I got better despite his attentions.
    Claybourne was actually more pleasant than our first meeting had suggested. He was gruff, but not without an amiable air. His Scottish accent was so broad I had difficulty understanding him.
    He held his surgery every morning on the orlop deck, which was beneath the waterline at the bow of the ship. That day there were just three of us waiting to see him, and I noticed he was sitting with a weary-looking young man who was obviously learning his trade. Claybourne talked to him throughout, barely paying attention to the patients before him. In front of me was one of the main-topmen, whom I gathered was suffering from a hernia.
    Claybourne had him lower his trousers, and began gingerly to feel around his groin. ‘Yes, there’s quite a wee lump there, my man.’
    Then he turned to his apprentice. ‘Ye offen get the topmen coming wi’ hernias from their liftin’ the sails,’ he explained. ‘At port it’s broken heeds and the pox. At sea, hernias and scurvy. Later on, ye’ll ge’ a fair few of them comin’ down here with loose teeth and sores fromthe scurvy. I give ’em more lemon juice t’ top up their ration, and tha’ usually does the trick. But if ye gave ’em more of the juice before they got the scurvy, then – well, they wouldnae ge’ it! But the Captain won’t be swayed. It’s too great an expense, he says, t’ ge’ in more lemons than we’re already issued with. Only a few of the crew seem to ge’ it, he says. So why treat the lot of them? I says, “it’s an easier thing to keep a crew healthy, than it is for me to cure ’em”, but it falls on deaf ears.’
    He produced a sturdy wool and canvas undergarment from among his bags and boxes and spoke to the top-man. ‘Ye’ll wear this, my man. It’s called a truss, and it’ll help support your little problem. I can recommend the smoking of tobacco to take off the tension and provide a laxative. An’ if that doesnae work, ye’ll have to come back an’ have ye intestines filled with tepid water. That seldom fails tae produce a beneficial effect.’
    The fellow scurried away with a tug of the forelock. I wondered if Claybourne had told him the last bit to discourage him from coming again.
    Next up was a forecastleman complaining of vomiting and diarrhoea. He was sent on his way with a dose of blue vitriol which Claybourne quickly fished out of his medicine chest. No sooner had the patient hurried up the ladder than Claybourne turned to his assistant and said, ‘That’ll kill or cure him soon enough.’
    Then it was me. ‘Sit yerself down, laddie.’ I openedmy mouth, and Claybourne poked around with a