Sea Change

 Sea Change

Some of the sites mentioned in this novel are real, others, like Santa Rosa, are fictional.

Lest you think I made this all up out of whole sailcloth, gentle reader, there have always been women who went to sea, sometimes going disguised as men. According to Suzanne J. Stark, author of
Female Tars
, there were more than 20
known
cases of women disguised as men in the Royal Navy and Royal Marines from the late 17th to mid-19th centuries. Those are the cases of known women, so the true numbers are no doubt even higher. Some of the women continued to serve aboard ship with zeal and honor after their identities were uncovered, and some died for King and country. There were iron women on those wooden ships.

The medicine practiced in this novel was the medicine of the time. Just as we wince at the idea of bleeding patients, no doubt there will be readers 100 years from now who will read accounts of our medical treatments and wince at the idea of treating disease with radical surgery, poisonous chemicals and radiation.

1814

No one was bleeding or vomiting or oozing, so Charley Alcott decided to take a stroll. There wasn't much room to walk around the deck of a brig in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean but sick call was over, the captain's lady was below taking a rest, and the fresh air was welcome. Charley wandered over to the larboard side of the
Lady Jane
where some of the crew gathered, watching the gunnery practice of their escort frigate, the fifth-rate
Caeneus.

"Afternoon, Doctor," the cook said.

"Are you still using that ointment on your hand, Johnson?"

"Yes, sir. Cleared that problem right up."

"Keep up the treatment then, and see me if you have need."

"Aye, Doctor."

Charley didn't know anything about guns, but the sailors and Mr. Silas Stuart, the mate, seemed impressed with the speed of the "Cannies" at their stations. Naturally, they placed bets on whether the next shot would hit the barrel floating off the starboard bow.

"They're fast, but accuracy counts," Stuart said. "Now, if you want to see real accuracy, watch the Americans. 'Cousin Jonathan' is so skinflint about outfitting ships I suspect the cost of each ball that doesn't hit its mark is deducted from the sailors' pay!"

"Those Yankees cannot stand against our big Navy guns," the cook said with a grin. "When you're going broadside to broadside it ain't accuracy, it's blowin' up as much as you can in as sho--"

His words were cut off by the noise of an explosion aboard the
Caeneus.
Smoke erupted from a gunport, and the yells of the crew could be heard across the water.

"Gun exploded," was the guess of the blacksmith.

"Mr. Stuart, they may need help with the injured. Can you take me over in the boat?" Charley said, watching the frantic activity aboard the frigate.

"Let me hail them, Doctor," the mate said.

He got his speaking trumpet and yelled across the water.

"Ahoy,
Caeneus
! Do you need assistance from our surgeon? Or our carpenter?"

The disaster aboard the frigate had the look of organized effort to Charley's eyes. Men rushed to help and everyone seemed to know what to do. Pumps were manned to put out the fire, and the ship's carpenter gestured at the blackened hole where the neat gunport had been moments earlier. The other naval escorts on this journey to the West Indies were not as near as the
Lady Jane
, and a young officer picked up a trumpet and called back to them.

"Yes, send your doctor over." He consulted with the officer next to him. "Thank you for the offer of the carpenter, but we have that in hand."

Charley ran below to throw together extra bandages and gear. The wounded would have burns and splinters for certain, but direction for other wounds would come from the
Caeneus's
surgeon.

The boat was ready when Charley came back up on deck, passing the satchel to one of the sailors and clambering awkwardly down into the craft. The sailors pulled hard to get over to the frigate as quickly as possible.

"This is Dr. Alcott," one of the
Lady Jane
's men told the officer there to meet them, a midshipman younger than Charley.

"Follow me, Doctor," he said.

The smell of charred wood and hot metal lingered in the air as they made their way to the frigate's cockpit, and a handful of less seriously injured men were arrayed outside the door, waiting their turn. The young officer knocked once, then entered.

"Dr. Murray, I've brought the surgeon from the
Lady Jane
," the midshipman said.

The surgeon was a broad man with powerful shoulders beneath his bloodstained leather apron, his unkempt hair patterned with gray and russet. A spare tourniquet dangled from his coat pocket. He didn't look up from the seaman strapped to the table, his left leg hanging in shreds, the shattered bone clearly visible. The man held a piece of leather clamped between his teeth, tears streaming through the soot and blood on his face.

The middy left to return to his duties, and Murray paused for a moment and looked at Charley.

"I have to tell you, Dr. Murray, that I am not a certified surgeon," Charley said quickly. "I was apprenticed to my physician father, but have not begun my formal studies. The crew on the
Lady Jane
call me doctor because I tend them on this voyage."

"Did you ever assist at an amputation?"

"Yes, a farming accident caused a man to lose his leg. My father performed the surgery and I assisted him."

Murray grunted in approval. "My assistant is down with a flux, so you're the best I've got right now, Mr. Alcott. Do not disappoint me."

"No, sir," Charley said, swallowing. All of a sudden the room felt like it was devoid of air, but Charley stepped closer. The injured man needed help, collapse could come later.

"Spencer, I am ready to begin," Murray said briskly, looking into the face of the weeping seaman. "It will be over quickly."

The instruments were covered with a cloth to keep them from the eyes of the injured, and Murray threw back the cover now and turned to Charley. His lined hazel eyes were intent and Charley felt pinned by their gaze, like a specimen beneath a magnifying glass.

"This is not a theater, Mr. Alcott, nor are you my apprentice. The operation will be done quickly to spare Spencer as much agony as possible, so save any questions until after."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Apply the tourniquet."

Charley took a knife and cut the seaman's trouser leg open, then put the tourniquet on his thigh, positioning the screw and its pad over the large artery and tightening it as quickly as possible while Spencer jerked against the straps binding him to the table. He held the leather in his teeth and his screams were muffled.

"Here we go," Dr. Murray said under his breath in his lowland Scots accent, and then he began. His hands moved almost too quickly for Charley to watch as fresh blood leaked out from beneath the tied-off thigh. He directed Charley to draw the skin back for the flap that would cover the stump.

With saw in hand he hunched over the man, his shoulders bunching as he bore down and cut through the bone, the entire procedure taking less than ten minutes. Fortunately, Spencer passed out and no longer fought against the surgeon's saw, so Murray kept up a quick commentary as he worked, showing Charley where to close and suture the vessels.

The discarded limb thumped to the floor, the sand scattered on the deck absorbing blood to keep the surgeon from slipping in the mess. The heavy copper smell of fresh blood, the stench of urine, and the sweat of the men added to the reek of the small space. Charley noticed none of that, intent on making the most of this opportunity. It was a tragedy for Spencer, but an invaluable experience for a young apprentice from a small village.

Murray told Charley to pinch off a splinter of the bone with the nippers, then showed how to take the cotton bandage, a piece of cloth about two feet long torn halfway up the center, and bind it around the flap of skin and the stump, sealing the end of the damaged leg before the tourniquet was removed.

"Notice that the cut was made well above the wound. While a surgeon should never remove a limb without cause, once you make the decision you do the patient no favor by being too conservative and not allowing the stump to heal properly."

Spencer was carried to a hanging cot in the sick bay and covered well, the braziers in the room warming him so he would not go into shock. His were the worst of the injuries, and the rest of the session in the cockpit was spent removing splinters, treating burns, setting a fractured arm and examining the boatswain's mate, who complained of a ringing in his ears from the exploding gun.

At the end of the day Charley stretched cramped muscles as Dr. Murray put his instruments away and removed his bloody apron. Charley, too, was covered with gore, reddened sand clinging to bloodied clothing.

"I will arrange for a boat to take you back to your vessel, Alcott, but perhaps you would care to join me in a glass of wine first? I have a fine Madeira in my cabin, and if you have any questions about the procedures today I would be glad to discuss them with you."

"Thank you," Charley said, looking forward to a restorative glass of wine, then a good washing aboard
Lady Jane.
Charley followed the
Caeneus's
surgeon to his tiny quarters, a space barely large enough for his cot and a chair.

Murray motioned to the chair and Charley fell into it ungracefully while the doctor poured wine for them both.

"Now then, Alcott," Dr. Murray said after they'd each enjoyed a restorative sip, "would you please explain to me how a woman came to be masquerading as a surgeon?"

"Do not look so surprised. I am a surgeon, and one of the first things we're taught in anatomy class is how to distinguish one sex from the other. I have become quite adept at it over the years."

Charley gripped her glass with fingers that shook and took a fortifying swallow of her wine.

"Are you going to reveal my secret?"

Dr. Murray was difficult for Charley to read, neither old nor young, he could be any age from thirty to sixty. Her fate rested in his hands, and he studied her with interest, his craggy face reflecting curiosity rather than condemnation.

"I would have to say that depends on what you tell me, Miss--it is
miss
, is it not?--Alcott."

"Yes, I am Miss Charlotte Alcott, though on the
Lady Jane
I am known as Charley Alcott. My father was Horatio Alcott of Little Abbot, and I did assist him for many years. I did not lie about that."

"Oh, I have no doubt that you had medical training. I watched you this afternoon and you have some skill. Of course, the idea of a woman being a surgeon is patently ridiculous, so I would like to know what your game is."