‘A concoction beloved by fakirs and thugees,’ said Dr Sackville.
‘The same,’ said Dr Proudlove. ‘But any medicine might be used and abused. In the same way that we might cloak opium in medical respectability if we call it laudanum, so bhang becomes a reputable part of any pharmacopoeia if we call it tincture of hemp oil or extract of cannabis—’
‘I am well acquainted with the stuff, sir,’ cried Dr Sackville. ‘When I was with the Company in Calcutta it was used regularly by the natives. Not in a medical capacity, I hasten to point out.’
‘No, sir, but—’
‘In fact the stuff was used, as Dr Rennie says, by fakirs and other idolatrous individuals. Mixed with opium, it produced a state of grave intoxication. Might I refer you, sir, to the practice known as the Swinging by Hooks?’
‘I don’t know of it,’ said Dr Proudlove, his expression despairing.
‘A grotesque form of entertainment,’ said Dr Sackville. He seized his lapels in his fists, and his voice boomed out. ‘I witnessed it on several occasions, a very great honour for the participant, but something quite monstrous for a civilised man to behold. The man’s chest was pierced by hooks and he would be swung around in a state of acute pain – and ecstasy, the latter expedited by the great quantity of bhang the fellow had imbibed before the event. Such activities took place as a heathen ritual designed to excite the crowds, many of whom were similarly intoxicated. Have you been to India, sir?’
‘No, sir.’
‘If you had, Dr Proudlove, then I doubt you would be offering such substances.’
Dr Proudlove glanced at me for help, but I looked away. I could not ally myself with him, no matter how much I might agree with his arguments. I needed the fellowship of Cole and Antrobus, and their approval, if I was ever to get to the bottom of Aberlady’s death.
‘But sir,’ said Dr Proudlove. ‘It’s quite evident that opium alone does nothing at all for the patient.’
‘It is the usual approach, Dr Proudlove,’ said Dr Sackville.
‘Then the usual approach is wrong. Can you not see that other races might have something to offer us, that we should at least try—?’
‘I “cannot see it” because what I can see is that the “other races” you refer to are inferior to our own,’ snapped Dr Sackville. ‘“Other races” think the heavens are held up on the back of an elephant, or that having their likeness taken will steal their soul.’ There was a moment’s silence. Before us, with his face yellow and ghastly in the lantern light, the tendons on his neck standing out like wire, his teeth clenched in a grimace, the patient Rintoul arched his back and moaned. Dr Sackville turned to me.
‘And your view, Mr Flockhart?’
‘Dr Cole is quite right, sir,’ I said. ‘Opium is the standard treatment. Just as he was right about the cleanliness of the patient’s hands. Laudanum is indicated in cases such as this.’
‘Quite so,’ snapped Dr Sackville. ‘Laudanum. That is my advice, Dr Proudlove. Pray adhere to it.’
Dr Proudlove threw me a look of disgust as everyone turned away. I saw some of the patients smirking at his disgrace, and I was sorry.
‘There will be another corpse down here by morning if we prescribe nothing but laudanum,’ he hissed at me. ‘And well you know it, Mr Flockhart. I thought you were different to the others, but it seems you are not.’
His face was furious, and I had the feeling that I had insulted more than simply his pride. As we left the ward, out of the corner of my eye I saw him take the tincture of cannabis from his pocket and administer it to the patient via a small funnel and a metal tube forced between Rintoul’s gritted teeth. I was glad to see it, for I would have given the stuff to the poor fellow myself if he had not.
Beside me, Dr Cole grinned as we walked away. ‘Thank you, Flockhart,’ he said in an undertone. ‘You helped me out of a tight spot with old Sackville there and I’m much obliged to you. Look, why don’t you and Quartermain come out for supper with us tonight?’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘We will. Can’t think what Proudlove is doing here anyway,’ I added. ‘I suppose he can’t find work elsewhere, and has to stick it out as a sixpenny surgeon on the waterfront where people don’t care who the sawbones is.’
‘Quite so,’ said Dr Cole.
‘Poor fellow,’ I said.
‘Save your pity,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘Proudlove deserves to be stuck on an old tub like this. But what about us?’
‘It’s almost impossible to get on,’ muttered Cole. ‘Without money, without connections, one simply cannot get a foot on the ladder.’
‘Can’t Dr Sackville help?’ I said. ‘He must have a considerable private practice. Can’t he introduce you to some of his patients?’
‘He says he will help us,’ said Dr Cole. ‘But only if we prove ourselves worthy of his patronage.’
‘Of course.’ I shook each of their hands. ‘Well, gentlemen, let me know if I can help.’
Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus moved off.
‘What are you up to?’ hissed Will as the doctors walked away. ‘I was under the impression that you thought Cole and Antrobus were the worst kind of medical men: arrogant, desperate, competitive, mediocre.’
‘You might keep your voice down,’ I said.
‘And you have seen to it that Dr Proudlove is humiliated in front of them. You gave him the cannabis mixture yourself. You brought it from Fishbait Lane especially, as you knew that chap needed it.’
‘Yes, and it will make the patient better.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
I took Will’s arm and turned him aside. ‘It would hardly help us if we allied ourselves with a man who is so clearly an outsider. I’m afraid we must use Dr Proudlove to enter the little club that comprises Antrobus, Cole and Sackville. It is they who interest me, Will. Dr Proudlove seems to me to be an unfortunate victim of prejudice and resentment. He’s by far the best doctor and most intelligent man on board this ship. But showing the others to be the narrow-minded fools they are will do nothing to bring us closer to solving this problem, nothing to show us who drove Aberlady to his death or murdered Mary Mercer and the others. It will simply serve to ostracise us. And how might that work to our advantage? We are here on the Blood for a short time, Will. We must use that time strategically.’
‘Then perhaps you might at least explain yourself to Dr Proudlove. He trusted you—’
‘I can’t.’
‘Jem!’
‘No! Can’t you see, Will? You were right when you said we can trust no one. No one. We’ve one chance to move forward. Our actions must seem to be real and sincere. If I seem to be rude, Proudlove must think that I am rude. But he’s an intelligent chap. If he is all he seems then he’ll understand – in the end.’
I took Mrs Speedicut to one side. She was no stranger to my methods and she would follow my instructions – keeping the man as comfortable as possible, changing the salve on his hands first thing in the morning and dosing him with cannabis tincture hourly. I told her to pay attention to what Dr Proudlove did, and to help him as he wished. Any decline in the patient’s condition was to be reported to me instantly.
After that, I followed Dr Sackville, Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus upstairs. Dr Rennie disappeared into the bowels of the ship. It was only afterwards that I noticed Will had gone with him.
‘Antrobus and I are off to the Brass Bell on Spyglass Lane this evening,’ said Dr Cole. ‘About seven o’clock? Perhaps to the supper rooms on Cable Street afterwards. Would you care to join us?’
Dr Antrobus looked cross, as though he wished Dr Cole had not made the invitation, though when he spoke his words were friendly enough. ‘Why don’t you meet us there, Mr Flockhart? Assuming you can prise Mr Quartermain away from Dr Rennie.’
I heard their laughter as they vanished over the side of the ship. I had no idea where they were going. For a moment, I wondered whether I should follow them, but I had too many things to do on board, and I watched them disappear int
o the narrow streets that lead away from the river.
After that, the deck was quiet, though around us the noise from the docks was a constant clamour. I let it wash over me – the shouting of men, the clack and clatter of carts and wagons, the roar of wheels turning, of gears grinding; the squeak and clack of block and tackle, the clang of bells. I had always felt comfortable at the waterfront; everything was brighter, louder and busier, filled with the exotic and extraordinary. Even now, as I looked out from the Blood, I saw a man outside a lodging house carrying a pair of lime green parrots in a cage, while beside him a monkey in a purple hat and jacket jumped up and down on a white-painted barrel. Further along were a group of men in blue sailors’ jackets and red neckerchiefs. Faces were pale, or black, or brown, or yellow. Some were stained or scarred, others disfigured, blighted by disease or inked with tattoos.
From my vantage point at the side of the Blood I saw Miss Proudlove in the door to the Seaman’s Dispensary. I thought of how I had allowed Dr Proudlove to be humiliated in front of the Great Sackville and I felt sorry. Of course, part of me wished I could have said what I really thought, that Dr Proudlove was right, that the man Rintoul would die if we did not try something new; that tincture of cannabis was a most efficacious treatment, and that Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus knew nothing. I would have loved to show all of them how clever I was, to have demonstrated my superior knowledge of plants as medicine, of the human body and the nature of disease.
At that moment, the door to the consultant’s sitting room opened. Dr Sackville stood on the threshold.
‘Sir,’ I stepped forward. ‘Might I speak with you for a few moments?’ I caught a movement in the shadows beneath the gantry where the convalescents swung gently in their hammocks, and I saw Dr Proudlove standing listening. I was not sure how he had got there as I had not seen him come up the main hatch. No doubt the old ship was riddled with passages and stairs. I hoped he would eavesdrop, and hear what I had to say. I assumed he probably would.
‘Dr Sackville,’ I said, as the sitting room door closed behind us. ‘You were wrong to condemn Dr Proudlove. I said nothing at the time as I didn’t want to contradict you in front of men who look up to you, but as you know opium will do nothing to help the man downstairs. The use of cannabis as an antispasmodic has been used in India for some time. Dr Proudlove was quite right.’
He blinked. ‘Was he?’
‘Oh yes. It’s in O’Shaughnessy’s Bengal Pharmacopoeia,’ I said. ‘A most comprehensive dispensatory.’
‘What? Oh . . . yes, yes, of course,’ said Dr Sackville gruffly. ‘To be sure. The Bengal Pharmacopoeia, Mr Flockhart. You are quite right.’
‘A recent work, but one of great significance. O’Shaughnessy writes comprehensively on the uses of Indian hemp in cases of seizure and paralysis. Especially as you yourself have spent time in India, I was in no doubt that you would know of it—’
‘Quite so, Flockhart. Seizure and paralysis.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And yet neither Cole nor Antrobus had read the piece.’
‘Indeed, sir, though they are both capable men.’
‘Capable of reading the Bengal Pharmacopoeia, at any rate,’ said Dr Sackville crossly. ‘Should they have the wit to look in it.’ He turned to me. ‘And you?’
‘I merely did as you did, sir, and pretended the cannabis was not to be trusted. Under the circumstances it seemed the wisest course of action—’
‘The circumstances?’
‘Of having one such as Dr Proudlove shown to be right, whilst two young gentlemen under your patronage are demonstrably wrong. In front of the patients, sir. Reputation matters less for Dr Proudlove, of course. I was more than happy to follow your lead in pretending he was wrong. The confidence of the patients in their doctors is essential for morale, and for the reputation of the ship, of course. The Blood is lucky to have a man of your standing amongst her staff,’ I added. ‘Such discretion and wisdom combined is a rare commodity. I just wanted to step in, sir, and compliment you on your choice of action this evening. I’m sure Dr Proudlove understands, and I have instructed the matron to follow his – and your – lead in continuing to administer the cannabis.’ I thought for a moment that I had gone too far, for even one so arrogant as Dr Sackville would surely notice such arrant flattery, but it seemed I was wrong. He waved a hand, his expression pleased.
‘Thank you, Mr Flockhart,’ he said, sitting back in his chair.
‘You are very generous to us younger men, sir.’
‘Ah,’ said Dr Sackville. ‘But you see I entered the profession of medicine with no connections to draw upon, no money, and no patronage. Rather like Cole and Antrobus, and indeed like Proudlove. I was lucky enough to attract the attention of John Hunter, the most famous surgeon and anatomist of the age. The association was the making of me.’ He sat back, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he reminisced. ‘Dr Rennie was there too. He was also one of Hunter’s demonstrators – there are only the two of us left now.’ He smiled. ‘Two old, old men. He and I have known each other for a long time. And when the Blood was chosen as the hospital ship, and I discovered Dr Rennie was still aboard, it was the obvious place for me to offer my services.’
‘And you knew Hunter?’ I said. We had all heard of the great Scottish anatomist who had shown us more about the workings of the human body than either Vesalius or Galen, and I ensured my voice was filled with awe.
‘Hunter was an old man by the time I knew him,’ he replied. ‘But his desire to know more about life never diminished. Even in his final years he was adding to his collections, writing up his findings. All of us fell under his spell. All of us knew the value of dissection for understanding how the human body worked. What he also showed us was the value of trying a new approach – when fully informed by the praxis of anatomy, of course. But to pioneer an approach, a procedure that might turn orthodoxy on its head, that is what we all dream of. Take lithotomy—’
‘Bladder stones?’
‘I have had them myself, and have had cause to bless John Hunter, and Dr Rennie, for it was he who performed the operation. Before Hunter the perineum itself was cut, with surgeons often rooting for hours trying to seize the stone. Hunter demonstrated that by slicing an inch or two to the right, then the procedure took only moments. The results spoke for themselves – an operation that was ten times faster, patients ten times more likely to survive. Ten times more patients, all with their sovereigns in their hands. All thanks to the slightest of modifications. I am not John Hunter, Mr Flockhart – who of us is? But might we not strive to know more?’
‘Any medical man worth his salt should think so,’ I replied. ‘But what of the Blood, sir? There are more reputable hospitals in which to work.’
Dr Sackville shook his head. ‘Those places are not where the future lies,’ he said. ‘Your new St Saviour’s over the river might be bigger and better, but its patients suffer from the same ailments as ever. No, sir, it is here, where London meets the world, that our greatest achievements are yet to be made. Mr Aberlady knew that too, which was why he chose to stay.’
He stood up, and went over to the window to peer out across the river. Outside, the masts of a thousand ships bristled. The river was thick with them, every tide bringing more and taking others away.
‘From these shores a great mercantile nation has taken over the world. And yet we die wherever we go. Malaria, yellow fever, sleeping sickness, cholera, the bites of spiders and snakes, worms and ticks and parasites of the most repulsive kind ravage us. How might we make progress if we are held back by disease? How might civilisation spread if nature is not defeated? Well, sir, from this little wooden ship great things will be forthcoming. London is the gateway to the world – ships from every corner of the globe find their way here. And with them come every possible disease – we have seen them all.’
‘All, sir?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Oh yes, Mr Flockhart.’
I stayed silent.
‘I am a materialist, sir. Doe
s that surprise you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you one?’
‘Why, yes I am,’ I said, sensing that this was the answer that was required. And yet it was not a lie, for since my father died any belief I had once entertained that there might be a just and kindly God had vanished. The world was a brutal and ugly place, and humanity crawled about its surface like ants on a dung hill. If such cruelty and inequality was God’s plan for us, then I wanted nothing to do with him. If Dr Sackville wanted me to deny God’s very existence, then I would do so if it might help to discover what had happened to John Aberlady, and the three dead girls of Tulip’s Basin.
‘Physical matter is all there is,’ I said. ‘There is no spiritual existence, the world is made up of nothing but matter functioning in subjection to natural laws.’
Dr Sackville nodded. ‘It is not a common view. Not yet, at any rate. I fear Proudlove has yet to fully embrace it.’ He regarded me for a moment, and then took out his pocket book and held out a card. ‘Come to my house tomorrow, Flockhart,’ he said. ‘Seven o’clock sharp. There will be others there who see the world as we do. The address is there.’ He waved a hand. I was dismissed. ‘Oh,’ he said, as I turned to go, ‘and if Dr Proudlove is out there – he’s invariably creeping about the place somewhere – please ask him to step inside.’
When she is dead, Erasmus comes home. He takes me away from the house near Kennington Lane, and we never talk of our mother, or our gentleman father, ever again. We do not talk of our pasts either – not mine as a courtesan, not his as the butt of ridicule and torment, a black man striving for a place in a white man’s world. We are to look forward, he says, not back. He brings with him his medical degree, and his ambition. I bring my resentment, and my knowledge of the ailments of whores and the desires of men. Mr Aberlady and Dr Rennie support my brother’s application to be assistant surgeon on board the floating hospital, and he and I go to live above the Seaman’s Dispensary. He works hard. I know he wants to be taken seriously as a medical man, and his ambitions stretch far beyond the dingy lanes and streets of the waterfront, the stinking wards of the Blood and the roomful of dirty seamen he sees every day at the dispensary. He is as good as any of them, he says, any of them on board the Blood, even Dr Sackville. In fact, he is better, why might he not get on, as much as they? There have been others with lowly origins who have done so – ‘Look at John Hunter,’ he says. ‘Michael Faraday. Dr Simpson of Edinburgh—’
The Blood: What secrets lie aboard? (Jem Flockhart Book 3) Page 18
