Using diaries, journals, and correspondences, Druett recounts the daily grind surgeons on nineteenth-century whaling ships faced: the rudimentary tools they used, the treatments they had at their disposal, the sorts of people they encountered in their travels, and the dangers they faced under the harsh conditions of life at sea.
Back in the year 1984, on the picture-poster tropical island of Rarotonga, I literally fell into whaling history when I tumbled into a grave. A great tree had been felled by a recent hurricane, exposing a gravestone that had been hidden for more than one and a half centuries. It was the memorial to a young whaling wife, who had sailed with her husband on the New Bedford ship Harrison in the year 1845. And so my fascination with maritime history was triggered ... resulting in 18 books (so far). The latest—number nineteen—is a biography of a truly extraordinary man, Tupaia, star navigator and creator of amazing art.
rather dry (pun); more scholarly reference than layperson's book. on occasion, intensely gruesome. i found it difficult to follow the individual stories -- maybe it was me? But Druett is wonderful, truly interested in her topic.
my sympathies, as usual, lie somewhat askew: I agree with the Captain who insisted that the surgeon replace the ill hands at their duties: "if the doctor wanted to avoid such labor, then all that was necessary was for him to make sure that none of the crew got sick." it's LOGIC okay.
Full of interesting information, such as that the first clinical trial is thought to have been an experiment on scurvy. Druett quotes lots of primary sources and does a good job of bringing life on board ship to life. However, Island of the Lost is still my favorite of her books.
Lovely volume of marinistic literature. POSTED AT AMAZON 2014 Joan Druett is strongly connected to maritime history and her books are excellent. After reading Island of the Lost: Shipwrecked at the Edge of the World , I decided for "Rough Medicine" and it enchanted me as well as a cornucopia of vast information about men working on decks of whaling tall ships during the end of XVIII, turn and first half of XIX century. Particularly it is researched record of the British and American enterprise in the South-Sea (Pacific) based on accounts from several naval surgeons. As one may expect, these educated, adventurous, ready to observe and write about long voyages they undertook individuals, left vast and interesting material for future generations. "Rough Medicine" covers so many aspects related to sailing ships ('man of war' as well) that it is impossible to list them all: need for surgeons, doctors/pioneers who first described what naval surgeon should carry with him when starting his journey, surgeons education and status, selection of crew, discipline among sailors, illnesses and maladies affecting them, medications and tools for surgery (opium tinctures and ointments, mercury compounds, blood letting and the like), dangerous art of hunting whales and producing oil, relations between numerous tribes of Pacific islands and visitors - just to name a few. If you like to read about tall ships and survival on high seas, this book is highly recommended. PS: I read a 'download', and lack of maps was a bit disappointing.
This took me a while to get into, but after the first couple of chapters, I was riveted, though I never loved this quite as much as Island of the Lost. It's always good to remind yourself how tough people in the past had it, and people who sailed on whaling ships probably had one of the most physically demanding and potentially health-ruining experiences out there. Accidents on board ship were common, while the actual business of killing whales was incredibly treacherous for the men (though obviously not as treacherous as it was for the whales). Druett emphasizes that surgeons who worked on whaling ships did a lot of amputating, usually without any anesthetic apart from a bit of opium or whiskey. And while surgeons had some training, they weren't exactly highly qualified in the way that 21st century doctors are. And of course while modern ideas were starting to take hold, early nineteenth century doctors were still using heroic measures such as purging, bleeding, blistering and cupping as remedies for everything from headaches to syphilis. I suppose a massive blister on the back of the neck would make you forget about your headache and any other ailments for a while.
Funnily enough though, probably what killed many more sailors than anything was malnutrition, specifically the dreaded scurvy. My mother always told me how important it was to eat fruit and vegetables, but I had no idea that without them, scurvy sets in in as little as six weeks, and leads to fatigue, aches, and horribly swollen and blackened limbs. In its more extreme stages, scars will reopen and bones that have been previously broken will re-break, and eventually swelling in the brain will kill the sufferer. All for the want of some vitamin C! I had just finished this book when I was at the supermarket buying groceries, and I guess it was still in my mind, because I came back with a massive bag of tangerines and a whole bunch of green capsicums.
It is both a light read, because it is exceedingly well written, and not, because it is filled with medical esoterica from the 1600s through the 1850s.
I learned some amazing stuff:
Betel nut, areca, and lime paste, while an interesting mix and highly chewable, makes you look as if your moouth is full of blood. And while it starts off helping concentration, it eventually makes you depressed (169)
And the logs discussed describe a Western man getting tattooed. (It was certainly preferable to death and being the main course for the next meal.) (175)
If you think being at sea during the days of sail were romantic and adventurous, read this book. Those illusions will disappear faster than a mermaid in the deep.
This is more a personal history of surgeons on ships than a history of the medicine they practiced while aboard. As I was expecting the latter, I was disappointed.
Very intriguing study of the barber-surgeon position of the British navy. Dapples into the depravity that was 18th-19th century medicine, body-snatching, and whaling.