Dangerous Waters by Jane Jackson Page B

started.”
    Riffling among the confusion of papers Burley eventually found the sheet he sought and handed it across. “List of victuals for the crew.”
    Jowan scanned it. Bread, beer, beef, pork, pease and oatmeal, all supplied in barrels. Boring perhaps, but adequate.
    â€œThe rum’s kept locked up. Hosking comes to me for the key.”
    â€œRum?” Jowan’s brows climbed. “I thought packets were dry.”
    â€œWe are, officially. But beer and water don’t keep well at sea. I can’t afford to have half the crew off with the squits and unable to work. So once the beer’s run out they get half a pint of rum mixed with a quart of water twice a day. ’Tis a long way to Jamaica, Doctor, through dangerous waters. On the last two trips I lost a quarter of my crew through injuries, battle wounds and fever. Even with the dockyard dregs who’ve signed on to escape the press gangs, I’ll still be shorthanded.” Passing his large hand over a face seamed and roughened by decades of exposure to wind and sun he blew a gusty sigh. “Anyhow, that’s my problem. You’ll have enough of your own.”
    Nothing in Jowan’s previous experience had prepared him for the demands and frustration of the next two days. Neither he nor his assistant, surgeon’s mate Grigg, a wiry seaman in his mid-forties, slept more than four hours a night. There was too much to do.
    Entering the fo’c’sle Jowan recoiled at the stench. Overall the area was thirty feet long and twenty-three feet wide. But parts of it were occupied by the galley caboose, the bosun’s and carpenter’s stores, pump barrels, the foremast trunk, and the crew’s sea chests. In the remaining space twenty-two men had to live, eat and sleep. With no portholes or skylights in the deckhead the only sources of light or fresh air were the open hatches. What this space would be like in rough weather when those hatches were battened down did not bear thinking about.
    Jowan recalled a passage from one of his medical books claiming that disease could be caused by miasma emitted from rotting and decayed matter. That being the case this stinking hellhole was a death trap. For though Providence was fitted with a urinal trough and a seat-of-ease in the angle of the bows beneath the bowsprit, reaching either in heavy seas would be a perilous journey. Jowan’s nose told him that rather than risk being washed overboard, the men preferred to relieve themselves in a disgusting old steep tub in the corner.
    â€œI want that cleaned out, and the bilge pumped and flushed through with sea water.”
    â€œThe ships downwind of us will love that,” Grigg muttered.
    â€œPerhaps it will prompt them to take similar action,” Jowan responded.
    Recognizing ominous signs of rat infestation he had Grigg put down poisoned oatcakes. Then he inspected the barrels containing the crew’s food.
    After nearly seven years’ medical training and practice, few things had the power to turn his stomach. So when he prized the lid off a cask and saw in the stinking slimy liquid a pig’s head with iron rings through its snout surrounded by tails and trotters he flinched briefly but reasoned that the men were used to it. However after inspecting the rest of the barrels and checking the weight and number against the supply bill, he realized there was a discrepancy.
    â€œThat’s right, sir,” Grigg nodded. “Always is.”
    â€œWhy is that?” Jowan suspected he knew the reason. Grigg’s reply confirmed it.
    â€œAgent and chandler’s perks, sir. Instead of supplying sixteen ounces to the pound they gives us fourteen, twelve, or even ten. They sells the difference and splits the profit.”
    â€œOf course I’m aware of it,” Burley said when Jowan confronted him. “And there’s not a damn thing I can do.”
    â€œThen we must buy –