beings--depends primarily upon the natural salubrity of the region in
which it is located and the extent to which it is isolated from those
living under less favourable conditions. A city may be very healthy
naturally, but if its inhabitants are subject to a constant influx
of more or less infected transients from less healthy places its own
standard must inevitably be lowered. Under normal conditions, a modern
warship--either in port or at sea--is one of the healthiest places
in the world, and such sickness as prevails there is almost always
contracted ashore and carried--and often spread--aboard.
"With a Fleet that has its base near a large city, so that the men are
in more or less constant contact with those ashore, the health of the
former will very largely depend upon the extent to which that contact
can be controlled. Between dock-hands, etc., coming aboard and the
sailors going ashore, it is difficult under such circumstances to keep
the men afloat much healthier than those on the land. It is only when
there is comparatively complete isolation from large cities that it is
possible to take full advantage of the ideal conditions for maintaining
physical healthfulness at sea, and such conditions exist at the Northern
Base to a degree never before equalled in Naval history. Our success
here is merely the consequence of making the most of those unique
conditions.
"On the score of bodily healthfulness, life as lived in the Grand Fleet
has more favouring conditions, and fewer unfavouring ones, than that
possible at any other point at which a considerable fleet has ever had
its base. Indeed, I could go farther than that, and say that never has
a large number of men, either afloat or ashore, had such an opportunity
to maintain so high a standard of physical health. In the first place,
wet, cold, and stormy though it is for much of the year, the climate is
a salubrious and invigorating one for the physically sound man that the
sailor must be before he finds his way into the Navy at all. Even ashore
the population is notably robust.
"In the next place, the anchorage is isolated, but not too isolated. It
strikes almost the ideal mean on this score. In the ordinary routine,
there is practically no contact whatever between those afloat and the
people ashore. If the men land at all it will be for a game of football,
a cross-country run, road work or something of the sort, in the course
of which nothing whatever is seen of the resident population. It is not
practicable to give the men a long enough shore leave to allow them
to visit a neighbouring town, where one sees rather less navy blue as
a rule than in many an inland town in England. The steward doing his
marketing is about the only regular human link between a ship and the
land, and his contact with those on shore is not of a character likely
to be dangerous. This leaves the fresh drafts and the men returning from
leave as almost the only possible carriers of new infection. How those
are looked after I will explain presently.
"Much more complete isolation than this is, of course, effected when a
cruiser or a fleet of cruisers goes on an extended voyage or patrol, but
in such a case the freedom from contact with shore is offset by the more
arduous conditions of life, especially in the matter of diet. The great
thing about the situation of Scapa is that its unique position makes
it possible to eliminate most of the rigors of sea life without being
exposed to the health dangers of harbour life. A ship here can be just
as well victualled as at Portsmouth, so far as the men are concerned,
while letters and newspapers six times a week are ample service on that
score. As I have said, the conditions for keeping mind and body at their
best are ideal, and give us a unique opportunity for establishing new
health records for the Navy.
"Of the two main channels by which disease could come to us from the
outside--returning leave men and new drafts--the latter is the more
dangerous, and therefore the one the more closely watched. Generally
speaking, the men get leave about every nine months, this more or less
roughly coinciding with a period in which the ship is in dock for
repairs. If during a man's leave there is a case of any infectious or
contagious disease in the house where he has stayed, or if he has reason
to believe that he may have been exposed to infection or contagion
elsewhere, he is ordered to report that fact immediately upon his return
to the ship, when we take such precautions as the circumstances seem
to warrant to prevent trouble. His clothes are disinfected, and he is
ordered to report for examination over a period of days varying with the
disease to which there was risk of his having been exposed. This enables
us to isolate him (should it be necessary) before he is in a condition
in which he could pass on the disease to others. A useful check which
we have upon a man who might neglect to report his possible exposure
to disease during his leave is the law which requires medical officers
in all parts of Great Britain to ascertain if any soldier or sailor
on leave is living in any house where there is a case of infectious
disease, and to report this fact to the proper authorities. In this way
it may be that we learn a man has been exposed even before he returns to
the ship.
"New drafts are watched equally closely. Some time before a man's
arrival a health sheet is sent to me on which is indicated any disease
which he may have had during his period of service, together with
information as to whether or not he may have been exposed to anything
infectious in the interval immediately before he is sent to us. Any
treatment for minor chronic ailments which may be in progress is
continued in the ship. A general disinfection of kit and a daily
reporting for twenty-one days for examination makes it practically
impossible for a new rating to bring disease to the Ship's Company.
"The greatest obstacle to the preservation of perfect health in the men
on a warship is the unavoidable necessity of having them sleep close
together in comparatively confined spaces. This ship, from the fact that
she was originally designed for a foreign Power, is worse off than most
modern battleships on that score, and, everything else equal, would be
more difficult to keep the men in health in than in any of the others.
This is one of the reasons why I am so gratified by our showing of the
past week. Sleeping in hammocks in itself is not unhealthy--quite the
contrary, in fact--but the danger lies in the chance an infectious
disease has to spread among so many men lying almost side by side and
head to feet. Thorough ventilation is the best preventive of disease
under the circumstances; this has been provided by fans.
"The one thing dreaded above all others on a warship is cerebro-spinal
meningitis, both on account of its unavoidably high rate of mortality
and the difficulty of preventing its spread under the limiting
conditions. Luckily, we have had practically none of it up here. In the
event of the appearance of a case of any infectious disease, the man
is isolated, the men of his mess are put under observation, and all of
their clothes are disinfected. As soon as possible the case is removed
to one of the hospital ships which are always here. The restricted
sleeping quarters occasionally are responsible for the quick spread of
a bad cold, but the fresh air, free from germs, makes anything like an
epidemic of influenza almost out of the question in the Grand Fleet.
German measles has been rather a nuisance once or twice; in fact, we
have seen rather more of it than we have of the German Fleet. If the
latter is as easily disposed of as the former, however, we shall have
little to complain of."
Of the progressiveness and general up-to-dateness of the Royal Navy
Medical Service, I had already heard from a number of sources (I
remember in particular how Madame Carrel had told me that the British
Admiralty had adopted the remarkable "irrigation" treatment, discovered
and perfected by her distinguished husband, long before any French
military hospital would even consider it), so I was quite prepared to
find every ship in the Grand Fleet amply provided to handle "action
eventualities."
The problems of a hospital on a warship are quite different from those
of even an advanced hospital at the Front. The latter has a fluctuating
but more or less unbroken stream of casualties to handle, with sometimes
weeks of warning when defensive or offensive action will make unusual
demands. A battleship may easily be lying quietly at anchor in the
morning and be joined in a death-grapple in the evening. Her surgeons
may have spent a year with nothing more to keep their hands in than
reducing sprains and stitching up cuts, and then a hundred casualties
may drop out of the sky in the wake of a single enemy salvo. For them,
it rarely rains but it pours, though it may be a long time between the
storms.
The usual practice is for a warship to have a small permanent sick
bay and hospital capable of coping with routine exigencies, and
to supplement these during and after action by converting certain
favourably located parts of the ship--always below the water-line
if possible--into action dressing-stations. The equipment of these
latter--operating tables, beds, lights, etc.--is all made on collapsible
lines and kept stored close at hand. The battleship whose remarkable
health record I am writing about, takes especial pride in the fact that
it has two action dressing-stations, permanently equipped and ready for
use at a moment's notice.
The men in the various turrets and casemates, as well as in all other
parts of the ship where casualties are likely to occur in action,
are trained to give first aid and carry their wounded to the nearest
dressing-station. For the latter purpose a specially designed stretcher
is used, so constructed that the wounded men, strapped in securely, can
be carried at any angle with a minimum of discomfort. The stretcher at
present in use in the British Navy is of Japanese manufacture. It is
made almost entirely of canvas and strips of bamboo, the two materials
which experience has shown are the best combination on the score of
lightness and strength.
As soon as possible after an action the badly wounded are transferred
to a base hospital ship, whence, as soon as they are able to stand the
voyage, they are sent in a carrier ship to one of the big R.N.M.S.
hospitals.
The superlative care which has been taken of the bodily health of the
men of the Grand Fleet has been one of the main, if not _the_ main
factor in contributing to the healthiness of mind and the keenness of
spirit which have made it possible for them to "stick out" their long
vigil in the northern seas.
ECONOMY IN THE GRAND FLEET
The wind had been whistling raw and cold through the foretop, from where
I had been watching the night target practice, and my appetite was
whetted to a razor edge by the time the game was over and the ship was
again at anchor.
"I'm as hungry as a shark myself," said the Gunnery Commander, "but
never mind, we'll have a good snack of supper just as soon as we climb
down and get out of these Arctic togs."
Five minutes later, the first of a dozen officers who stamped in as fast
as their duties were over, we were seated at one of the wardroom tables.
"Would you rather have ham or sardine sandwiches?" some one asked.
"Both!" I unblushingly replied, "unless the sardines are as large as
whales."
A waiter came hurrying through the door in answer to the ring, buttoning
his coat as though he had been surprised by an unexpected summons. "A
couple of plates of ham and sardine sandwiches and beer all round," was
the laconic but comprehensive order.
The old "Marine" smiled deprecatingly, as one who has unpleasant news to
impart. "Sorry, sir," he said, addressing the Commander, "but the day's
bread was finished at dinner, sir, an' the 'am we 'ad for breakfast was
all we can 'ave to-day, sir."
And then the wonderful thing happened. I had expected the howl of a
Roman stage mob to greet the disappointing announcement, but it was only
the Commander's voice that was heard, speaking quietly as he rose from
the table. "Very well, Jenkins," he said; "bring us some hot cocoa in
the smoking-room. A good hot drink's the best thing for a night like
this anyway."
Over steaming cups of the most nutritious and sustaining of drinks, the
Commander told me, quite briefly and casually, something of what had
been done in his ship (which was thoroughly typical of the other units
of the Grand Fleet) to cut down the unnecessary consumption of food.
"The old idea," he said, "that a fighting man ought to be stuffed like a
prize steer was discredited by experience long ago, but it took the war
to jar us into putting that experience (like so many other things) into
practice. Any man living a non-sedentary life will make a very brave
attempt to eat all the food that is put before him, but that by no means
proves that he needs it. If he is working hard enough in the open air
the surplus over his normal requirement doesn't do him any harm, and so
there wasn't much point in keeping it away from him as long as there was
food to waste all over the world. But when the world's surplus began to
be turned into a deficit by the war, the opportunity arose to kill two
birds with one stone--to save food and to improve the health of the men.
I am glad to say that we have been able to do both, and that, moreover,
with the hearty concurrence of every one concerned, both officers and
men. It's the same kind of thing that could be done with the civil
population if only they were subject to the same control as the Navy.
Perhaps, if an adequate rationing scheme can be devised, this will be
accomplished.
"Generally speaking," he continued, "we have left the Navy ration just
about as it was before the war, with the exception of those staples in
which there is the worst shortage--bread, meat, and potatoes. The latter
could be relaxed now if we desired, as there is ample supply in sight;
but--to save transport and because we are better off anyhow on our
present ration--even that item will probably remain as it is. Indeed,
great as the actual food-saving has been, a still more important benefit
has been that to our health. There are several factors contributing to
the fact that the personnel of the Grand Fleet has incomparably the
highest standard of health ever maintained in so large a body of men,
and I am quite positive that by no means the least of these is the check
that has been put on overeating by our food-saving measures. Again, I
am sure that the civil population would be equally benefited by similar
restriction."
This incident occurred on the occasion of my first visit to the Grand
Fleet in the late fall of last year, but it was not until my return
nearly two months later that I had opportunity to gather anything
further of the details of food economy. Then I learned that a strict
rationing was only the first part of a scheme of which the second
was a waste prevention campaign. Bread and meat were both further
restricted, but to the improvement rather than the detriment of the
already high health standard of the Fleet. The bread now served consists
of one-eighth potato, one-sixth barley meal, and the remainder--but
slightly more than two-thirds--of "standard" flour, which itself
contains a high percentage of the whole wheat. The Fleet Paymaster of my
ship, who outlined the scheme to me, said that the idea was to reduce
waste to a minimum, both "coming" and "going." "We aim to put no more
food on the tables of either the officers or men than they will eat up
clean. 'Jack Spratt' and his wife are our models. We try to see that the
'platter' is 'licked clean.' But we don't stop there by any means. 'Jack
Spratt,' so far as we have any information, must have thrown away the
bones, even if he and the missus did lick the platter. We not only save
the bones, but even go so far as to skim the grease off the dish-water
the platter is washed in. If you'll run over this report here you'll
understand the 'fade-away' expression on the faces of the gulls that
used to fatten on the waste of the Grand Fleet. It is merely a tabulated
summary of a week's saving of the things which used to go down the
chutes for the birds and the fishes."
There were numbers running to four and five figures in the table,
most of them referring to the pounds of various refuse which had been
collected and shipped for conversion into glycerine and other useful
and valuable products. Without giving figures which might be "useful or
heartening to the enemy," I will probably be permitted to state that the
various headings were the following: Drippings, Fat Meat, Bones, Waste
Paper, Bottles and Jars, Discarded Clothing, Lead Seals, Mail Bags and
Tins. Several of the items would have run to substantial figures even in
tons, and the money received for them at even the nominal prices paid by
the contractor aggregated many thousands of pounds.
"You will now understand," continued the Fleet Paymaster, "just how it
made us feel when we read in a London paper a few days ago a statement
to the effect that _if_ the Navy had gone in for waste-saving in
the same way the Army had, a certain total would have been greatly
increased. Since we've been going into this sort of thing heart and
soul for more than a year, and since it is far easier to check waste
on a ship (where you have absolute control of all the in-comings and
out-goings) than on land, you can imagine that reading that sort of
'tosh' makes us feel--well, about as we do when we try to digest the
wisdom of the 'Naval Strategic Writers' of the type that want to put
the Grand Fleet on wheels and send it to Berlin." Glancing quickly
through the figures under the headings opposite the various ships of
our squadron I noticed at once that there were considerable variations
in their savings, and, knowing that the number of men did not vary
materially on any of them, I asked the reason why the Flagship, for
instance, with less than half the weight of "Bones" to her credit than
"Ourself," was still able to put by something like 50 per cent. more
"Drippings."
"It will probably be because we haven't yet 'standardized' our methods
throughout the Fleet," replied the Paymaster; "because different ships
may have different ways of going about the job. Of these particular
items you have mentioned, perhaps we can find out something by talking
to Mr. C----, the Warrant Officer who has charge of the collection of
by-products."
Mr. C----, who was plainly an enthusiast, launched into the subject with
eagerness.
"I've been intending to explain that matter of the drippings to you,
sir," he said, addressing the Fleet Paymaster, "for the figures
certainly have the look of not doing us justice. Fact is, though, that
the only reason we've run behind the Flagship on this count is because I
have been encouraging the messes to carry food-saving one stage farther
by using the clean grease--the skimmings from their soup and the water
their meat is boiled in--instead of margarine. With a little pepper
and salt, most of them like it better even than butter, and of course
they can use it much more free. And since dripping is worth much more
for food than it ever can be to make up into soap or explosives, I
figure I'm on the right track, even if it does give the _Lucifer_ and
the _Mephistopheles_ a chance to head us in the 'grease' column. I must
admit though, sir, that they've both been gaining a few pounds of second
quality stuff by rigging 'traps'--settling tubs at the bottoms of their
chutes--in which they catch any grease that has got away from them in
the galley. I'll be beating them at that game before long, though, for
I'm putting in settling tubs at both top and bottom, with a strainer in
between.
"As for the 'Bones,'" he went on, turning to me, "that's largely
'personality.' 'Boney Joe,' my chief assistant, is perhaps more largely
responsible than any one else for the fact that we are not only the
champion 'bone-collecting' ship of the squadron, but also head the list
with 'Bottles and Jars' and 'Empty Tins.' With 'Waste Paper' there's no
use competing with the Flagships, for they come in for an even heavier
bombardment of that kind of stuff from the Admiralty than we do; and
as for 'Discarded Clothing,' I feel that a place at the bottom of the
column would be more likely to indicate economical management than one
at the top. But the things that represent a sheer saving, the things
that used to be thrown away right along--they're what it's worth while
piling up by every means we can, and they're the ones I want to keep
heading the columns with. And, as I said before, 'Boney Joe' is the
main feature of the show on this score. If you like, I will arrange it
so that you can do his morning round with him to-morrow."
I accepted the offer with alacrity, for I had heard, or heard of, "Boney
Joe" on several occasions already, but without once getting my eyes
on him. The first time was when, in order to avoid a howling blizzard
which was raging outside, I endeavoured to make my way forward to the
ladders leading up to my cabin under the bridge by threading the mazes
of the mess deck. Bent almost double to keep from butting the low swung
hammocks, I tripped the more easily over a box of empty tins, and fell
with one arm sousing elbow-deep into what proved to be a tub of "frozen"
grease. Surveying the draggled cuff of my jacket in the morning, my
servant pronounced his verdict without a moment's hesitation.
"Tumblin' into 'Boney Joe's' pickin's last night, sir, was you?" he said
with a grin; "we's allus doin' it oursel's."
On a number of other occasions certain sirenical notes which came
floating up to my cabin from the mess deck were variously ascribed to
"'Boney Joe' doin' 'is rounds," "'Boney Joe' cadgin' for grease," and
"Boney Joe singin' 'is 'Mornin' 'Ate.'" I had several pictures of "Boney
Joe" in my mind, but not one of them came near to fitting the handsome,
strongly built and thoroughly sailorly man-o'-war's-man whom Mr. C----
introduced to me as the bearer of that storied name on the following
morning. Only a sort of scallawag twinkle in his eye revealed him as a
man who liked his little joke.
"If you don't mind, sir," he said, saluting, "we'll clean up these last
two flats, an' then we'll be clear to push along up to my 'bonatorium'
an' have a bit o' a yarn."
Working with neatness and dispatch, "Joe" and his half-dozen assistants
made rapid progress with their clean-up. "Pick-uppy" as the job was,
everything was really in admirable order. Bones, papers, tins, bottles
and grease--each had its separate receptacle. The grease was already
hardening in large cans: the other refuse was in boxes or tubs. In each
mess was one small tub with a few sad bits of assorted food in the
bottom. Unable to classify this, I asked "Joe" what orphan asylum these
crumbs were intended for.
"Not for no orphan 'sylum, sir," he replied with an appreciative grin;
"only for the piggery. We don't keep no pigs oursel's, sir, but the
A'miral on the 'X. Y. Z.' does, an' we all 'elps wi' wot we kin spare.
They sends round a drifter tu pick up the leavin's ev'ry day or two, but
Lor' bless yu', ther' ain't no leavin's since we got our by-producks
macheen a-workin'. If the rest o' the ships don't dish out no more pig
feed an' what we does, the 'X. Y. Z.'s' live stock'll be gettin' so thin
they'll blow away one o' these days. This ain't really no place fer pigs
and gulls no more, sir."
Considerable as the accumulation was, it was loosely sacked in a few
minutes, after which it was carried forward to the hold where the
repacking for shipment was carried on. This consisted largely of
protecting the bottles with straw, forcing small tins inside of large
ones, pouring the grease into larger cans and putting the bones into
stronger sacks. "Joe" said that he called the place his "bonatorium"
partly because bones formed the largest and most valuable item of
shipment, but principally because they were his "favrut produck,"
the one he took the most pride in collecting. Even the few days'
accumulation of refuse on hand was of huge bulk. I saw at once how
important a work was being carried on, and had no envy for the pig or
the gull whose lot it was to live on what is now thrown away by the
Grand Fleet.
Mr. C---- was called away at this juncture, and, left cock of his own
dunghill, "Boney Joe" became at once his own natural self. The sailorly
man-o'-war's-man disappeared in an instant, and only one of the drollest
characters in the British Navy remained behind.