Staff Blog Posts

An early contribution to the staff blog at OHSU Library in July 2010

TAPPING THE ADMIRAL

Inspired by a recent look at the book “Nelson and his Surgeons”, today’s foray into medical history will take us into the Royal Navy for a look at the trials and tribulations of Lord Horatio Nelson (1758-1805), whose statue in London now commemorates the victory of Trafalgar over Napoleon. Although he was always conscientious about the health of his men, and made sure to acquire good medical personnel for them, his own preference was to NEVER consult a physician. This is perhaps understandable when one considers that he suffered from almost every illness known to sailors, and underwent more medical operations than any other flag officer, which meant the attentions of 25 different doctors. His career is one of those which show the triumph of Will over the weakness of the flesh.

As a child Nelson was considered a sickly little thing. Bereft at an early age of his mother, he managed to get a post as a sailor with the help of an uncle, though even the uncle wondered why he wanted to go to sea rather than his stronger brother. Nonetheless, Nelson began a career in the Navy c.1770 and promptly began getting sick with repeated bouts of fever (which was probably malaria, but hadn’t gotten that moniker yet). Within a few years (1775) he was invalided home because of it. A couple years later in the West Indies he mistakenly ate what looked like little apples but turned out to manchineel, (or as the Spanish called it “the little apple OF DEATH”) and got severe food poisoning. Next, a catastrophic attack of yellow fever wiped out almost his entire crew at San Juan , Puerto Rico ( only 10 out of 200+ survived) and he was sent home again to R&R. Next, he temporarily lost the use of the limbs on his left side (1781); had an attack of scurvy(1782) ; a TB scare (1784); and a total mental and physical breakdown (1786). The latter convinced him that he was going to die, and wanting to be buried at home, began shipping a special big cask of rum in which to preserve his body ( he was NOT the first person to think of it). He did this for the rest of his career. After five years of semi-retirement he was back in harness once again, and his health continued to suffer. More fever off Corsica (1794); heart pains (1796); a bad influenza attack at the Battle of the Nile (1798); at Malta his internal distress made him feel his career was over (1800); and yet more heart trouble (1801). By the time of his death he was reported to be looking very ill and decidedly un-heroic looking. Also by then in his correspondence he routinely referred to himself as a “carcass”. And all this didn’t even include any of his wounds!

On the island of Corsica he was hurt twice the same year (1794), being slightly wounded at the siege of Bastia (April) and lost the use of an eye at Calvi (July). Interestingly, he found a way to make that work for him in Denmark. When he began to shell the Danish capital of Copenhagen (1801) an aide told him that the Admiral of the Fleet was signaling him to stop. Putting the looking glass to his dead eye he was able to say “Hmmm.. . I don’t see a thing!” and commenced to flatten the city. This gave us the term “to turn a blind eye..”

Already Nelson was noted for downplaying his troubles, as in “It’s only a flesh wound, but let’s not tell the Admiral about the eye thing just yet, OK?” Following up with a slight wound that herniated at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent (February 1797), he took another big hit at Tenerife in the Canaries (July 1797) which required the amputation of his right arm. Not long after that he received a head wound at the Battle of the Nile (1798). Then finally he got his death wound at Trafalgar from a French sharpshooter in the rigging, going down through his shoulder, and taking pieces of his epaulette and medals and wrapping them around his spine. Historiography of the heroic sort often put stirring words in the mouths of those slain on the Field of Mars. Those recorded of Nelson, who had been tagged repeatedly, were all variations on the theme “Crikey! I’m a goner!”

Finally, alas, it was time to wheel out that cask of rum which had been waiting lo, these many years. One source says that the rum was exchanged for wine spirits at Gibraltar, but in any case the thing, body or no, was full of booze. And booze was about the only thing capable of making the seaman’s hard lot bearable. So despite the Marine guards, or in collusion with them, people began sneaking into the hold with straws to score sips of the stuff. This was called “Tapping the Admiral”, which is more respectful than the other nickname for it, which was “Sucking the Monkey”. One tipsy guard allegedly freaked out when he heard gurgling sounds and the cask started to bulge. Though it was later figured that some intestinal gases were to blame, the guard thought that Lord Nelson was coming after him for filching his brew! While one sources noted that on arrival in England Nelson’s body was considered perfectly preserved, others maintained that the poor Lord was left “high and dry” from the persistent slurping.

Interestingly, an almost identical thing occurred ten years later at the Battle of New Orleans. The British General Pakenham was killed in action there and shipped home like Nelson. He was likewise subjected to the attention of the monkey-suckers, who were henceforth said to have been drinkers of “Pakenham’s Rum”.