Not surprisingly, after briefly rejoining your regiment
you find that you have contracted a serious fever in the French prisoner
of war camp and are unable to travel. Thus, your regiment leaves you
in a small town with an officer and some substinence money until you
are well enough that the Commissioners of Transport can arrange to have
you picked up. Eventually, you recover a bit, and a cart comes by to
take you to an improvised regional hospital that had been set up with
the help of some locals.
Your first thought upon arriving to the hospital is that it is a miracle
anyone manages to get well in such poor facilities. Some of the sick
and injured soldiers nearest to your bed complain that they never get
any attention, as the nursing staff are always busy doing work for the
doctors such as washing their linen and looking after their horses.
(Scouller 242) Not that the doctors are very well off; most are making
pitiful amounts of money compared to their civilian counterparts, and
their only real compensation came by profits made selling medicine to
the patients. (Scouller 236)
You order a quart of milk and two pounds of meat at the
normal rate, and eventually a Nurse delivers just a pint of milk and
a half-pound of meat that smells like old goat. Luckily, you have a
dish and a fork you have saved in your pack to eat from, but some of
the other injured men have neither utensils to eat with nor the money
to buy them. Some of the surgeon's mates petition the Commissioners
for the Sick and Wounded, and eventually some utensils are provided,
but many of the hospitalized men still have to drink right out of the
steward's pot. (Scouller 240)
Not only is the quality of service poor, you find it's not even free!
Your full substinence is going to the hospital during your stay, and
you have to dip into your own measly savings to eat anything substantial.
At least you're not going to turn out like some of invalids in the horror
stories being passed around, you hope. Apparently, a shipload of men
from Portugal were recently turned into the streets to beg, so as not
to become a financial burden to their regiment. (Scouller 240)
Detail from the Duke of York
Gillray, cartoon c. 1793
(Barnett Plate 9)
One morning you wake up to find that the man whose bed was next to yours is gone, so you call over a nurse to ask what happened to him. She tells you he died, and you ask if there was any funeral or proper burial. She laughs, and says that he was wrapped in a hammock and thrown into a grave like everyone else. You gulp, and ask if there was any better way to die. She tells you that a few months ago, a man with great foresight bought himself a coffin and thus got to be buried in it. (Scouller 243)
Luckily, you recover over time, and return to your regiment an poorer and unhealthier man.
Next: Desertion!