Forgive my poor medical knowledge, I tried to be vague so as not to dig a hole for myself. Most likely doctors back then weren't as proficient as Henry Winchcombe, but bear with me.

Chapter 8: Physical Healing

Doctor Winchcombe was sleeping at his desk when an urgent rapping on his door caused him to awaken. Looking through unfocused eyes, he made his way past several great bookcases on medical knowledge and fumbled with the door's handle. This had been a quiet day for him and he had taken the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the land of nod. Grumbling, he opened the door and was about to berate his young assistant for disturbing him when he saw several British marines mulling around a prone body they had laid on a nearby table.

The young assistant mumbled a few words about a hanging and a pirate, but the doctor could smell the stench of a wound anywhere and hurried to the prone body. Pulling on an apron, setting some water to boil and scrubbing his hands in a basin of water by his equipment stand; the doctor asked the closest marine to him what had happened.

Henry Winchcombe had always been the laughing stock of his medical school in London. He had considered many of the usual techniques for fighting delirium and troublesome wounds to be barbaric and irrational. That's why he had left for the Caribbean. When his ship had arrived in Jamaica, a younger version of himself had steadily questioned natives on their practices for healing the sick and found more innovative treatments to help his patients. He was laughed at time and again by his peers, but Winchcombe was adamant that his ways were better and continued to practice what he called 'sane medicine.'

"Well you see, Doctor Winchcombe," began the marine, "this lady here is a pirate and was wounded in a skirmish with another pirate. We didn't think nothing of her leg wound, so we didn't take any real precautions. We placed her in a jail cell." The redcoat looked guiltily at the hat in his hands. "She was there for four days, today was her hanging. She fell to the ground, slipping out of her noose and didn't get back up again, but started mumbling strange things. The Commodore ordered that we bring her here."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Winchcombe turned his full attention to the sickly pirate. He was no stranger to these types of situations. Through a few more branches of dialogue, he learned specifically that the woman was called Andraste, a name he could recall but couldn't place, and appeared to have taken a stab to her thigh.

Using a pair of scissors, he cut her pant leg at the thigh away, and inspected the puncture. It wasn't too deep and it only bled now and again as it was partially scabbed over, though the blood clotting was very soft. The skin about it had turned a sickly yellow green. He also saw that she was fevered and linked that the wound had something to do with her mental state.

Though they protested against it, he made two soldiers hold Andraste down at the ankle and another hold her body down at the shoulders. Doctor Winchcombe had no way of discerning if the next few steps in his cleaning would awaken the fevered woman. Applying a tourniquet above the wound, the doctor ridded it of the soft if not congealed scab and poured some strong smelling liquid into it. Andraste jerked forward with a yelp, breaking free of her restraints, but immediately fell back and did not stir again. Once he was certain that there was no way she could break free, the doctor then proceeded to sprinkle salt a top the puncture.

"Andrew!" barked Winchcombe to his assistant. The boy stood to attention and awaited his command. "Fetch me my tree moss and boiling water so that I may make a poultice!" Awaiting his apprentice's return, he turned to the task of examining the damage. From what he could tell by sight and a little gentle probing, there were no other punctures. He briefly considered using gunpowder to cauterize the wound, but it would require stitches in order for it to mend properly.

All the while mumbling about Andrew's incompetence, Winchcombe readied his needle and thread. Knowing that a woman would not enjoy an unsightly scar, he made many small stitches, allowing himself time to practice upon his patient a secret hobby of his: sowing.

Andrew returned when the doctor was about finished with his stitching. Tying up the last stitch, the doctor placed his equipment away and turned his attention to the making of the poultice. There was something very soothing about the healing ill and he took his practice very seriously. He was no retired sergeant, no he had been a doctor for most of his career. He had seen Port Royale grow into it what it was now and he had imparted his knowledge onto others (Though his current student had no talent for the healing arts.).

He snatched the moss away from his baffle headed apprentice and steeped them in the boiling water. He then prepared a bandage and soaked that within the liquid and wrapped it tightly about the pirate's leg. Taking a few more dry bandages, he again wrapped them about the leg and secured it. Straightening the coarse fabric until he was satisfied, Winchcombe then removed the tourniquet and set to work looking for other cuts and abrasions. He could find no other ailments except for the scratches along her back that he cleaned and cared for and had the privateer transferred to a room with a solitary bed and a few chairs in order to rest in private.

Once she was settled, he called forth his nurse, Sister Constance and had her bathe and change his newest patient. Sister Constance also took the liberty to trim away the matted clumps of hair and uneven hang from the sword fight. For modesty's sake the doctor supplied the nun with a white shirt and loose brown pants, which were missing their left pant leg at the thigh, for the Captain. Her wound would be less awkward if she had been a man, but Andraste was a woman and could not change that.

The kind sister volunteered to keep vigilance over the newest ward. Doctor Winchcombe agreed to her care.