And yet--will the reader believe it?--no one circ.u.mstance of my whole medical life ever did more to establish my reputation than this. True, I had contended on the battle field, and had been beaten, but then it was thought I had contended against a powerful foe. Men sometimes think it honorable even to be beaten. I well remember an instance of this sort. A very great scoundrel heaped insults upon a worthy justice of the peace, till the latter seized him and held him down to the ground for a considerable time. The man was quite respectable afterward, and told the story to his own praise a thousand times over! He had measured lances with 'Squire H.! And though the 'Squire was too much for him, he obtained a town-wide reputation by the contest.

You will see, more and more, as I proceed with these confessions, that it is not in him that willeth nor in him that runneth, to be acceptable as a physician, but in certain circ.u.mstances, partly within and partly beyond our control. You will see, however, that the best way in the end is, boldly and fearlessly to do right, and then trust in Him who loves right, and whose throne is in the Heavens, for the final issue. We may not always be popular in doing right--probably we shall _not_ be--but we shall, in any event, have a clear conscience.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

A SUDDEN CURE.

I was called one morning very early, to see a little girl, five or six years of age, who, it was said, was extremely sick, and without immediate aid could not probably long survive.

She was one of a very numerous family, most of whom, though suffered to run almost wild, like so many rabbits, were comparatively healthy. I do not suppose they had ever called in a physician more than once or twice in a year. In truth, they had very little confidence in physicians; though in extremities, they were accustomed to call on them almost as much as other people. In any event Caroline was very sick now; and they loudly demanded aid. I was forthwith on the spot. Caroline was groaning most piteously. "Where is your distress?" I inquired. She gave no direct answer, but continued to groan and writhe, as if she were impaled. As I could obtain no reliable information from her, and could discover no special or exciting cause of her suffering, and as the case was urgent, I proceeded to do _something_, though, as I must honestly confess, it was to labor quite in the dark. One thing I knew, it is true; that there were spasms, and that it depended on a diseased condition of the brain and nervous system; but what the cause or causes were, I could hardly divine. Nor, in truth, had I time to ask many questions.

Though the days of Hydropathy had not yet arrived, the world, even then, had a good deal of water in it, and physicians were sometimes wise enough to use it. It was demanded, as I thought, on the present occasion. It would, at least, by whiling away the time, give opportunity for further observation and reflection, and deeper investigation. There was a good fire in the kitchen, and I ordered a warm bath immediately.

Every effort was made to hasten the process of warming the water, as well as to keep the patient quiet and within doors; for she raved like a maniac--partly indeed from a childish fear, but partly also from real bodily suffering. The family and neighborhood--for the latter were very largely collected together--were almost as much alarmed and distressed as the little patient, and this reacted on the patient to her increased disadvantage.

As there were no special preparations in those days for bathing--I mean in the region of which I am now speaking--we used a large wash-tub. The water was soon ready, and was made rather warm, quite above 100 of Fahrenheit. I had taken the precaution to have my patient already undressed, so as to lose no time. The very instant the bath was ready, she was plunged into it. It cost some trouble, for she resisted with almost superhuman strength, and uttered most terrific screams. But as the ox is dragged to the slaughter, she was dragged into the water and held in it.

The effect was like magic. She had not been in the water twenty seconds before every thing was quiet; and I do not know that she has ever had another pang to the present hour. Certain it is that she seemed to be entirely cured by this single bath, and none of her spasms ever returned.

The family were greatly delighted, and so were the neighbors. And was the physician, think you, an uninterested spectator? Had he been wholly dest.i.tute of the love of doing good, by relieving human distress, he must at least have been susceptible of receiving pleasure from general approbation.

He certainly sought respectability as a physician. And this he was by degrees now attaining.

It is hardly possible to refer the sudden quiet which followed in this instance from the application of warm water, to a mere coincidence, as if the system was ready, just at this very instant, to react or rally.

The bath must have had something more than a mere imaginary or accidental effect, though its prescription may be said to have been empirical.

Had the experiment in the present instance wholly failed, it is by no means improbable the physician would still have been on a par with other men. The _guess_ he made was his _only_ thought. He had nothing in reserve. But he was successful; he _guessed right_, and it built him up.

His fame now began to spread far and wide, wafted, as it were, on the wings of every breeze. If he succeeded, it was supposed to be undeniable proof of his skill; if he failed, it was not supposed to be so much his fault as the result of circ.u.mstances; or, more properly, the severity of the disease. And even in the case of failure, as I have said elsewhere, he often gained credit; for he had boldly contended, at great odds, with a mighty because intangible antagonist!

It is an old proverb,--but by no means the less true for its age,--that when a person is going down hill every one will give him a kick. But is it not equally true that when he is resolutely going up hill, they are equally ready to help him on? So at least I found it at this period of my progress.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

GIGANTIC DOSES OF MEDICINE.

Although I was opposed to the frequent and free use of medicine, I early fell into one habit which was as diametrically opposed to my general theory as could possibly have been. I refer to the habit of giving my patients, at least occasionally, most enormous doses of those more active preparations which should seldom, if ever, be administered in this way. As nearly as I can now recollect, I fell into this habit in the following manner:

Among my standing patients, before mentioned, were several drunkards.

Occasionally, however, they were more than standing or standard patients; they had attacks of mania, or as it is usually called in the case of drunkards, delirium tremens. In these circ.u.mstances, among these patients, I often had the most severe trials. Sometimes I could relieve them; but sometimes, too, I failed.

One night, while endeavoring to relieve the sufferings of one of these patients in delirium tremens, almost to no purpose, the thought struck me, "What effect would a prodigious dose of calomel have on the poor creature? Can it kill him? I doubt it. I will venture on the trial."

So, without communicating the slightest hint to any one around me of what I was about to do, I contrived to insinuate a hundred grains or more of this substance into the man's stomach, that like a chemical receiver took what was poured into it. Having succeeded in the administration of the dose, I waited patiently the issue.

The medicine had, in due time, its full ordinary effect; but the degree of its cathartic effect was not in proportion to the largeness of the dose. Its activity hardly amounted to violence. It seemed, however, to quiet the brain and nerves as if by magic; nor am I aware that any injurious effects, either local or general, ever followed its exhibition. I had the full credit of a speedy and wonderful cure.

Another fact. I was frequently called to prescribe for children who were threatened with the croup. One night, on being called to a child of some eight or ten months, I thought of large doses of calomel. Was there any great risk in trying one? I ventured. I gave the child almost a teaspoonful of this active cathartic. It was indeed a gigantic dose, and the treatment was bold if not heroic.

For a couple of hours the patient breathed badly enough. There was evidently much oppression, not only of the lungs but of the nervous system. The parents and friends of the child grew uneasy. They were not, however, more uneasy than their physician. But I consoled myself by laboring to compose them. I preached to them long and loud, and to some extent with success.

At the end of about two hours, the latter part of which had been marked by a degree of stupor which almost discouraged me, a gentle vomiting came on, followed by moderately cathartic effects; and the child immediately recovered its mental activity, and in a few days was well.

Empirical as this practice was, I ventured on it again and again, and with similar success. At length the practice of giving giant doses in this disease became quite habitual with me, and I even extended it to other diseases. Not only calomel, but several other active medicines were used in the same bold and fearless manner. I do not know that I ever did any direct or immediate mischief in this way. On the contrary, I was regarded as eminently successful.

And yet I should not now dare to repeat the treatment, however urgent might seem to be the demand, or recommend it to others. It might, perhaps, be successful; but what if it should prove otherwise? I could make no appeal to principle or precedent in justification of my conduct.

It is true, I have met with one or two pract.i.tioners whose experience has been similar; but what are a few isolated cases, of even honest practice, in comparison with the deductions of wise men for centuries?

There may be after consequences, in these cases, which are not foreseen.

Sentence against an evil work, as Solomon says, is not always executed speedily.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

THE LAMBSKIN DISEASE.

Should any medical man look through these pages, he may perchance amuse himself by asking where the writer obtained his system of cla.s.sification of disease. It will not, certainly, be very easy to find such a disease as the lambskin disease in any of our modern nosologies. But he will better understand me when he has read through the chapter. He may be reminded, by its perusal and its quaint t.i.tle, of the cla.s.sification which is found in Whitlow's New Medical Discoveries, founded, as the doctor says, on the idea that "every disease ought to be named from the plant or other substance which is the princ.i.p.al exciting cause of such disease." It is as follows:

"The Mercurial Disease, The Belladonna do The Stramonium do The Tobacco do The Cicuta do The b.u.t.ter Cup do The Colchic.u.m do The Colocynth do The Pork or Hog do The Vinegar do The Fool's Parsley do The Fox Glove do The Nux Vomica do The Qua.s.sia do The Opium do The h.e.l.lebore do The Salt do The Mineral Acid do The Acrid do The Putrid do"

If on examination the curious reader should find no such disease as the "Lambskin disease" in Dr. W.'s catalogue, he should remember that the list is by no means complete, and that there will be no objection to the addition of one more. And why, indeed, may I not coin terms as well as others? All names must have been given by somebody.

But I will not dwell on the subject of nosology too long. I have something else to do in this chapter than merely to amuse. I have some thoughts to present on health and sickness,--thoughts, too, which seem to me of vast importance.

A son of Mr. G., a farmer, had been at work in an adjoining town, all summer, with a man who was accustomed to employ a great number of hands in various occupations,--farming, road building, butchering, etc., etc.

Of a sudden, young G., now about twenty years of age, was brought home sick, and I was sent for late at night--a very common time for calling the doctor--to come and see him.

I found him exceedingly weak and sick, with strong tendencies to putridity. What could be the cause? There was no prevailing or epidemic disease abroad at the time, either where he had been laboring, or within my own jurisdiction; nor could I, at first, find out any cause which was adequate to the production of such effects as were before me.

I prescribed for the young man, as well as I could; but it was all to no purpose. Some unknown influence, local or general, seemed to hang like an incubus about him, and to depress, in particular, his nervous system.

In short, the symptoms were such as portended swift destruction, if not immediate. I could but predict the worst. And the worst soon came. He sunk, in a few days, to an untimely grave. I say _untimely_ with peculiar emphasis; for he had hitherto been regarded as particularly robust and healthy.

His remains were scarcely entombed when several members of his father's family were attacked in a similar way. Another young man in the neighborhood, who had been employed at the same place with the deceased, and who had returned at the same time, also sickened, and with nearly the same symptoms. And then, in a few days more, the father and mother of the latter began to droop, and to fall into the same train of diseased tendencies with the rest. Of these, too, I had the charge.

My hands were now fully occupied, and so was my head. Anxious as most young men are, in similar circ.u.mstances, not only to save their patients, but their reputation, and though the distance at which they resided was considerable, I visited both families twice a day, and usually remained with one of them during the night. I was afraid to trust them with others.

Physically this constant charge was too much for me, and ought not to have been attempted. No physician should watch with his patients, by night or by day,--above all by night--any more than a general should place himself in the front of his army, during the heat of battle. His life is too precious to be jeoparded beyond the necessities involved in his profession.

But while my hands were occupied, my mind was racked exceedingly with constant inquiry into the cause of this terrible disease,--for such to my apprehension it was becoming. The whole neighborhood was alarmed, and the paleness of death was upon almost every countenance.