PREFACE.

Previous

I have been requested, from time to time, by my numerous patients and friends to publish some record of the Bone-setter’s art, to which they can refer their relatives and acquaintances, when asked for some particulars of the cures effected and the pain alleviated by those who follow the profession of a Bone-setter. I am aware that in acceding to the request of those who “have the courage of their convictions,” I am laying myself open to the sneers and innuendos of the medical profession generally; but as the descendant of a long line of Bone-setters, who distinguished themselves in the profession they followed, and whose name was a “household word” in Midland homes when broken bones, sprains, and dislocations occurred. I feel, as the inheritor of their practice and in some degree of their reputation, that I should not be true to myself and to the profession I follow, if I did not comply with a request so gracefully made by those who have not only placed their faith in the special practice I pursue, but who are grateful for the relief from pain they have felt, the ultimate cures effected, and who wish to make their experiences widely known.

It was, therefore, with diffidence that I collected from divers sources the testimony of those who are beyond the reach of suspicion, as to the cures which those who practise the “Art of the Bone-setter” have accomplished, even after experienced surgeons have failed; but I was reassured when I found that these recorded cures, and the repute of the hundreds of thousands which have not been recorded, but which are treasured in the memories of a thankful people, had aroused a feeling of emulation (for I can hardly use any other term) in the surgical world to adopt some of our methods, which up to a recent period, they had publicly called the arts of the charlatan and the quack, and resolved to practise in that “neglected corner of the domain of surgery” which they had before ridiculed. They did not hesitate to apply terms of approbrium to us when they were, according to their own admission, ignorant of our practice, attributing our cures to “luck” and our popularity to tampering with and trading on the prejudices of the poor and ignorant, instead of inquiring into their truth.

Dr. Wharton Hood in his treatise “On Bone-setting (so-called)” has pointed out that even Sir James Paget (eminent though he is in the surgical world) spoke in ignorance when, in a clinical lecture delivered at St. Bartholomew’s in 1867, he detailed the “Cases that Bone-setters may cure.” His arguments were founded on conjecture, therefore many of his conclusions were wrong. The great master of the world of surgery, however, deserves the thanks of the Bone-setters at large, for he was the first to stand forth in the whole of the medical profession to announce that the much despised and ridiculed Bone-setters were in possession of a “knack”—an art—which surgeons had long overlooked and neglected which tended to alleviate pain and to restore the use of lost limbs to unfortunate sufferers from accidents and other external injuries. Dr. Wharton Hood appears to have taken Sir James Paget’s words to heart, for becoming acquainted with the late Mr. Richard Hutton, the well-known Bone-setter, whose name so frequently appears in these pages, he studied his method of procedure and practice. On the death of that gentleman, Dr. Hood published his experiences with diagrams, and since that period—now some dozen years ago a change has taken place in the expression of professional opinion with respect to the art of the Bone-setter. There is no attempt now to deny that in practical surgery, that what is called the Empirical School, can hold its own against mere scientific theory. They have vindicated our art from the charge of quackery and charlatanism. It would now appear they now want to secure our practice as well as our reputation as skillful manipulators. I feel therefore I am more than justified in thus publishing the testimony of relieved patients, of the almost recantation of the faculty with respect to our art, to justify those who have trusted our skill and who have seen no cause to regret it.

There may, indeed, be persons who call themselves bone-setters, who are ignorant, presumptuous, and destitute alike of skill and experience, whose blunders are charged on the profession generally—there may be many such whose names are even in the Medical Registry—but no one can read the testimony of men beyond the reach of bribe, and who have no personal interest to serve, without admitting that there are Bone-setters who have both skill and experience as well as the ability to use their acquirements for the benefit of suffering mankind. The art, it is true, may not be taught in schools, but it is at least as old as Hippocrates, if not coeval with mankind’s “loss of Eden.” I have felt it a duty to myself, to my relatives, to my patients and friends, as well as to my fellow professors of the art to publish this testimony and vindication.

I have acknowledged as far as possible the sources from which I have taken the information in the following pages, if any have been accidentally omitted, I hope this apology will be sufficient. To those friends who have helped me with their advice and supervision of these pages I tender my warmest thanks, as well as to those patients who have offered their testimony to my own skill and success, and allowed me to add them to those collected from public sources for this book, as Turner wrote in his edition to “The Compleat Bone-setter” some two hundred years ago is not intended for Sutorian or Scissarium doctors, but I leave them amongst the Caco-Chymists, to boast of their arcanas, but not of their reason, whilst I shall modestly remain

GEO. MATTHEWS BENNETT,

Milverton, Leamington, Easter, 1884.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page