Addison Darre Crabtre

BLEEDERS AND BUTCHERS.

“Three special months, September, April, May, There are in which ’tis good to ope a vein: In these three months the moon bears greatest sway; Then old or young that store of blood contain. September, April, May, have daies apiece That bleeding do forbid, and eating geese.”

BLEEDING IN 1872.—EARLIEST BLOOD-LETTERS.—A ROYAL SURGEON.—A DRAWING JOKE.—THE PRETTY COQUETTE.—TINKERS AS BLEEDERS.—WHOLESALE BUTCHERY.—THE BARBERS OF SOUTH AMERICA.—OUR FOREFATHERS BLEED.—A FRENCH BUTCHER.—CUR?—ABERNETHY OPPOSES BLOOD-LETTING.—THE MISFORTUNES OF A BARBER-SURGEON (THREE SCENES FROM DOUGLAS JERROLD) JOB PIPPINS AND THE WAGONER; JOB AND THE HIGHWAYMEN; JOB NAKED AND JOB DRESSED.

When, in the year of our Lord 1872, a full half dozen educated physicians meet around the dying bed of a Rich man in this city to quarrel over him, and in the absence of one branch of the faction, the other assume charge of the patient, whom they bleed and leave in articulo mortis, it is not too late to take up the subject of venesection.

Podalirius is supposed to have been the first man who employed blood-letting, since whose time the lancet is said to have slain more than the sword; and, notwithstanding the many lives that have been sacrificed to this bloody absurdity, it is still practised by those who claim to have all science and wisdom for its sanction.

It is useless to bring one learned man’s opinion against it, because another’s can be found equally wise to offset him: the great public has condemned the practice. It early fell into disrepute with the more refined, notwithstanding some kings took to bleeding as naturally as butchers.

A Royal Surgeon.

A gentleman who was about retiring, after having dined with a friend at St. James’s, fell down a flight of stairs, which fall completely stunned him. On his recovery he found himself sitting on the floor, while a little old gentleman was busily attending to his wants, washing the blood from his head, and sticking a piece of plaster on to some variegated cuts for which he could not account. His surprise kept him silent till the kind and very convenient surgeon was through with the operation, when the patient arose from the floor, limped forward with extended hand, to offer his profound thanks, if not fees, to his benefactor, when an attendant instantly checked him with such intimation as to further astonish the gentleman by the knowledge that for his kind assistance he was indebted to George II., King of England.—Percy’s Anecdotes.

ASSISTANCE FROM A ROYAL SURGEON.

A Drawing Joke.

Several kings and great lords are made mention of as being particularly fond of using the lancet. Peter the Great of Russia was remarkably fond of witnessing dissections and surgical operations. He even used to carry a case of instruments in his pocket. He often visited the hospitals to witness capital operations, at times assisting in person, and was able to dissect properly, to bleed a patient, and extract a tooth as well as one of the faculty.

PETER THE GREAT AS A SURGEON.

The pretty wife of one of the czar’s valets had the following unpleasant experience of his skill. The husband of the “maid” accused her of flirting, and vowed revenge. The czar noticed the valet seated in the ante-room, looking forlorn, and asked the cause of his dejection. The wicked valet replied that his wife had a tooth which gave her great pain, keeping them both awake day and night, but would not have it drawn.

“Send her to me,” said the czar.

The woman was brought, but persisted in affirming that her teeth were sound, and never ached. The valet alleged that this was always the way she did when the physician was called; therefore, in spite of her cries and remonstrances, the king ordered her husband to hold her head between his knees, when the czar drew out his instruments and instantly extracted the tooth designated by the husband, disregarding the cries of the unfortunate victim.

In a few days the czar was informed that the thing was a put-up job by the jealous husband, in order to punish, if not mar the beauty of, his gallant wife, whereupon the instruments were again brought into requisition; and this time the naughty valet was the sufferer, to the extent of losing a sound and valuable tooth.

Every Tinker has his Day.

During a long period, and in several countries, the barbers were the only acknowledged blood-letters. Some of them were educated to the trade of bleeding. Dr. Meade was once lecturer to the barber-surgeons, and, if I mistake not, Dr. Abernethy; but the majority of them were as ignorant as the tinkers, who also went about the country bleeding the people at both vein and pocket.

In 1592 one Nicolas Gyer published a work entitled “The English Phlebotomy, or Method of Healing by Letting of Blood.” Its motto was, “The horse-leech hath two daughters, which crye, ‘Give, give.’” The author thus complains: “Phlebotomy is greatly abused by vagabond horse-leeches and travelling tinkers, who find work in almost every village, who have, in truth, neither knowledge, wit, or honesty; hence the sober practitioner and cunning chirurgeon liveth basely, is despised, and counted a very abject amongst the vulgar sort.”

Many of the abbeys of Europe and Asia had a “phlebotomaria,” or bleeding-room, connected, in which the sacred (?) inmates underwent bleeding at certain seasons. The monks of the order of St. Victor, and others, underwent five venesections per year; for the “Salerne Schoole,” 1601, says,—

“To bleed doth cheare the pensive, and remove
The raging furies fed by burning love.”

The priests seem to have overlooked Paul’s advice, for such to marry, as it was “better to marry than to burn.” If the writer could unfold the secrets of his “prison-house,”—as doubtless is the experience of most physicians,—he could tell of worse habits of some modern priests than this quinarial venesection.

“To bleed in May is still the custom with ignorant people in a few remote districts” of England. In Marchland a woman used to bleed patients for a few pence per arm.

Steele tells of a bleeder of his time who advertised to bleed, at certain hours, “all who came, for three pence a head”—he meant arm, doubtless!

Mention is made of the Drs. Taylor (horse doctors), who drew blood from the rabble as they would claret from a pipe. “Every Sunday morning they bled gratis all who liked a prick from their lancets. On such occasions a hundred poor wretches could be seen seated on the long benches of the surgery, waiting venesection. When ready, the two brothers would pass rapidly along the lines of bared arms, one applying the white strip of cloth above the elbow, the other following and immediately opening the vein. The crimson stream was directed into a wooden trough that ran along in front of the seats where the operation was performed.”

It scarcely seems possible that such wholesale butchery could have been openly performed but a hundred years ago! Yet it is still practised, but with a little more decency.

In South America venesection is still performed by the barbers, who are nearly all natives.

“A surgeon in Ecuador would consider it an injury to his dignity to bleed a patient; so he deputes that duty to the Indian phlebotomist, who does the work in a most barbarous manner, with a blunt and jagged instrument, after causing considerable pain, and even danger, to the patient.

“These barbers and bleeders are considered to be the leaders of their caste, as from their ranks are drawn the native alcaldes, or magistrates; and so proud are they of their position, that they would not exchange their badge of office (a silver-headed cane) for the cross of a bishop.

“The most prominent figures at the Easter celebration are the barbers, who are almost always Indians. They dress in a kind of plaited cape, and wear collars of a ridiculous height, and starched to an extreme degree of stiffness. In this class are also to be found the sangradores, or bleeders, who, as of old, unite the two professions.”

A curious scene is presented during each successive day of the “Holy Week,” when the effigies of the titular saints are brought out, and with the priests, music, and banners, and the barbers to bear burning incense, they are paraded before the superstitious, gaping, and priest-ridden people.

Bleeding our Forefathers.

Dr. Fuller, the first physician amongst the colonists of New England, wrote to Governor Bradford, June, 1630, saying,—

“I have been to Matapan (now Dorchester), and let some twenty of those people’s blood.”

What disease demanded, in the estimation of the good and wise doctor, this seemingly bloody visit, we are not informed.

“The Mercure de France, April, 1728, and December, 1729, gives an account of a French woman, the wife of a hussar named Gignoult, whom, under the direction of Monsieur Theveneau, Dr. Palmery bled three thousand nine hundred and four times, and that within the space of nine months. Again the bleeding was renewed, and in the course of a few years, from 1726 to the end of 1729, she had been bled twenty-six thousand two hundred and thirty times.”

No wonder our informant asks, “Did this really occur? Or was the editor of the Mercure the original Baron Munchausen?”

“Once, in the Duchy of Wurtemberg, the public executioner, after having sent a certain number of his fellow-creatures out of this troublesome world, was dignified by the title of ‘Doctor.’ Would it not be well to reverse the thing, and make such murderous physicians as Theveneau and M. Palmery rank as hangmen-extraordinary?”

A French Butcher-surgeon.

But, then, some of those French surgeons are worse than hangmen.

Dr. Mott, when once in Paris, was invited by M. —— to witness a private operation, which was simply the removal of a tumor from the neck of an elderly gentleman.

“Dr. Mott informed me,” says Dr. S. Francis, “that never in his life had he seen anybody but a butcher cut and slash as did this French surgeon. He cut the jugular vein. Dr. Mott instantly compressed it. In a moment more he severed it again. By this time, the patient being feeble, and having, by these two successive accidents, lost much blood, a portion of the tumor was cut off, the hole plugged up by lint, and the patient left.”

A week after, Dr. M. met the surgeon, and inquired after the patient.

“O, oui,” said the butcher, shrugging his shoulders. “Poor old fellow! He grew pious, and suddenly died.”

And this was by one of the first surgeons of France, on the authority of Dr. Valentine Mott.

Cases are cited in Paget’s “Surgical Pathology,” of tumors being removed by the knife from four to nine times, and returning, proving fatal, in every instance.

Cur?

Yes, “Why?” A man’s strength is in his blood, Samson notwithstanding. Then if you take away his blood, you lessen his chances of recovery, because you have lessened his strength.

“Cum sanguinem detrahere oportet, deliberatione indiget,” said AretÆus, a Greek physician of the first century. (“When bleeding is required, there is need of deliberation.”)

“Cur?” (why) was a favorite inquiry of Dr. Abernethy’s.

“We recollect a surgeon being called to a gentleman who was taken suddenly ill. The medical attendant, being present, asked the surgeon,—

“‘Shall I bleed him at once, sir?’

“‘Why should you desire to bleed him?’

“‘O, exactly. You prefer cupping?’

“‘Why should he be cupped?’

“‘Then shall I apply some leeches?’

“This, too, was declined. In short, it never seemed to have occurred to the physician that neither might be necessary; still less that either might therefore prove mischievous.”

The Misfortunes of a Barber-bleeder.

Three Scenes from a Story by Douglas Jerrold—rewritten.

Scene 1.—Job Pippins, a handsome Barber, is discharged from Sir Scipio Manikin’s, for kissing that gentleman’s young and pretty wife. He meets a Scotch wagoner.

JOB DISCHARGED BY SIR SCIPIO.

“I say, I ha’ got a dead mun in the wagon.”

“A dead man?” cried Job.

“Ay; picked him up i’ the muddle o’ the road. The bay cob wor standin’ loike a lamb beside um. I shall take um to the ‘Barley Mow’ yonder.” (An inn.)

“BLEED HIM.”

“But stop, for God’s sake,” exclaimed Job, jumping upon the wagon. Instantly he recognized the features of Sir Scipio. Struck by apoplexy, he had fallen from his horse. Instantly Job tore off Sir Scipio’s coat, rolled up his sleeves, bound the arm, and produced a razor.

“Ha! what wilt ye do, mun?” cried the wagoner, seeing the razor.“Bleed him,” replied Job, with exquisite composure; “I fear his heart is stopped.”

“Loikely. I do think it be Grinders, the lawyer. Cut um deep, deep;” and the fellow opened wide his eyes to see if the lawyer had red blood or Japan ink in his veins. “Cut um deep; though if it be old Grinders, by what I hear, it be a shame to disturb him, ony way,” said the wagoner.

“Grinders! Pshaw! It’s Sir Scipio Manikin.”

“Wounds!” roared the scared wagoner. “No, man, no! Don’t meddle wi’ such gentry folks in my wagon.” So saying, he sought to stay the hand of the bleeder at the moment he was applying the sharp blade of the razor to the bared arm, but only succeeded in driving the instrument deep into the limb. Job turned pale. The wagoner groaned and trembled.

“We shall be hanged for this job—hanged, hanged!”

“Providentially,” as the knight afterwards affirmed, the landlord of the “Barley Mow,” in chastising his wife, had broken his leg, and had called in Dr. Saffron, who, now returning, came upon the wagon containing the bulky body of Sir Scipio, mangled and bleeding.

The apoplectic squire began to return to dim consciousness, and beholding Job, with a razor between his teeth, standing over him, timing his pulse, he gave an involuntary shudder, particularly as he now recalled the late scene, which had terminated in his kicking Job penniless into the highway.

Dr. Saffron took the wounded arm, looked at Job, and said,—

“Is this your doings?”

Job looked, “Yes,” but spoke not.

“Bleeding!” repeated the doctor, fiercely; “I call it capital carving.” Then turning to the wagoner, he said, “And you found Sir Scipio lying in the road?”

“Ay, sir; rolled up like a hedge pig,” replied the wagoner.

Job wiped his razor, and slipped silently away.

Scene 2.—Job, half starved and half dead from the fatigues of his long walk, finds his way into an old woman’s hut, which unfortunately is the rendezvous of three highwaymen.

“Moll, the stool,” said one of the men.

The stool ordered was thrown towards Job, who sank resignedly upon it.

“What’s o’clock?” asked Bats, one of the robbers.

A BORROWED WATCH.

Job leaped from the stool in amazement, clapped his hand to his waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a splendid gold watch, the late property of Sir Scipio. Job had merely borrowed it to time the pulse of the apoplectic knight, and forgot to return it. The eyes of the highwayman were fixed leeringly upon the chronometer. They gave no heed to the embarrassment of the possessor.

“I say, friend, time must be worth something to you to score it by such a watch.”“It isn’t mine,” cried Job, the perspiration starting from every pore of his body.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the three at this unnecessary information.

“A mistake; I got it in the oddest way.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” again roared his hearers in chorus.

“O Lord! I shall be hanged for this,” cried Job.

“In course you will,” said Mortlake, comfortingly.

Job now hastily felt in his other pockets to see if he unwittingly possessed any other property not his own, when he pulled out a large handkerchief well saturated with Sir Scipio’s blood.

Mortlake gave an expressive cluck. Bats uttered a low, accusing whistle.

“What! he was game—was he? Well, it is all over now; tell us how it happened, and what you did with the body,” said the third.

In vain Job persisted in the truth. He was only laughed at....

“Moll, the gin.” Such a gamy highwayman as Job presented evidence of being deserves to be treated! Let us see in the next scene how he was treated.

Scene 3.—Job was drank dead drunk. Stripped of not only Sir Manikin’s watch and chain, but of everything save one brief garment, and under cover of night deposited in an adjoining meadow.

“Job Pippins slept.”

“Job Pippins awoke.”

An insect ticked its little note in Job’s ear.

“The watch!” cried the bewildered Job, springing to his feet and gaspingly applying his hands to his flesh.

Who can depict his utter amazement when he had become convinced of his own identity, and found himself standing out in the broad world, reduced to the brief wardrobe, which is summed up in the one single word—“Shirt”?Hatless, shoeless, hoseless, he stood upon the grass, the bold zephyrs playing with his garment—a bloody, tattered flag of terrible distress. Job looked timidly about. He resolved, and he re-resolved. Should he turn back to the house from whence he had been so ruthlessly ejected? Should he hide behind the hedge and solicit the help of some male passer? Who would put faith in a man with no recommendation, and possessing such a small wardrobe? O, indecision! how many better men have gone to ruin because of thee!

JOB’S DECISION.

Decision came to Job’s help—at least help out of that field. At this very moment of need for some one to help him decide what course to pursue, a ferocious bull, feeding in the next meadow, annoyed or scandalized by the appearance of Job, scaled the low fence, and with one bellow, ran full tilt after Job, who hesitated no longer, but leaped the rail fence just as the animal made a lunge at him. Job reached the highway in safety of person, though the bull retreated with a full square yard of the false flag of truce upon his horns.

Job’s destitution seemed perfect without this last affliction. The sound of carriage wheels startled him, but to where should he flee? He was at the zero of his fortunes. He was naked, hungry, penniless. Where should he find one friend.

“Ah! the river!” That would hide him forever from the uncharitable world!...

Job crawled across the field, and was already near the stream.

What! Had some pitying angel, softened by Job’s utter destitution and despair, alighted amongst the bushes! Or was it a temptation of the devil?

Reader, “put yourself in”—No! But imagine Job reduced to the moiety of a shirt, about to take the fatal plunge, when lo! he discovers just before him, lying,—a golden waif,—a very handsome suit of clothes,—hat, breeches, hose, shoes, gloves, cane, cravat! and no visible second person near.

Job’s perplexity was brief. He seated himself on the grass. He changed his equivocal shirt for the ample piece of ruffled “aired-snow” in the twinkling of an eye; donned the stockings and breeches,—“just a fit,”—waistcoat, and coat, seized the hat, gloves, cravat, and cane, and in three minutes he was back on the main road. The swimmer must have been just Job’s size, so admirably did the whole wardrobe fit and become him.

Again Job passed the five-barred gate, where stood the bull, with glaring eyes, waving in vain the flag of truce upon his horns.

Job journeyed onward, waving his cane, and smiling in supreme contempt at the bit of rag which so recently proclaimed his crime and wretchedness. He put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a purse! It contained eight guineas! This was too much. Job fell upon his knees in the highway, overcome with gratitude, and holding up the purse in his left hand, placing the other over his stomach, he “blessed his lucky stars” for his propitious change of fortunes.

Here we bid adieu to the barber-bleeders. Those who wish to know how the swimmer came out, must consult “Men of Character,” by Jerrold.

The Use of Brains.

Mr. G. H. Lewes tells a story of a gentleman who, under the scissors, said something about his thinning locks being caused by the development of his brains. “Excuse me, sir,” remarked the barber, “but you are laboring under a mistake. The brains permeate the skull, and encourage the growth of the hair—that’s what they’re for, sir.”