THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. X. AUGUST, 1837. No. 2.
THE NOBILITY OF NATURE.
IT has been asserted that all men are created equal. The learned have
been called upon to support the declaration, and to furnish reasons
accounting for the disparity which is manifest in the different
individuals of the human race, as found in the social state. The
learned have responded to this call, and said, that it is apparent,
that different nations, as well as individuals of the same race,
are surrounded by different circumstances, and enjoy unequal means
of improvement; and as their external condition is unequal, it is
but reasonable to infer, in the absence of any other known cause,
that their intellectual disparity is mainly attributable to external
circumstances. Now if it can be made to appear, as I think it can,
that the difference in the external condition of men and nations is
mainly attributable to their mental organization, it will be obvious
that the learned, who have undertaken to solve this question, have
been so unphilosophical as to substitute the effect for the cause.
But the many have contented themselves with the response of the
learned; and are now looking forward with eager hope to the time when
the vexatious differences in the external circumstances of men shall
cease, and an intellectual level shall be fixed for the whole human
family, upon which the Esquimaux and the European, to their mutual
astonishment, shall find occasion to regard each other as equals.
They delight in the expectation of beholding the Chinese standing
upon the same eminence as the countrymen of Newton; worshippers of
Juggernaut elevated to the altars of the true Deity, and of seeing
the unhappy and debased African endowed with the same intellectual
strength as his gifted and proud oppressor. Thus they pleasantly
anticipate, that upon men's external condition becoming equal, their
intellects and sentiments will immediately exhibit _their_ native
equality, and that the odious distinctions which now exist among men,
will be known no more for ever.
But may we not as reasonably expect, that the benefit of this new
arrangement will not be confined to man alone, but that the whole
vegetable and animal world will participate in the advantages of this
novel law of natural equality? We must hear no more of 'the king of
beasts,' nor of 'the monarch of the wood.' The lion and the lamb
must become a match for each other in ferocity and strength. The
ivy will of course cease to entwine itself around the oak; and then
what substitute will the poets have for their much-used and lovely
emblem of weakness and dependence, when it shall lift aloft its
branches among the huge trees of the forest, and, boastful of its
newly-acquired strength, shall bid defiance to the whirlwind and the
storm! The odious monarchy of the bee-hive must be done away; the
queen of bees must doff her robes of royalty, and become a commoner;
while the drones, the privileged order of this tribe of insects, will
be compelled to assume habits of industry, and will no longer be
tolerated in the enjoyment of idleness and luxury, at the expense of
their industrious fellow-citizens. The aristocracy of the ant-hill
must also be disturbed, and the levelling principle must be carried
into a new organization of this interesting little mound of earth.
Men will cease to speak of the elephant as a 'half-reasoning animal,'
while the ass shall be distinguished for dulness and obstinacy, and
the latter must brush up, so that this disparity shall be remedied;
while, at the same time, the sagacious dog will be brought, by some
nice process, to the level of the 'silly sheep,' and the acute and
cruel fox to that of the dull and confiding goose; and among other
things, to excite our special wonder, the much-wronged, much-eaten
oyster will be regarded as a pure intelligence, consisting of nothing
but brain, and its necessary covering! Men will cease to eat oysters.
It would seem to require a wonderful change in 'external
circumstances,' to produce results like these; and yet it seems to
me, these may as reasonably be anticipated, as that the condition of
mankind will ever be equal. Those who attribute men's intellectual
nature to their external condition, have never been so fortunate as
to demonstrate in what manner the objectionable circumstances of an
external nature produced the results which they humanely deplore. The
negro is every where inferior to the Anglo-Saxon. Does the former owe
his inferior intellect to his swarthy complexion and flattened nose?
How can these affect the thinking part? To climate? Behold him in all
climes the same! To slavery? View him in his native land a savage. To
the contempt of other nations? He is the same as when first known to
the European.
But grant that the difference in air, climate, or other external
causes, operating for many centuries, could cause an inequality
in the intellects of different nations, or tribes of men; why,
in the same nation or tribe, is one inferior to another? Suppose
sectional causes to account for this disparity; then why are children
of the same parents, born and nurtured under precisely the same
circumstances, radically different from their birth? Is the fact
denied? I appeal to mothers in support of its truth.
Men are _not_ created equal by nature. In saying this, I beg not
to be understood as denying 'the Declaration of Independence.' I
understand the illustrious writer of that instrument to mean no more
than this; that for good reasons, operating in the social state, all
men are to be regarded as equal, so far as to have equal respect paid
to their rights; to be entitled to equal protection, and to be judged
by one standard of legal rectitude. Or, in other words, in the eye of
the law, all men are equal.
But while I do not depart from this clause of the sacred declaration
referred to, I perceive that I differ widely from the vociferous
patriot and over-zealous philanthropist of the present day, who have
contrived to engross much more of the public attention than either
their integrity or doctrines seem to warrant.
The former overwhelms the voice of reason with his varied clamor in
favor of the equality of meanness with magnanimity--of vice with
virtue--of ignorance with intelligence--of vulgar rudeness and
barbarity, with taste and elegance; and he demands that in social
intercourse, and in the administration of government, the vicious and
ignorant shall be entitled to the same consideration and influence as
the virtuous and enlightened citizen; because 'all men are created
equal!'
The new order of philanthropists increase the clamor of the greedy
patriot. They have discovered that the negroes are at least equal
to, if not a little better, than the best of the Europeans; and they
lead forth their colored favorites, of various hues, and demand their
admittance into a well-organized society; a benevolent concession
in favor of their equality; an admission that their heads are well
formed, their sentiments exalted, their persons delicate, and their
odor savory! They invite them to the table of the American citizen,
and beckon them to his bed; and this 'because all men are created
equal!'
There _are_ distinctions among men, which neither the fierce patriot
nor ignorant philanthropist can eradicate; distinctions appointed by
the author of nature, and which have not failed to be acknowledged by
the most enlightened observers; a brief view of which it may not be
unprofitable to take, even in an imperfect effort to distinguish the
false from the true nobility of nature.
I am far from asserting, that all the distinctions which exist in
the social state, are so by the appointment of nature. There is an
artificial aristocracy, created by the improper constitutions of some
governments, and the arbitrary and unequal laws of all, of the cause
of whose greatness nature is entirely innocent. For instance, a man
may inherit and enjoy all his life the title and honors of nobility,
who, had he depended upon his natural resources for rank and
station, might never have ascended in the scale of human excellence,
beyond the condition of an agile circus-rider. And it is no less
palpable, that a wealthy parent, through the influence of the laws of
primogeniture, may transmit to his eldest son an inheritance which
may place him high among the aristocracy of wealth, who, but for the
fruits of a parent's acquisitiveness, might laudably have earned his
bread by the sweat of his brow, and instead of being regarded as
an exquisite dandy, might have been celebrated for his mechanical
ingenuity, or the excellence of his 'goods, wares, and merchandise.'
The same causes may sometimes operate to deprive nature's noblemen of
their just station among men. Artificial worth may assume the place
of natural; wealth and fashion may displace virtue and intellect; and
genius and talent may be compelled to give precedence to a titled
nobility, or to the possessors of vast estates.
Again. There are good objections to some natural pretenders to
rank; even dame nature has her counterfeits and false forms; her
mushrooms, her empty heads and shells. The fair-pretending tree may
never blossom, or if it do, may neglect to bear fruit. The highest
heads of wheat in the broad field are false and empty. But a correct
observer of nature may readily distinguish between her false and her
genuine productions; and a close observer of men will never be at a
loss to detect, nor hesitate to deny, the bold pretensions of _mere
self-esteem_.
Instinctive self-esteem enables its possessor, without seeking
to form a just estimate of his own character, to regard himself
as equal to all men, and superior to most of them; to arrive at
conclusions without the dull and tedious process of reasoning, to
which plodding creatures subject themselves; to have and maintain
opinions, without the trouble of forming, or the labor of defending
them; and to look down upon his superiors, without suspecting that
they despise him, or a doubt of his own insolated and extraordinary
excellence. He proverbially carries his head high; and it has been
remarked by phrenologists, in the direction of the single organ to
whose over-manifestation they allege he is indebted for all his
conscious greatness. He forms one of nature's wild experiments,
by which she has wantonly demonstrated, how enormous a structure
of self-complacency can be based upon--nothing at all! He is one
of nature's contradictions, by which she has proved how great an
_effect_ may exist without any _cause_ whatever! In him you behold
the origin of village greatness, which is dependent upon the size of
two things, to wit: the _large_ size of self-esteem, and the _small_
size of the place it inhabits.
There is another pretender to high rank among men, whose claims are
nearly as unfounded as those last under consideration. I mean the
man who claims your high regard, not for what he _is_, but for what
he _has got_--who exacts your admiration, not for what he _does,_
but for what he has the _power_ to do; and who, while he performs
no good service to mankind, does not fail to impress them with the
belief, that he might, at any time, if so disposed, astonish them
with a display of generosity, and a noble exercise of the means of
active benevolence, and permanent usefulness. He is the creature of
the acquisitive instinct, whose sole merit is based upon successful
efforts at accumulation. This instinct he possesses in common with
various quadrupeds. The ground-squirrel possesses the same attribute,
to a limited extent. Who has not observed this interesting animal
crowding his cheek with autumnal fruits, and gaily carrying them
to his winter quarters? But this little creature gathers only a
competence; his instinct is a moderate one, and apparently under
the guidance of reason; while the accumulating biped seems not to
be a judge of a competency, and grows more eager in the pursuit of
wealth, as it becomes less valuable to him. No propensity of the
human mind gains more in activity and strength by exercise, than that
of acquisitiveness. It may begin as a good instinct of man's nature,
and excite him to lay up the means of satisfying his natural, and
even his artificial wants. So far, its obvious utility demands our
respect. But all men do not stop here. Even so much exercise as to
attain this laudable end, may so heighten the natural disposition
to accumulate, that it becomes the tyrant of the soul, and takes
the lead of all the other propensities. It comes in conflict with
the demands of the stomach, the suggestions of taste, and paternal
affection; and the victim of avarice becomes also the victim of
unsatisfied hunger, ungratified taste, and unindulged kindness. To
use the terms of a science just beginning to be understood, his
veneration is satisfied with adoring the matériel of Aaron's idol,
to the exclusion of all other gods; his conscientiousness, quickened
by cautiousness, is content with forbearing to take usury, when
there is reason to fear a legal forfeiture; and his adhesiveness
is never more strongly manifested, than when he sticks to a debtor
'closer than a brother,' until he pays the uttermost farthing. His
secretiveness is active, when the tax-gatherer is at his door; and
his cautiousness is extreme when listening to the tale of distress,
or to the assurances of the suppliant borrower. His locality selects
places for future cities; his size divides them into lots twenty-five
by one hundred feet; and he disposes of them to those endowed with
large marvellousness. He getteth rich--and is reverenced, because he
has never been accused of theft, nor convicted of swindling.
It is not without emotions of pleasure, that I take leave of false
pretension to rank and station, although it be to take up the
humblest claim upon our attention made by the sons of genius. And
here allow me to observe, that within the last forty years, certain
individuals have claimed, that they have traced each particular
demonstration of the various faculties and sentiments of the
human mind to its source--which they allege to be an organ of the
brain--and they have also adopted a nomenclature for the mental
faculties, highly convenient, which I beg the privilege of employing,
while I ask one farther favor of the reader, that, for the sake of
convenience, if for no other reason, he will allow me to suppose
each faculty of the mind to have its separate material organ. Even
with this liberal concession on the part of the reader, it will be
difficult to assign to each child of genius his appropriate rank in
the scale of being. It is generally true, that the organs of the
faculties and sentiments, which are not called into activity in the
constitution of the man of genius, are in point of size at mediocrity
or below it. The main strength of his character is derived from the
striking fullness of the single organ which gives the bent to his
mental inclination; but there is also a full development of certain
other organs colleagued with that, which, following its lead, help
out its inclinations, and conduct its work. These colleagues are few
in number, and with their exception, the remaining mental organs
of the man of genius are moderate, small, or inactive. His head is
therefore uneven and irregular; that is, the reader is asked to
suppose it to be so, for the sake of illustration. How often it is
observed, that the man of genius wants that strong common sense, of
which a very plain man may justly boast the possession? Does the
genius lack the organ of common sense? Unhappily for many of the
human family, there is no such organ! This excellent condition of
the human mind seldom accompanies an irregular head. It is claimed
to be the result of the equable and full development of all the
organs of the human intellect and sentiments, and of the moderate
and controllable size of all the organs of the passions. But it is
otherwise in the man of genius. The size and activity of the main
organs, by whose manifestations he is distinguished, render them the
master spirits of his mind. In the admiration which genius excites,
the useful attributes of the man are not generally looked for--and
the most flagrant moral defects are palliated, if not forgiven; nay,
oftentimes they are copied by those who, not having the power to
dazzle, present the forlorn spectacle of natural dulness bedecked
with the borrowed vices of genius.
Humbly among the sons of genius, is placed the individual who amuses
a vacant hour by demonstrations of his imitative propensity. In some
respects there exists a parallel, and in others a contrast, between
him and the possessor of the acquisitive instinct. They both rely
for admiration upon what they have _taken from others_. Both _bleed_
their victims--one in their pocket, the other in their vanity, or
love of approbation. Both accumulate--the one, the goods of this
world, the other its manners. The one is a loser by people's taking
themselves off--the other a gainer by 'taking off' people. One is
rich in matter, the other in manner; and both are appropriated
from the stores of others. The miser is chiefly the creature of
two instincts--acquisitiveness and cautiousness; the actor, also,
of two--imitation and secretiveness. These are all instincts of
our animal nature, and do not tend to ennoble their possessor. But
the first combination is contracted, and delights only in selfish
gratification; while the latter cannot be fully gratified, without
contributing to the amusement or instruction of mankind. Men have
therefore always betrayed extensive interest in its manifestations;
and the actor wiles away a tedious hour, or affords a lively
gratification, which calls forth the applause of the many, though
he may fail to excite the admiration of the few. One may appreciate
a perfect imitation, whether grave or gay, heroic or comic; and yet
assert, with truth, that fewer faculties of the mind are brought into
action, even in the constitution of the most perfect actor, than in
that of any other child of genius, the singer only excepted.
Above these, but in the same grade of excellence as respects each
other, does nature place her more gifted children, the musical
composer, the orator, painter, sculptor, and poet; creatures of
variously combined faculties, sentiments, and passions, but all
so constituted as to be capable of enchanting the eye, delighting
the ear, or gratifying the taste. Their works exalt the feelings,
interest the heart, or instruct the mind, of man. They blend the
happiest influences of the passions, intellect and sentiments. They
portray inanimate nature in all her creations of sight and sound,
and exhibit living nature in all her varieties of action, emotion,
thought, or passion. Nature is their universal theme, and the fruits
of their labors compose those intellectual luxuries, to banquet upon
which, forms the most characteristic feature which distinguishes
polished from civilized life--the accomplished from the merely useful
man. But a man may be either of these sons of genius, and come
far short of being either a great or a good man. Nay, he may have
followed the promptings of his genius all his life, and failed after
all to benefit mankind. Whose mental vision has not Byron dazzled?
Who did not admire the man? Who has not forgiven his faults, on
account of the magnitude of his genius, and the power of his works?
And yet who does not know that Byron lived in vain, and died without
benefitting himself or his fellow men? On the other hand, it is
pleasant to find, that genius, so dangerous in some, may be harmless
in others, and that a poet may range through all nature's works,
but so judiciously select the theme of his song, and so beautifully
adorn it, as that, while he excites the admiration, he improves the
heart of his fellow men. The immortal 'poet of the year' concealed
all evil, and portrayed all good. His female reaper adorns the
lowest field with mingled beauty, chastity, and innocence--and sweet
Musidora, in her plight, is seen only by the eye of modest love,
abashed and retiring from the view.
Ascending the scale of genius, for the sake of brevity, I pass the
architect and mathematician, to say a word of the great mechanical
inventor, whom I would place highest of all nature's eccentric and
gifted sons. To that beauty or poetry of thought, sound, action, or
expression, which constitutes the chief merit of the sons of genius,
last under consideration, he adds utility and dignity, and furnishes
the means for man's civilization. Could poetry or music be cultivated
without mechanical means? Of what avail is eloquence among houseless
savages, save to excite to deeds of horror? What leisure would be
afforded to attend to and enjoy the efforts of genius, without the
use of machinery, which has emancipated the human race from slavery
to their necessities, and elevated them to the enjoyment of ease
and luxury? The mechanical inventor approaches one attribute of the
Divinity; he may almost be said to create; and thus to approximate
to the highest exercise of power. And yet the singer, humblest of
all the children of genius, oftentimes commands more of the world's
admiration than the most extraordinary mechanical inventor. There are
those who would listen to the song of the nightingale, although the
proud monument of Fulton's genius for the first time burst upon their
view, 'walking the waters like a thing of life.' Nay, there are
doubtless those in whom a sonnet would excite more interest than the
spectacle of a noble ship gliding swiftly into port, propelled by the
lightnings of heaven. But that is the only true estimate of mental
worth, which ranks highest in the scale of importance those faculties
and dispositions of the human mind which best subserve the happiness
of men.
Above all the sons of genius, I would rank a class of men
distinguished for their talent and virtue; who together with a
favorable temperament, have heads quite above the middle, but not of
the very largest size; the organs of whose brain are equally and well
proportioned; and whose sentiments and passions are well balanced and
regulated. They are divested of the faults of the sons of genius;
they have no weaknesses, except such as are incident to the best
mental organization; and their passions incite to deeds of goodness,
since they are under the control and guidance of noble intellectual
faculties, and the higher sentiments. They avoid whatever subverts
man's happiness. They are too wise to entertain schemes of dangerous
ambition; too good to adopt the means of its gratification. Mankind
have therefore nothing to fear from them. In the most arbitrary
governments, their opinions are not disregarded even by tyrants;
and under the freest constitution, their sentiments and opinions
constitute the unwritten but sacred law of virtuous public sentiment,
to violate which the most reckless seldom dare, and never do, with
impunity. These are _nature's aristocracy_--and they constitute a
formidable check upon the vices, and a barrier to the violences,
of the mob, and overawe the daring ambition of the aspiring and
desperate. The more sedulously all but these are excluded from
directing the affairs of a republic, the longer will it endure.
Highest in the scale of human excellence, is the individual of the
same description of character as the one last described, but with
a head of the largest size. Here we have presented the highest and
most perfect combination of moral and intellectual power. Here is
the source of those great eras in human affairs, where the mighty
intellect of one man has changed the moral and political condition of
nations, perhaps of the world. Above nature's aristocracy, but with
their confidence and approbation, this gifted order of men pursue the
greatest good with the greatest energy--accomplish the noblest ends,
by the noblest means. They belong to _nature's high nobility_. Human
and mortal though they be, yet are they the peers of angels, and
second only to the gods!
There was a man among my countrymen, who, whenever he appeared
upon the theatre of human affairs, was always excellently great.
He exhibited anger only in the form of virtuous indignation, and
severity only in the cause of truth and virtue. The warrant of
execution passed from his hand bedewed with his tears; and in
the foeman whom he slew, would be found only the enemy of human
happiness. He laid the foundation of a vast empire of freemen;
he guided the reins of government with noble disinterestedness
and virtue; he yielded them gladly to his successor, and with the
blessings of millions, went into honorable retirement. Whether in
emotion, thought or action, who has known one so pure, so great, and
good? A distinguished British peer said of him, that 'he was the only
human being, for whom he felt an _awful reverence_.'
WASHINGTON was, indeed, the highest of the _nobility of nature_.
'Greatest, noblest, purest of mankind.'
EMBLEMS.
I.
I ASK not of the golden sun, why, when at eventide,
His last red glance is cast abroad on the green upland side;
I ask not why his radiant glow stays not to bless my sight,
Or why his yellow beams should sink behind the pall of night:
Day, night, and morn must come and go, along the changing sky,
With shadow and with grateful light, to cheer the wakening eye;
It is the change which makes them blest; all hold a tranquil power,
Whether 'tis morning's orient gleam, or evening's solemn hour.
II.
Thus should the soul in silence gaze, lit by pale Memory's star,
Over the heaving tide of life, whose wrecks but bubbles are;
And though the light of Joy be dim--though Hope's warm dream hath fled,
Though the deep wind hath mournful tones along the slumbering dead,
Still let thy spirit look abroad, and onward to the rest,
Which comes as twilight shadows steal across earth's verdant breast;
And chastened in the night of ill, amid its shadowed gloom,
Look to the holy morn which breaks the darkness of the tomb!
_Philadelphia_, W. G. C.
STANZAS.
'THERE is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout
again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the
root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the
ground, yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth
boughs like a plant. But MAN dieth and wasteth away; yea, man giveth
up the ghost, and where is he? JOB.
I.
BORN in anguish, nursed in sorrow,
Journeying through a shadowy span;
Fresh with health to-day--to-morrow
Cold and lifeless!--such is man.
Scarce produced to light, ere dying--
Like the fancied vision flying;
Scarcely budding forth, when blighted
'Dust to dust' again united!
II.
Richly shines the rainbow, glowing,
Lightly laughs the morning beam;
Sweetly breathes the flowret, blowing,
Deeply rolls the mountain stream:
But the heavenly bow hath faded,
And the morning beam is shaded;
And to earth the flower hath hasted,
And the mountain stream is wasted.
III.
Yet though passed awhile, these lie not
Ever in Destruction's chain;
Though the flowers may fade, they die not--
Spring shall wake their buds again:
Morning's smile again shall brighten,
And the storm the rainbow lighten;
And the torrent (summer finished,)
Roll its waters undiminished.
IV.
Man alone, when death hath bound him,
Moulders in the silent grave:
Of the friends who were around him,
None to succor, none to save!
Then when night and gloom assail thee,
And thy strength and glory fail thee,
And thy boasted beauty waneth,
Cold--in darkness--what remaineth?
V.
Cheering splendor yet attends us,
Mid these scenes of deepest gloom;
'Tis our 'hope in CHRIST' defends us
From the terrors of the tomb.
When we leave this vale of sadness,
'Tis to share unmingled gladness:
O the happy, happy greeting--
JESUS and our friends then meeting!
J. F. H.
NOTES OF A SURGEON.[1]
NUMBER ONE.
THE DISLOCATION.
THE reduction of a dislocated limb, in a person of muscular frame,
is one of the most fearful and difficult operations in surgery; and
in a lad or a female, there is much in the attending circumstances
to excite the liveliest interest of the spectator. To hear the
bone _click_, as it returns to its place; to behold the relief
which is instantly experienced; the happiness so vividly depicted
in the countenance; the inclination to immediate repose--every
feather seeming to be a pillow to some over-strained and exhausted
muscle--one cannot help cordially uniting in the feelings of the
restored sufferer; nor can he restrain the smile which mantles his
features, and is reflected in the lineaments of the surrounding
surgeons.
In a strong man, where the muscles are rigid, and every fibre seems
to be converted into a wire to resist the force exerted on them, the
ceremony is one of distressing cruelty. The inquisition can scarcely
furnish any thing more appalling, and certainly not the practice of
surgery. The pain of an amputation may be more acute; but its very
acuteness assures you that it will soon be over. The edge of the
knife itself is an index, keen as the scythe of Time, and faithful as
his march, of the progressive succession of the moments of trial; a
fiëry monitor, which every instant sinks deeper, and will soon, very
soon in the reality, but late, as it always must be, in the reckoning
of the sufferer, reach its unswerving limits, the bone. And here the
pain of the operation in a great measure ceases; for it is hardly
necessary to state, that the sawing of this structure is not actually
attended by any of the horrors with which vulgar apprehension has
invested it. The ligature of the arteries, the dressing of the
truncated member, etc., may each occasion a momentary anguish. But
as to the mere pain of the operation, it is trivial, in comparison
with that which an athletic man experiences in the reduction of a
dislocated limb, which has been any length of time displaced.
It was a luxation of the thigh. The patient was a remarkably stout
man, and bade fair to put in requisition the whole retinue of the
hospital.
'Remember. Mr. F----,' said the attending surgeon, on leaving in the
morning, 'be careful and have every thing ready--every thing. There
must be no delay in seeking instruments while we are engaged with the
patient.'
'I had better bleed him, probably?' replied I, inquiringly.
'Yes; an hour or so before twelve; and have him kept in the bath
until then.'
I selected a double set of apparatus, consisting of very little
else than a good strong block-and-tackle, and some padded buck-skin
girths, and soon had them in their proper place in the 'theatre' of
operations. This is an apartment of the hospital having very much the
appearance of an ordinary theatre, but differing from it in being
more especially appropriated to the enactment of tragedies; the play
generally consisting in the lively representation of suffering on the
part of the patient, and the exhibition of the coolest _nonchalance_
by the officiating surgeons. If sometimes enlivened by an interlude
between the chief actors and the subs, their sallies are wholly
spontaneous, and usually fail to receive that applause which is the
customary reward of such improvisations on other boards. The room is
small, and ranges of boxes extend on the three sides of an ovoid, to
the ceiling, forming an incommodious but commanding observatory for
spectators. The pit is separated from the boxes by a thin partition.
In this little space, lies the chief difference between the theatre
of the hospital and more strictly dramatic edifices. The floor is the
stage, on which those weekly representations take place, that seldom
fail to draw crowds of students from the neighboring college, during
its session; though it is not often that the spectacle of misery,
(too purely unpoetical,) draws a tear from the lachrymal sac of the
ardent and enthusiastic disciple of Hippocrates.
The audience are, in truth, mostly exceedingly phlegmatic in their
manifestations of sympathy. They behold the struggles of a luckless
wretch, in the clutches of the veritable Procrustes, who endeavors
to make him conform to the measure of his bed, by a few inches of
stretching, in the reduction of a luxated thigh, without _apparently_
any fellow-feeling for his pitiable situation. They behold one of the
lower limbs severed quite up to the hip-joint, and rivulets of blood
streaming from the divided vessels of the stump, without a tremor,
or a groan, or an exclamation, to evince the simultaneous racking of
their own nerves; although it is true, that some youthful spectator
will occasionally betray a tendency to _deliquium_, when he is
immediately transported to a more kindred atmosphere.
The person to be operated on, was a man of vigorous constitution, and
evinced great anxiety to have his body restored to its symmetry, and
his limb to its usefulness. Though, as is usual in such cases, the
probable severity of the operation, its duration, and the uncertainty
of success, were laid before him in their true light, he was firm
in his determination to have it done. Poor man! he could not bring
himself to believe that there was a possibility of failure; nor did
he suspect that, as strong a man as he was in resolution and bodily
powers, he would be compelled, before the ceremonials of reduction
were gone through with, to cry out, 'Give me some drink, Titinius, as
a sick child.' Yet that such should be the case, shows that necessity
is stronger than mortal resolution; and the same individual who asks
you to reduce his limb, and then bids you cease your harrowing
attempts, will in turn rebuke you if you obey his orders, given in
the wildness of despair, and the limb thereby remain indissolubly
locked in its distorted posture, an enduring monument of his own
weakness, and of your culpable pliancy.
The patient was placed in a warm bath, and bled until faint. The
object was to make him a sick man, as a preparatory step to rendering
him whole. While superintending this necessary process, I hailed the
nurse of ward No. 13, whose duty it was to attend to the regulation
of the theatre.
'Nurse, have you seen that every thing is in order in the theatre?'
'I just came from there, doctor. I believe nothing is wanting.'
'We still need a bowl or two, and some warm water. You have the key?'
'Oh yes; I always carry the key of the side-doors. I shall not let
any of the students in, doctor, until you say the word?'
'It will be as well to keep them out till the surgeons come. You must
stand by, as we may want you to lend a hand.'
'There will be some occasion, I think, doctor, if I know any thing
about a dislocation. I have been in this house fifteen years, and
have seen Dr.----- try------'
'Well, be careful and have every thing ready.'
'Oh, I'll look out, doctor.'
His voice was soon heard at the farther end of the hall, summoning
the nurse of one of the neighboring wards--a fellow whom Dr. D-----
would have _pronounced_ an O'Rang O'Tang, though he was neither an
Irishman nor a monkey in appearance.
'I say, No. 14, have you carried that water in yet?'
'No, but I will directly,' replied the subaltern.
'Well, while I'm gone down to the old lady's after some fresh
blankets, _take care_ and have it done.'
How far this chain of rank extended downward, I can only conjecture.
But it is probable that No. 14 did not consider himself the last
link, and gave orders in an authoritative tone to one of his
_inferiors_, and be d----d to him, to be careful and bring him a pail
of water from the pump, while he stood on the steps to arrange his
thoughts and shoe-strings.
I stepped down into the apothecary's shop, and procured a couple
of drachms of tartar emetic. This I mixed up in a bowl of water,
and gave a part of it to the patient, setting the remainder in a
convenient place in the theatre. On a side-table, here, was spread
out a pocket-case of instruments, containing scissors, scalpels, and
every thing else that might be needed on an emergency.
The proper hour having now arrived, the disabled man was taken out
of the bath, wrapped in a blanket, and supported into the theatre.
On a table, in the centre of the pit, was placed the apparatus for
reduction. The patient was extended on it, on his left side, and
the young aspirants were called upon to exercise their ingenuity in
attaching several silk handkerchiefs above the knee of the dislocated
limb, (the right) with a clove-hitch. Surgeons are no sailors; and
a knot which a cartman puts a hundred times a day over the front
post of his cart, puzzles the juvenile professor exceedingly; and
great is the honor bestowed on the fortunate achiever of the exploit.
Phrenologists might find, in the retentive faculties of this knot, a
desirable subject for investigation. The tighter you draw upon the
two ends looped together, the more securely is the limb grasped; and
a timber-head-hitch, as it is sometimes called, may be fixed to the
tapering extremity of a slippery hacmetack log, and it will hold fast
with the gripe of a drowning man, and allow you to drag it, for aught
that can be averred to the contrary, half way round the globe. The
mystery of this knot, unlike that of Gordian, is in the tying, not in
the untying.
A broad belt was next passed along the _os ischium_, and up over the
head, where it was fixed by a strong cord to the wall. Another was
placed around the middle of the thigh. To the nooses in the end of
the handkerchiefs, a small but strong pulley was attached, which was
made fast at the other end to a staple on the side of the partition
toward the patient's feet. In this situation, he seemed much as
though stretched upon a rack, and waiting the application of the
torture from his stern inquisitors; a resemblance which was more than
justified in the progress of the operation.
The theatre was pretty well filled with students, and the arena
of exhibition itself occupied by a sufficient number of persons
either to assist, or to remain inactive spectators. The three chief
surgeons stood about the feet of the patient, consulting as to the
best mode of proceeding, and occasionally addressing a few words
to the expecting patient. The walkers, house-surgeon, and one or
two professional men, were arranged in convenient situations to
afford aid. The nurse, _par excellence_, was also there, where his
sailor-like promptness of hand in managing the rope was all important.
But as the reader does not, perhaps, know what a nurse is,
_hospitaliter et male loquendo_, (that is, as applied to males, in
hospital dialect,) it is proper that he should be made acquainted
with him. I shall therefore peninsulate him briefly in this paragraph.
_Nurse!_--thy burly form would throw into inextricable confusion
all ordinary notions of that soft and womanly occupation. To think
of an advertisement like this: 'Wanted a wet-nurse, with a fresh
breast of milk,' and of thy applying for it! Thy brachial extremities
were far better adapted to embracing a cannon, than clasping an
infant. Thou wert six feet three, leaving out the curve in thy
shoulders, and wert called Featherbody, as if to show off thy
unparalleled muscular development to better advantage. In fine, thy
long chin, decisive mouth, nose of good magnitude, well-set eyes,
rather superciliary eye-brows, low forehead, and matted hair, were
sufficiently characteristic to have made thee remembered, had not thy
extraordinary adaptation to thy office (so different from that which
most conceive it to be) rendered thee an object of admiration to all
who witnessed thy skill and prowess.
The patient thus extended upon the table, the bandages were taken
from his arms; the bowl was held, and the flow of blood watched, to
catch the first signs of failing strength. The vessel was already
beginning to brim, when he sickened and vomited. It was now that
the extension was put on. The sturdy, iron-armed nurse seized the
stick around which the end of the pulley-rope was wound to give a
firmer grasp to the hands, and began slowly and leisurely to bring
the convolutions of the cord to a state of tension. His force, not
trifling of itself, and now tripled, was not an eighth of it expended
when its effects became apparent. The cord began to strain--the belt
at the head tightened--the patient was lifted from the table, and
became suspended between the two fastenings.
The surgeon, with his left hand upon the patient's ankle, and his
right upon the upper end of the thigh-bone, while his knee, elevated
by a stool, was placed under that of the _culprit_, as it hung
over the end of the table, awaited the escape of the bone from its
preternatural position. At the same time, a young Colossus stood upon
the table, astride the unfortunate man, ready to lift up his thigh,
and apparently tear it from his body, if it would not otherwise yield.
The man's groans now came thick and deep. He begged for a moment's
intermission--_rest_, as he emphatically called it; and he never felt
the full force of that word before, racked though his limbs had been,
repeatedly, by the severest toil. The only consolation which they
vouchsafed him, was in terms such as these:
'Do you feel sick--_very_ sick?'
'Very.' His face was the picture of an _emesis_ in embryo.
''Tis just what we want.'
The distressed man seemed to feel, gutturally, as if he could reject
the comfort-drawing conclusion, _ab imo pectore_.
'Would you like to vomit?'
In the fulness of his stomach, he would have answered 'yes,' but
restrained himself and his diaphragm after a moment's rumination.
'We don't want you to do that.'
'But I am exceedingly tired--wearied to death.'
'You will be better after it is over, my friend.'
'Give me a drink of water, doctor, for heaven's sake!'
'Take a little of this solution.'
'Do open the doors, and let in some air. I can hardly draw my breath.'
'Oh, never fear but you will breathe long enough.'
'I shall faint.'
'Faint away, and we shall soon have the bone in.'
'Doctor, _I can't stand it_!'
'Then _lay_ it, friend,' a favorite expression with one of the
distinguished surgeons who officiated on this occasion.
'Wont you loosen these straps, only for a moment, so that I can rest
my leg?'
'One minute, my good man,' continued the speaker, while with double
vigor he reiterated his efforts to pry the bone into its cavity;
'bear it a little longer--one minute--there--bear it only a little
while longer----'
'O, doctor, you will break my thigh! Doctor--doctor!'
'Don't be alarmed, my man; if I do I will set it again.'
'Let me have that rope!' he exclaimed, as he made violent efforts to
spring up and catch the cord that was straining his sinews; efforts
ten times more hopeless and unavailing than those of Milton's giant,
'Under the weight of mountains buried deep.'
'There, lie still; you must not exert yourself. Do not try to draw
your thigh up; we will take care of that.' Let it go as if you had
nothing to do with it. Mr. R----, lift up a little more, as you are a
true surgeon.'
'Oh, I shall die!' gasped the cruciated wretch.
'My good friend, you came here to have your thigh put back in its
place, and you must be patient. You cannot expect it to be returned
without pain.'
'I know; but wait till to-morrow; or let me rest myself for an hour
or two, and then I shall feel refreshed, and be better able to bear
it.'
'You may go to sleep, if you wish, my good fellow. I should be glad
to have you.'
'But he could not well go in stays,' observed one of the walkers, in
a low tone, to his neighbor.
'The cord-drawer there should unlace,' replied the other. 'But he
resembles an ox triced up to be shod, more than a lady in corsets.'
'That saying is rather too _ox-umorious_ for the occasion,' returned
the éléve.
'Do you chew tobacco, my friend?' said the chief operator to the
almost exhausted patient.
'I haven't chewed any lately,' he groaned.
'So much the better then. Mr. Aster, let me have a little out of your
box. There--ah!'
'Here, my good man, take that,' he continued, presenting the grateful
boon to the patient. 'Eat it: if you have not been accustomed to
chewing, I am in hopes it will make you sick.'
This weed, it is known, produces the most deadly nausea and
exhaustion in those not addicted to its use. It is customary to
employ it in cases of this nature, where habit does not intervene,
to incapacitate the patient for making any voluntary exertion in
opposition to the extension, which purpose it answers even better
than bleeding.
The occupation temporarily relieved him by changing the current
of his thoughts, and he reclined in a state of utter listlessness
and _évanouissement_, only interrupted by occasional retchings.
The surgeons perceived the favorable opportunity; but the moment a
movement was made to seize it, his muscles were on the alert, and
it became a struggle between the unaided energies of a desperate
man, and the mechanically-exerted force of an equally hardy but less
excited opponent.
'Come, be calm, and do not strain so.'
'I can't help it!' The surgeons knew it.
'Whisper to him, Parcels,' said Aster, one of the junior assistants,
who made his brightness particularly apparent in perpetrating puns
upon the Roman vernacular, 'whisper him, by way of consolation and
encouragement,
'Non, si male nunc, et olim
_Sic_ erit.'
'That is, I suppose, 'If you are ill now, it is no sign you will be
sick by-and-by.''
'Yes; and nothing could be more inspiring.'
'Poor dog, it is true he is likely to be as much benefitted by that
as any thing else; but I will not trifle with his sufferings, even in
seeming.'
'_Cur_ nodus--why not? What will you do?'
'I will help, and then----'
'Soothe him by mild language. No, let Nature speak out her agony in
his cries, and let the surgeon utter his sympathy as best becomes
him, and as the welfare of his patient demands.'
'In jests?'
'In imperturbable coolness and decision: or, as you say, in jests;
for what is comfort, under these circumstances, but a jest?'
'I think his system will not endure much more,' said Parcels.
'It is possible,' replied the walker.
He was a brave man, and even in this painful situation, he took what
was offered him to increase his prostration; he chewed up a cigar,
and gulped it down; he drank swallow after swallow of tartar-emetic
solution, a most nauseating and relaxing preparation. But still,
though deadly sick, the sweat pouring out of his forehead in clear
drops, and though seemingly stretched, on this Procrustean bed, at
least three inches beyond his natural stature, his muscles showed no
disposition to relinquish their grasp upon the bone. The surgeons
again and again exerted all their strength upon the passive and
suspended limb, but it was without effect. They spoke a few words to
each other, and at length concluded to remit the extension for a few
minutes, in order to rest themselves.
It was, indeed, not only necessary for them, but for the man also,
whose frame, it was justly feared, would not bear such unremitted
torture. He seemed reprieved, in truth, by even the trifling respite
that they granted him, and looked at the Herculean tar, (_that
was_, before he became a nurse, thinking that his tender forces
might be better exerted in the sick-room than on board a ship,)
as, in obedience to orders, he walked up toward the slender and
elegantly-wrought brass block, with steps that might have been
impressed by an infant, which yielded only inch by inch the play
that he had been so long and diligently accumulating upon the rope;
he regarded him, I say, with a grim satisfaction, not unmixed with a
tiger-like expression about the eyes and corners of the mouth, which
bespoke any thing but pure and cordial affection.
But far from gaining the so much-coveted disenthralment, to the full
of his desires, the cords were only partially slackened, and he was
barely allowed to catch a glimpse of that freedom which would have
been to him
----'Welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land.'
He might have lain about as much at his ease as Satan on the fiëry
plains of ----, when bethinking him of his late discomfiture, and
planning new schemes of vengeance.