Lieutenant Palmer and his black servant—The Lieutenant’s sister marries
Mr. George Washington, a “blood relation” of the American
president—This lady presents her husband with a son and heir—Awkward
circumstance connected with the birth of the infant—Curious and
learned dissertation respecting “fancy-marks,” &c.—A _casus
omissus_—Speculations and consultations—Doctor Bathron, surgeon and
grocer—His suggestion respecting little Washington—Doctor Knaggs
called in—Operation begun—Its ill success—“Black and all Black”—The
operator’s dismay and despair—Final catastrophe of Master Washington.
Another, and a not unpleasant, because not fatal, incident may serve to
illustrate the “state of medicine and surgery,” between forty and fifty
years ago, in Ireland. It occurred near my brother’s house, at
Castlewood, and the same Lieutenant Palmer, of Dureen, was a very
interested party in it. The thing created great merriment among all the
gossiping, tattling old folks, male and female, throughout the district.
The lieutenant having been in America, had brought home a black lad as a
servant, who resided in the house of Dureen with the family. It is one
of the mysteries of nature, that infants sometimes come into this world
marked and spotted in divers fantastical ways and places, a circumstance
which the faculty, so far as they know any thing about it, consider as
the sympathetic effect either of external touch or ardent
imagination;—or, if neither of these are held to be the cause, then they
regard it as a sort of _lusus_ with which Dame Nature occasionally
surprises, and then (I suppose) laughs at the world, for marvelling at
her capriciousness,—a quality which she has, as satirists pretend,
plentifully bestowed on the fairest part of the creation. Be this as it
may, the incident I am about to mention is in its way unique; and
whether the occasion of it proceeded from sympathy, fancy, or touch, or
exhibited a regular _lusus Naturæ_, never has, and now never can be
unequivocally decided.
A sister of the lieutenant, successively a very good maiden, woman, and
wife, had been married to one Mr. George Washington, of the
neighbourhood, who, from his name, was supposed to be some distant blood
relation to the celebrated General Washington; and, as that
distinguished individual had no children, all the old women and other
wiseacres of Durrow, Ballyragget, Ballyspellen, and Ballynakill, made up
their minds that his Excellency, when dying, would leave a capital
legacy in America to his blood relation, Mr. George Washington, of
Dureen, in Ireland; who was accordingly advised—and, with the aid of the
Rev. Mr. Hoskinson, clergyman of Durrow (father to the present Vice
Provost of Dublin University), he took the advice—to write a dignified
letter to his Excellency, General George Washington of Virginia,
President, &c. &c. &c. stating himself to have the honour of
entertaining hopes that he should be enabled to show his Excellency, by
an undeniable pedigree (when he could procure it) that he had a portion
of the same blood as his Excellency’s running in his humble veins. The
letter went on to state, that he had espoused the sister of a British
officer, who had had the honour of being taken prisoner in America; and
that he, the writer, having reasonable expectation of shortly fathering
a young Mr. Washington, his Excellency’s permission was humbly requested
for the child to be named his god-son: till the receipt of which
permission, the christening should be kept open by his most faithful
servant and distant relation, &c.
This epistle was duly despatched to his Excellency, at Mount Vernon, in
Virginia, and Mrs George Washington, of Dureen, lost no time in
performing her husband’s promise. No joy ever exceeded that which seized
on Mr. Washington, when it was announced that his beloved wife had been
taken ill, and was in excessive torture. The entire household, master
included, were just seated at a comfortable and plentiful dinner; the
first slices off the round, or turkey, were cut and tasted; some
respectable old dames of the neighbourhood had just stepped in to
congratulate the family on what would occur, and hear all that was going
forward at this critical, cheerful, and happy moment of anticipation,
when Mrs. Gregory (the _lady’s doctor_), who was, in her own way, a very
shrewd, humorous kind of body, and to whom most people in that country
under thirty-five years of age had owed their existence, entered the
apartment to announce the happy arrival of as fine a healthy little boy
as could be, and that Mrs. Washington was as well, or indeed rather
better, than might be expected _under the circumstances_. A general
cheer by the whole company followed, and bumpers of hot punch were drunk
with enthusiasm to the success and future glory of the _young_ General
Washington.
Mrs. Gregory at length beckoned old Mrs. Palmer to the window with a
mysterious air, and whispered something in her ear; on hearing which,
Mrs. Palmer immediately fell flat on the floor, as if dead. The old
dames hobbled off to her assistance, and Mrs. Gregory affected to feel
strongly herself about something,—ejaculating, loud enough to be
generally heard, and with that sort of emphasis people use when they
wish to persuade us they are praying in downright earnest, “God’s will
be done!”
“What about?” said the lieutenant, bristling up:—“I suppose my mother
has taken a glass too much: it is not the first time!—she’ll soon come
round again, never fear. Don’t be alarmed, my friends.”
“God’s will be done!” again exclaimed the oracular Mrs. Gregory.
“What’s the matter? What is all this about?” grumbled the men. “Lord
bless us! what can it be?” squalled the women.
“There cannot be a finer or stronger little boy in the ’varsal world,”
said Mrs. Gregory: “but, Lord help us!” continued she, unable longer to
contain her overcharged grief, “It’s—it’s not so—so _white_ as it should
be!”
“Not white?” exclaimed every one of the company simultaneously.
“No,—O Lord, no!” answered Mrs. Gregory, looking mournfully up to the
ceiling in search of heaven. Then casting her eyes wistfully around the
company, she added—“God’s will be done! but the dear little boy
is—is—quite _black_!”
“_Black! black!_” echoed from every quarter of the apartment.
“As black as your hat, if not _blacker_,” replied Mrs. Gregory.
“Oh! Oh—h!” groaned Mr. Washington.
“Oh! Oh—h!” responded Mrs. Gregory.
“Blood and ouns!” said the lieutenant.—“See how I am shaking,” said the
midwife, taking up a large glass of potsheen and drinking it off to
settle her nerves.
What passed afterward on that evening may be easily surmised: but the
next day Mrs. Gregory, the _sage femme_, came into Castle Burrow to
“prevent _mistakes_,” and tell the affair to the neighbours in her own
way; that is, partly in whispers, partly aloud, and partly by nods and
winks—such as old ladies frequently use when they wish to divulge more
than they like to speak openly.
Sufficient could be gathered, however, to demonstrate that young Master
Washington had not one white, or even _gray_ spot on his entire body,
and that some _frizzled_ hair was already beginning to show itself on
his little pate; but that no nurse could be found who would give him a
drop of nourishment, even were he famishing—all the women verily
believing that, as Mrs. Washington was herself an unexceptionable wife,
it must be a son of the d—l by a dream, and nothing else than an imp.
However, Mr. Hoskinson, the clergyman, soon contradicted this report by
assuring the Protestants that the day for that sort of miracle had been
for some centuries over, and that the infant was as fine, healthy,
natural, and sprightly a little negro as ever came from the coast of
Guinea.
Never was there such a buzz and hubbub in any neighbourhood as now took
place in and about the town of Castle Durrow. Every body began to
_compute periods_ and form conjectures; and though it was universally
known that red wine, &c. &c. cast on the mamma, often leaves marks upon
children, yet censorious and incredulous people persisted in asserting,
that such marks only came in spots or splashes, when the person of a
lady happened to be actually touched by the colouring matter: but that
no child could be black, and _all_ black, unless in a _natural_ way.
Among the lower orders, however, the thing was settled at once in the
most plausible and popular manner, and set down as downright witchcraft
and nothing else: and suspicion fell on old Betty Hogan of the Seven
Sisters, near Ballyspellen, who was _known_ to be a witch, and able to
raise the devil at Hallow Eve, to turn smocks, and tell fortunes; and
she was verily seen by more than one to go into the Cave of Dunmore with
a coal-black cur dog (without tail or ears) after her, the very night
and minute Mrs. Washington was delivered of the devil; and nobody ever
saw the cur dog before or since.
Mr. Washington and the lieutenant were, however, by no means at ease
upon the subject of this freak of Nature, and were well warranted in
their dissatisfaction; as at length all the old women agreed in
believing, that the black lad from America was nothing else but the
devil disguised, who had followed the lieutenant as a servant boy, to
gain over the family, and particularly Mrs. Washington, as Satan did
Eve;—and that he ought to be smothered by the priests, or at least
transported out of the country, before he did any more mischief—or there
would not be a white child in the whole barony the next season.
Lieutenant Palmer was of course high in blood for the honour of his
sister, and Mr. Washington cock-a-hoop for the character of his wife:
and so great was their ire, that it was really believed the black boy
would have been put down a draw-well, as the people threatened,—that
being the approved method of getting rid of a devil whenever he showed
his face in that part of the country: but as, possibly, Betty Hogan
might be a better judge of him than themselves, they suspended the
execution till they should bring the old witch and confront her and _the
devil_ together—when of course he would show his cloven foot, and they
might both be put into the well, if they did not take every _taste_ of
the black off _Master Washington_.
The father and uncle decided more calmly and properly to lay the whole
affair before a consultation of doctors, to know if it was not a regular
_imagination mark_—whether a child might not be marked by mere fancy,
without the marking material (such as grapes, currants, or the like,)
touching the mother; and lastly, why, as children in general are only
partially marked, this child was not _spotted_ like others, but as black
as ebony every inch of it.
All the doctors in the neighbourhood were called in to the consultation.
Old Butler, the farrier (heretofore mentioned), came with all expedition
to Dureen, and begged leave to give his opinion and offer his services,
wishing to see Master Washington before the doctors arrived, as he had a
secret for turning any skin ever so brown as white as milk!
On seeing Master Washington, however, he declared he was _too_ black
_entirely_ for his medicines, or any body else’s. “The devil so black a
crethur,” says he, “ever I saw, except Cornet French’s _Black and all
Black_, that beat the Pandreen mare for the King’s hundred at the races
of Gort:—the devil a white hair had _he_ from muzzle to tail, good, bad,
or indifferent. By my sowl! it’s a neat crust poor George Washington has
got to mumble any how! I never saw luck or grace come of the negers, bad
luck to them all!”
The day for the consultation being fixed, several apothecaries and
bone-setters attended at the house of Mr. George Bathron, of Dureen,
grocer, wine-merchant, surgeon, apothecary, druggist, and physician.
The first point stated and unanimously agreed on, was, “that the child
was black.” The reasons for that colour being universal on the young
gentleman were not quite so clear. At length Dr. Bathron, finding he had
the lead, and having been some years at school when a boy, and likewise
apprenticed to a grocer and apothecary at Ballyragget, where he learned
several technical words in the Latin tongue; finding, besides, that he
had an excellent opportunity to prove his learning to those less
educated,—declared with great gravity that he had read many authors upon
the subject of _marks_, and could take upon himself positively to assert
that the child was (according to all authority on such matters) a _casus
omissus_. The others, not being exactly sure either of the shape, size,
or colour, of a _casus omissus_, thought it better to _accede_ to what
they did not _comprehend_, and all subscribed to the opinion that the
child was a _casus omissus_. It was immediately circulated outside the
house, that all the doctors found the child to be a _casus omissus_; and
old Skelton, who had been a trooper in Germany, declared that a doctor
there told him that was the true surname of a devil incarnate. And the
prevailing notion then was, that the black lad, old Betty Hogan, the
witch, and Master Washington, should all be put down the draw-well
together, to save the other married women of the country from bearing
devils instead of children.
The _doctors_, however, having given their opinion, were extremely
ticklish in taking any step with a _casus omissus_; and not wishing to
pitch themselves against any infernal personification, left future
proceedings to the entire management of Dr. Bathron.
Doctor Bathron was a smart, squat, ruddy, jovial apothecary, and he was
also a professed poet, who had made some celebrated odes on the birthday
of Miss Flower, Lord Ashbrooke’s sister, when she visited Castle Durrow;
and on this occasion he required a fortnight to make up his mind as to
the best proceedings to bring the skin to its proper colour. Having, by
search of old book-stalls in Dublin (whither he went for the purpose),
found an ancient treatise, translated from the work of the high German
Doctor Cratorious (who flourished in the fourteenth century), on
_skinning_ certain parts of the body to change the colour or complexion,
or effectually to disguise criminals who had escaped from prison;—by
which means, likewise, disfiguring marks, freckles, moles, &c. might be
removed,—Doctor Bathron decided, that if this could be done partially,
why not on the entire body, by little and little, and not skinning one
spot till the last should be healed? He therefore stated to Mr.
Washington, and all the good family of Dureen, that he would take upon
himself to _whiten_ the child—as he was perfectly satisfied the black
skin was merely the outside, or scarf-skin, and that the real skin and
flesh underneath were the same as every body else’s.
The mode of operating was now the subject of difficulty. It was
suggested, and agreed on, to call in Mr. Knaggs, the doctor of Mount
Meleck, who, though he had injured his character as a practitioner of
judgment by attempting to cut off the head of Sam Doxy of the Derrys, as
hereinafter mentioned, had at the same time proved himself a skilful
operator, having gashed boldly into the nape of Mr. Doxy’s neck without
touching the spinal marrow, which a bungler needs must have done. He had
also acquired the reputation of science by writing a treatise on the Spa
of Ballyspellen, which the inn-keeper _there_ had employed him to
compose, in order to bring customers to his house to drink the waters as
“a specific for numerous disorders, when mixed in due proportion with
excellent wines, which might be had very reasonable at the sign of the
Fox and Piper, at Ballyspellen,” &c.
This man, in fine, together with Doctor Bathron, undertook to bring
Master Washington to a proper hue by detaching the exterior black _pelt_
which was so disagreeable to the family, and letting the natural white
skin, which they had no doubt was concealed under it, come to
light—thereby restoring the boy, as he ought to be, to his happy
parents.
“You’ll gain immortal honour,” said the grandmother: “I am sure they
will all be bound to pray for you!”
The state of practice in Ireland suggested but two ways of performing
this notable operation—one purely surgical, the other surgico-medical:
namely, either by gradually flaying with the knife, or by blisters.
It was at length settled to begin the operation the ensuing week,
previously preparing the heir-at-law by medicine to prevent
inflammation; the first attempt was to be on a small scale, and the
operation to be performed in Doctor Bathron’s own surgery;—and he being
still undecided whether the scalpel and forceps, or Spanish flies, would
be the most eligible mode of skinning Master Washington, determined to
try both ways at once, one on each arm, and to act in future according
as he saw the skin yield easiest.
Most people conceived that, as a blister always raises the skin, it
would be the readiest agent in loosening and carrying off the black one
that had created so much uneasiness in the present instance:—the
doctor’s doubts as to which, were, that the blister alone might not rise
regularly, but operate at one place better than at another—in which case
the child might be _piebald_, which would make him far worse than
before.
The operation at length proceeded, and Lieutenant Palmer himself
recounted to me every part of the incident. A strong blister, two inches
by three, was placed on the child’s right arm, and being properly
covered, remained there without inflicting any torture for above an
hour. The left arm was reserved for the scalpel and forceps, and the
operator entertained no doubt whatever of complete success.
The mode he pursued was very _scientific_; he made two parallel slashes
as deep as he could in reason, about three inches down the upper part of
the arm, and a cross one, to introduce the forceps and strip the loose
black skin off, when he could snip it away at the bottom, and leave the
white or rather red flesh underneath, to generate a new skin, and show
the proper colouring for a godchild of General Washington.
All eyes were now rivetted to the spot. The women cried in an under key
to Master George, who roared. “Hush, hush, my dear,” said the Doctor,
“you don’t know what’s good for you, my little innocent!” whilst he
applied the forceps, to strip off the skin like a _surtout_. The skin
was tight, and would not come away cleverly with the first tug, as the
doctor had expected; nor did any thing _white_ appear, though a
sufficiency of red blood manifested itself.
The doctor was greatly surprised. “I see,” said he, “it is somewhat
deeper than we had conceived. We have not got deep enough.” Another gash
on each side; but the second gash had no better success. Doctor Bathron
seemed desperate; but conceiving that in so young a subject one short
cut—be it ever so deep—could do no harm, his hand shook, and he gave the
scalpel its full force, till he found it touch the bone. The experiment
was now complete; he opened the wound, and starting back, affected to be
struck with horror, threw down his knife, stamped and swore the child
was in fact either the devil or a _lusus Naturæ_, for that he could see
the very bone, and the child was actually coal-black _to_ the bone, and
the bone black also, and that he would not have taken a thousand guineas
to have given a single gash to a thing which was clearly
supernatural—actually dyed in grain. He appeared distracted; however,
the child’s arm was bound up, a good poultice put over it, the blister
hastily removed from the other arm, and the young gentleman, fortunately
for Doctor Bathron, recovered from the scarification, and lived with an
old dry-nurse for four or five years. He was then killed by a cow of his
_father’s_ horning him, and died with the full reputation of having been
a devil in reality, which was fully corroborated by a white sister of
his, and his mother, (as I heard,) departing about the very same time,
if not on the next day. It was said he took their souls away with him,
to make his peace with his master for staying so long.
Doctor George Bathron, who was the pleasantest united grocer and surgeon
in the county, at length found it the best policy to tell this story
himself, and by that means neutralise the ridicule of it. He often told
it to me, whilst in company with Mr. Palmer; and by hearing both
versions, I obtained full information about the circumstance, which I
relate as a very striking example of the mode in which we managed a
_lusus Naturæ_ when we _caught_ one in Ireland five and forty years ago.