Dr. Gaines’ practice being confined to the planters and their negroes,
in the neighborhood of “Poplar Farm,” caused his income to be very
limited from that source, and consequently he looked more to the
products of his plantation for support. True, the new store at the
Corners, together with McWilliams’ Tannery and Simpson’s Distillery,
promised an increase of population, and, therefore, more work for the
physician. This was demonstrated very clearly by the Doctor’s coming
in one morning somewhat elated, and exclaiming: “Well, my dear, my
practice is steadily increasing. I forgot to tell you that neighbor
Wyman engaged me yesterday as his family physician; and I hope that the
fever and ague, which is now taking hold of the people, will give me
more patients. I see by the New Orleans papers that the yellow fever is
raging there to a fearful extent. Men of my profession are reaping a
harvest in that section this year. I would that we could have a touch
of the yellow fever here, for I think I could invent a medicine that
would cure it. But the yellow fever is a luxury that we medical men in
this climate can’t expect to enjoy; yet we may hope for the cholera.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Gaines, “I would be glad to see it more sickly,
so that your business might prosper. But we are always unfortunate.
Everybody here seems to be in good health, and I am afraid they’ll keep
so. However, we must hope for the best. We must trust in the Lord.
Providence may possibly send some disease amongst us for our benefit.”
On going to the office the Doctor found the faithful servant hard at
work, and saluting him in his usual kind and indulgent manner, asked,
“Well, Cato, have you made the batch of ointment that I ordered?”
_Cato._ “Yes, massa; I dun made de intment, an’ now I is making the
bread pills. De tater pills is up on the top shelf.”
_Dr. G._ “I am going out to see some patients. If any gentlemen call,
tell them I shall be in this afternoon. If any servants come, you
attend to them. I expect two of Mr. Campbell’s boys over. You see to
them. Feel their pulse, look at their tongues, bleed them, and give
them each a dose of calomel. Tell them to drink no cold water, and to
take nothing but water gruel.”
_Cato._ “Yes, massa; I’ll tend to ’em.”
The negro now said, “I allers knowed I was a doctor, an’ now de ole
boss has put me at it; I muss change my coat. Ef any niggers comes
in, I wants to look suspectable. Dis jacket don’t suit a doctor; I’ll
change it.”
Cato’s vanity seemed at this point to be at its height, and having
changed his coat, he walked up and down before the mirror, and viewed
himself to his heart’s content, and saying to himself, “Ah! now I looks
like a doctor. Now I can bleed, pull teef, or cut off a leg. Oh, well,
well! ef I ain’t put de pill stuff an’ de intment stuff togedder. By
golly, dat ole cuss will be mad when he finds it out, won’t he? Nebber
mind, I’ll make it up in pills, and when de flour is on dem, he won’t
know what’s in ’em; an’ I’ll make some new intment. Ah! yonder comes
Mr. Campbell’s Pete an’ Ned; dem’s de ones massa sed was comin’. I’ll
see ef I looks right. [_Goes to the looking-glass and views himself._]
I ’em some punkins, ain’t I? [_Knock at the door._] Come in.” _Enter_
PETE _and_ NED.
_Pete._ “Whar is de Doctor?”
_Cato._ “Here I is; don’t you see me?”
_Pete._ “But whar is de ole boss?”
_Cato._ “Dat’s none you business. I dun tole you dat I is de doctor,
an’ dat’s enuff.”
_Ned._ “Oh, do tell us whar de Doctor is. I is almos’ dead. Oh, me! oh,
dear me! I is so sick.” [_Horrible faces._]
_Pete._ “Yes, do tell us; we don’t want to stan’ here foolin’.”
_Cato._ “I tells you again dat I is de doctor. I larn de trade under
massa.”
_Ned._ “Oh! well den; give me somethin’ to stop dis pain. Oh, dear me!
I shall die.”
_Cato._ “Let me feel your pulse. Now, put out your tongue. You is berry
sick. Ef you don’t mine, you’ll die. Come out in de shed, an’ I’ll
bleed you.” [_Taking them out and bleeding them._] “Dar, now, take
dese pills, two in de mornin’, and two at night, and ef you don’t feel
better, double de dose. Now, Mr. Pete, what’s de matter wid you?”
_Pete._ “I is got de cole chills, an’ has a fever in de night.”
“Come out in de shed, an’ I’ll bleed you,” said Cato, at the same time
viewing himself in the mirror, as he passed out. After taking a quart
of blood, which caused the patient to faint, they returned, the black
doctor saying, “Now, take dese pills, two in de mornin’, and two at
night, an’ ef dey don’t help you, double de dose. Ah! I like to forget
to feel your pulse, and look at your tongue. Put out your tongue.
[_Feels his pulse._] Yes, I tells by de feel ob your pulse dat I is gib
you de right pills?”
Just then, Mr. Parker’s negro boy Bill, with his hand up to his mouth,
and evidently in great pain, entered the office without giving the
usual knock at the door, and which gave great offence to the new
physician.
“What you come in dat door widout knockin’ for?” exclaimed Cato.
_Bill._ “My toof ache so, I didn’t tink to knock. Oh, my toof! my toof!
Whar is de Doctor?”
_Cato._ “Here I is; don’t you see me?”
_Bill._ “What! you de Doctor, you brack cuss! You looks like a doctor!
Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de Doctor?”
_Cato._ “I tells you I is de doctor. Ef you don’t believe me, ax dese
men. I can pull your toof in a minnit.”
_Bill._ “Well, den, pull it out. Oh, my toof! how it aches! Oh, my
toof!” [_Cato gets the rusty turnkeys._]
_Cato._ “Now lay down on your back.”
_Bill._ “What for?”
_Cato._ “Dat’s de way massa does.”
_Bill._ “Oh, my toof! Well, den, come on.” [_Lies down. Cato gets
astraddle of Bill’s breast, puts the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, and
pulls--Bill kicks, and cries out_]--Oh, do stop! Oh, oh, oh! [_Cato
pulls the wrong tooth--Bill jumps up._]
_Cato._ “Dar, now, I tole you I could pull your toof for you.”
_Bill._ Oh, dear me! Oh, it aches yet! Oh, me! Oh, Lor-e-massy! You dun
pull de wrong toof. Drat your skin! ef I don’t pay you for this, you
brack cuss! [_They fight, and turn over table, chairs, and bench--Pete
and Ned look on._]
During the _melée_, Dr. Gaines entered the office, and unceremoniously
went at them with his cane, giving both a sound drubbing before any
explanation could be offered. As soon as he could get an opportunity,
Cato said, “Oh, massa! he’s to blame, sir, he’s to blame. He struck me
fuss.”
_Bill._ “No, sir; he’s to blame; he pull de wrong toof. Oh, my toof!
oh, my toof!”
[Illustration: NEGRO DENTISTRY.]
_Dr. G._ “Let me see your tooth. Open your mouth. As I live, you’ve
taken out the wrong tooth. I am amazed. I’ll whip you for this; I’ll
whip you well. You’re a pretty doctor. Now, lie down, Bill, and let
him take out the right tooth; and if he makes a mistake this time, I’ll
cowhide him well. Lie down, Bill.” [_Bill lies down, and Cato pulls the
tooth._] “There, now, why didn’t you do that in the first place?”
_Cato._ “He wouldn’t hole still, sir.”
_Bill._ “I did hole still.”
_Dr. G._ “Now go home, boys; go home.”
“You’ve made a pretty muss of it, in my absence,” said the Doctor.
“Look at the table! Never mind, Cato; I’ll whip you well for this
conduct of yours to-day. Go to work now, and clear up the office.”
As the office door closed behind the master, the irritated negro, once
more left to himself, exclaimed, “Confound dat nigger! I wish he was
in Ginny. He bite my finger, and scratch my face. But didn’t I give
it to him? Well, den, I reckon I did. [_He goes to the mirror, and
discovers that his coat is torn--weeps._] Oh, dear me! Oh, my coat--my
coat is tore! Dat nigger has tore my coat. [_He gets angry, and rushes
about the room frantic._] Cuss dat nigger! Ef I could lay my hands on
him, I’d tare him all to pieces,--dat I would. An’ de old boss hit me
wid his cane after dat nigger tore my coat. By golly, I wants to fight
somebody. Ef ole massa should come in now, I’d fight him. [_Rolls up
his sleeves._] Let ’em come now, ef dey dare--ole massa, or anybody
else; I’m ready for ’em.”
Just then the Doctor returned and asked, “What’s all this noise here?”
_Cato._ “Nuffin’, sir; only jess I is puttin’ things to rights, as you
tole me. I didn’t hear any noise, except de rats.”
_Dr. G._ “Make haste, and come in; I want you to go to town.”
Once more left alone, the witty black said, “By golly, de ole boss
like to cotch me dat time, didn’t he? But wasn’t I mad? When I is mad,
nobody can do nuffin’ wid me. But here’s my coat tore to pieces. Cuss
dat nigger! [_Weeps._] Oh, my coat! oh, my coat! I rudder he had broke
my head, den to tore my coat. Drat dat nigger! Ef he ever comes here
agin, I’ll pull out every toof he’s got in his head--dat I will.”