ON SAVAGES, DOCTORS, AND PLANTS
Savages knew Botany--First lady doctors and botanical
excursions--True drugs and horrible ornaments--Hydrophobia
cure--Cloves--Mustard--Ivy--Roses and Teeth--How to keep
hair on--How to know if a patient will recover--Curious
properties of a mushroom--The Scythian lamb--Quinine:
history and use--Safflower--Romance of ipecacuanha--Wars
of the spice trade--Cinnamon, dogwood, and indigo--Romance
of pepper--Babylonian and Egyptian botanists--Chinese
discoveries--Theophrastus--Medieval times--The first illustrated
book--Numbers of plants known--Discoveries of painters and poets.
If we look back to the time when all men and women were mere savages,
living like the Esquimaux or the Australians of to-day, then it is
certain that every person was much interested in plants. Nothing was
so interesting as daily food, because no one was ever certain of even
one good meal in the day.
So that in those early times there was a very sound, well-grounded
knowledge of roots, bulbs, and fruits. They knew all that were good
to eat, all that could possibly be eaten in time of famine and
starvation, and also every poisonous and unwholesome plant.
Some savage genius must have discovered that certain plants were
"good medicine"; that certain tree-barks helped to check fever, and
that others were worth trying when people had successfully devoured
more than they could comfortably digest. The life of a savage meant
tremendous meals, followed by days of starvation; even now, when
young children are fed on rice in India, a thread is tied round their
waist, and, when this bursts, they are not allowed to eat any more.
Very probably some of these early physicians were lady doctors
usually of a certain age. Men were too busy with their hunting
and warfare to have time to try experiments with drugs, to make
concoctions of herbs all more or less disquieting and to find out if
these were of any use.
So that such medicine-men or witches gradually came to understand
enough about poisons or fruits to make themselves respected and
even feared. They would, no doubt, make botanical excursions in
the forest, accompanied by their pupils, in order to point out the
poisonous and useful drugs.
It is worth noting, in passing, that this habit of botanical
professors going on excursions with medical students has persisted
down to our own times, probably without any break in the continuity.
But it was soon found advisable to make this knowledge secret and
difficult to get. They did not really know so very much, and a
mysterious, solemn manner and a quantity of horrible and unusual
objects placed about the hut[4] would perhaps prevent some irate and
impatient savage patient from throwing a spear at his wizard--or
witch-doctor.
[4] This is still the custom in the huts of the wizard or
medicine-man in West Africa, where one finds small cushions stuck
over with all sorts of poisonous plants, bits of human bones, and
other loathsome accessories.
Shakespeare alludes to this in _Macbeth_. "Scale of Dragon; tooth of
wolf; witches' mummy; maw and gulf of the ravin'd salt sea shark;
root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark; ... gall of goat and slips of
yew"; and so on.
Most of their cures were faith-cures, and they were, no doubt,
much more likely to be successful when the patient believed he was
being treated with some dreadful stew of all sorts of wonderful and
horrible materials.
This explains how it was that the knowledge of medicine became so
mixed up with pure charlatanism and swindling that no man could tell
which drugs were of real use and which were mere ornaments giving
piquancy and flavour to the prescription. It is not possible to say
that a snake's head, the brain of a toad, the gall of a crocodile,
and the whiskers of a tiger, were all of them absolutely useless.
Within the last few years it has been found that an antidote to
snake-bite can be obtained from a decoction of part of the snake
itself, and it has also been discovered that small quantities of
virulent poisons are amongst our most valuable and powerful remedies.
Whether the savages and their successors the doctors of feudal
times even down to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, suspected
or believed that this was the case must remain a rather doubtful
hypothesis, but there is no question "that the hair of the dog that
bit him" theory of medicine was very prevalent.
The following was a cure for hydrophobia of a more elaborate nature:
"I learned of a Friend who had tried it effectual to cure the Biting
of a Mad Dog; take the Leaves and Roots of Cowslips, of the leaves of
Box and Pennyroyal of each a like quantity; shred them small to put
them into Hot Broth and let it be so taken Three Days Together and
apply the herbs to the bitten place with Soap and Hog's suet melted
together" (Parkinson).
This prescription is not so preposterous as it sounds. Box and
Pennyroyal both contain essences which would be in all probability
fatal to the germ of hydrophobia, and the soap and hog's suet would
keep air from the wound.
Other prescriptions read like our modern patent medicines.
"Good Cloves comfort the Brain and the Virtue of Feeling, and help
also against Indigestion and Ache of the Stomach" (Bartholomew).
"Senvey" (the old name of mustard) "healeth smiting of Serpents and
overcometh venom of the Scorpions and abateth Toothache and cleanseth
the Hair and letteth" (that is, prevents or tends to prevent) "the
falling thereof. If it be drunk fasting, it makes the Intellect good."
Even in those days the people can scarcely have believed that
drinking mustard improved the intellect. Many of the remedies and
cures are obviously false, for example the following:--
"A man crowned with Ivy cannot get drunk."
"Powder of dry Roses comforteth wagging Teeth that be in point to
fall."
The fact that the surgeon was also a barber, and also a
"face-specialist," appears from the two following:--
"Leaves of Chestnut burnt to powder and tempered with Vinegar and
laid to a man's Head plaisterwise maketh Hair increase and keepeth
hair from falling."
Those whose hair turned grey could employ the following
prescription:--
"Leaves of Mulberry sod in rainwater maketh black hair."
If a doctor was not quite sure of the endurance of a patient under
these heroic remedies, he could easily find out if he would recover,
for it was only necessary to try the following:--
"Celandine with the heart of a Mouldwarp" (that is mole, _Scottice_
moudiewort) "laid under the Heade of one that is grievouslie Sicke,
if he be in danger of Death, immediately he will cry out with a loud
voice or sing; if not, he will weep."
In Lightfoot's _Flora Scotica_, there is an interesting account of
the Fly Mushroom (_Agaricus muscarius_) which is not very rare in
Britain, and which may be easily recognized by the bright red top or
cap, with whitish scales scattered over it, and a sort of ring of
loose white tissue round the stalk.
"It has an acrid and deleterious quality. The inhabitants of
Kamschatka prepare a liquor from an infusion of this Agaric which
taken in a small quantity exhilarates the spirits, but in a larger
dose brings on a trembling of the nerves, intoxication, delirium
and melancholy. Linnæus informs us that flies are killed or at
least stupefied by an infusion of this fungus in milk and that
the expressed juice of it anointed on bedsteads and other places
effectually destroys"--what we may describe as certain lively and
pertinacious insects with a great affection for man!
As a matter of fact the fungus is said to be a deadly poison.[5]
[5] Cooke, _British Fungi_.
These quotations are enough to show how the real medical knowledge
of those times was encrusted with all sorts of faith-curing devices,
sheer falsehoods, and superstitions. The most learned men of the
Middle Ages were almost invariably monks and hermits, for there was
nothing in the world of those strenuous times to attract a studious,
sensitive disposition. The spirit of their learning can be judged
from the wearisome disquisitions and lengthy volumes written about
the Barnacle Goose and Scythian Lamb.
In certain deserts along the Volga River in Russia, a peculiar
fern may be found. It might be described as resembling a gigantic
Polypody; the stem is about as thick as a lamb's body and grows
horizontally on the ground like that of the common fern mentioned;
thick furry scales cover the outside of its stem, which ends at the
tip in an elongated point. The blackish-green leaf-stalks springing
from the furry stem end in large divided green leaves.
It occurred to some medieval humorist to cut off the upper part of
the leaf-stalks, and to make a sort of toy lamb out of the four
leaf-stalk stumps and part of the woolly or furry stem.
This was palmed off as a wonderful curiosity of nature, as "a plant
that became an animal," upon the ingenuous tourist of the period.
Such a subject was thoroughly congenial to the learned mind in the
Middle Ages, and an enormous quantity of literature was produced in
consequence. The general theory is given in the following lines:--
"Cradled in snow and fanned by Arctic air,
Shines, gentle Barometz, thy golden hair,
Rooted in earth each cloven hoof descends,
And round and round her flexile neck she bends,
Crops the grey coralmoss and hoary thyme,
Or laps with rosy tongue the melting rime,
Eyes with mute tenderness her distant dam,
Or seems to bleat, a vegetable lamb."
Such is the old idea of a well-known fern, _Cibotium barometz_.
Yet the original researches of some African "Obi" wizard or red
Indian were not forgotten, and gradually came into practice.
[Illustration: THE GARDEN OF EDEN
The title-page of John Parkinson's "Paradisus." In the distance
may be seen a Scythian Lamb growing on its tree, and in the
foreground many plants are shown as well as Adam and Eve.]
It must be remembered that these savages were true scientific
experimentalists, and made discoveries which have been of infinite
service to mankind. We remember great men like Harvey, Lister, and
Pasteur, but we never think of the Indian who discovered quinine.
The quinine trees, the yellow variety or _Calisaya cinchona_, grow
in the mountains of north-eastern Bolivia and south-eastern Peru,
in wild, inaccessible places at heights of 5000 to 6000 feet. The
Indians probably experimented with almost every part of every
wild tree before they discovered the wonderful properties of this
particular species. The quinine in nature is probably intended to
prevent some fungus or small insect from attacking the bark: when
quinine is used in malaria, it kills the fever germ which attacks
the blood corpuscles of the sick person, so that it is of the utmost
importance in all tropical countries.
When the Jesuit fathers reached Peru and made friends and converts
of the Indians, they discovered this remedy. Soon after the Countess
de Chinchon, wife of the Viceroy of Peru, fell seriously ill of
fever and was cured by the use of Jesuit's bark or quinine. It was
introduced into Europe about 1638, but for a very long time the
entire supply came from South America. The British Indian government
were paying some £12,000 every year for South American quinine and,
at the same time, the supply was running short, for the Indians were
cutting down every tree.
At last, in 1859 (on the suggestion of Dr. Royle in 1839), the
adventurous journeys of Clements Markham, Spruce, and Robert Cross
resulted in the introduction of the Cinchona now flourishing in
Madras, Bombay, and Ceylon. In 1897 British colonies produced about
£43,415 worth of quinine, and the price is now only 7-1/2d. or 8d. a
pound!
Such drugs as Safflower are of very ancient date. It was commonly
employed in Egypt with other dyes and spices for embalming mummies.
It is now used with carbonate of soda and citric acid to give a pink
dye to silks and satins, and occasionally, in the form of rouge, to
ladies' cheeks! How did the ancient Egyptians discover that this
particular thistle-like plant (_Carthamus tinctorius_) had flowers
from which a red dye could be extracted by a tedious process of
soaking in water? The natural colour of the flowers is not red but
yellow.
The history of other drugs reads like a romance. Ipecacuanha, for
instance, was discovered by some unknown Indian who lived in the
damp tropical forests of Brazil and New Granada. A worthy merchant
in Paris obtained a little of the drug in the way of trade. Shortly
afterwards he became very ill and was attended by a certain Dr.
Helvetius, who was exceedingly attentive to him. The grateful
merchant gave the kind-hearted physician some ipecacuanha. In the
course of time the great King Louis XIV's son fell ill of dysentery,
and Helvetius received 1000 louis d'or for his ipecacuanha.
A very interesting and romantic history might be written about the
effect of drugs, dyes, and spices in developing trade. During the
time when Britain was struggling to obtain a share of the foreign
trade of Holland and France, such spices as Clove, Cinnamon, and
Pepper were of the greatest importance. The Dutch, especially,
adopted every possible method to keep the spice trade in their own
hands. They cut down the clove, cinnamon, and other trees, in all
the islands not directly under their control. They imposed the most
barbarous penalties on any interloper. For instance, any one who sold
a single stick of cinnamon in Ceylon was punished with death. When
the English captured the island in 1796, all such restrictions were
of course repealed. Nevertheless its cultivation remained a monopoly
of the East India Company until 1832.
Logwood (_Haematoxylon campechianum_) is closely connected with the
story of adventure and colonisation in the West Indies. Its use
was at first forbidden by Queen Elizabeth as it did not yield fast
colours; this was because the dyers of those times did not know of
any mordant to fix them. Yet this is one of the few vegetable dyes
which retain their position in the market in these days of aniline
colours, and it is said to be a large constituent, with brandy, of
cheap "port wine."
Indigo was known to the Romans, who imported it from India on
camel-back by way of the Persian and Syrian desert. In the fifteenth
century, when the Dutch began to introduce it in large quantities, it
was found to interfere with the "woad"[6] (_Isatis tinctoria_) which
was then a very important cultivated plant in Europe. In Nuremberg,
an oath was administered once a year to all the manufacturers and
dyers, by which they bound themselves not to use the "devil's dye,"
as they called Indigo. Its more recent history shows a very different
system. In Assam and other parts of British India, enormous sums of
money have been invested in indigo plantations. It has been estimated
that four million pounds was invested, and that a population of
something like 700 Europeans and 850 workmen to the square mile in
Behar, were entirely supported by indigo plantations.
[6] The same "woad" which was used by the Britons to paint
themselves with.
Now all these planters are ruined and the population is dispersed,
because German indigo manufactured from coal-tar is destroying
the sale of the British-grown material. The plant has pretty blue
flowers and belongs to the _Leguminous_ order. The dye is obtained by
steeping the leaves and young branches in water, and it is finally
turned out in blue powder or cakes.
Perhaps the most interesting of all these drugs is Pepper. The
Dutch, in the days of Queen Elizabeth, had a monopoly of the East
Indian trade, and they tried to cut down or burn all spice trees
except those in their own control. They could thus form a corner in
pepper, and alter the price as they felt inclined. At one period they
doubled the price, raising it from three shillings to six shillings
per pound. This annoyed the London merchants so much that they met
together and formed the "Society of Merchants and Adventurers trading
to the East Indies." This was of course the original source of our
great East Indian trade, and later on resulted in the Indian Empire.
At present, and for centuries past, the whole world is searched and
explored for drugs and spices. Our medicinal rhubarb for instance,
grows in China on the frontiers of Tibet; it is carried over the
mountains of China to Kiaghta in Siberia, and from thence taken right
across Russian Siberia to London and New York. It is closely allied
to the common or garden rhubarb, which grows wild on the banks of the
Volga.
It is only our duty to remember with gratitude all those long since
departed botanists who have made our life so full of luxury and have
supplied our doctors with all kinds of medicines.
The first doctors were of course just savage botanists, but as soon
as men began to write down their experiences, we find botanical
treatises. The first, and for a very long time the only, botanical
books were intended to teach medical students the names and how to
recognize useful flowers and drugs.
Medicinal herbs such as mandrake, garlic, and mint are found
described on those clay cylinders which were used in Babylon instead
of books, about 4000 B.C., that is some 6000 years ago! The Egyptians
thought that "kindly, healing plants," such as opium, almonds, figs,
castor-oil, dates, and olives, were derived from the "blood and tears
of the gods"; that would be about 3000 B.C. It is not known how far
back Chinese botany can be traced, but, by the twelfth century before
Christ, some three hundred plants were known, including ginger,
liquorice, rhubarb, and cinnamon.
Theophrastus, who flourished about 300 B.C., was a scientific
botanist far ahead of his time. His notes about the mangroves in the
Persian gulf are still of some importance. It is said that some two
thousand botanical students attended his lectures.[7] It is doubtful
if any professor of botany has ever since that time had so large a
number of pupils. Dioscorides, who lived about 64 B.C., wrote a book
which was copied by the Pliny (78 A.D.), who perished in the eruption
of Vesuvius. The botany of the Middle Ages seems to have been mainly
that of Theophrastus and Dioscorides. In the tenth century we find
an Arab, Ibn Sina, whose name has been commemorated in the name of a
plant, Avicennia, publishing the first illustrated text-book, for he
gave coloured diagrams to his pupils.
[7] Lascelles, _Pharm. Journ._, 23 May, 1903.
After this there was exceedingly little discovery until comparatively
recent times.
But Grew in 1682 and Malpighi in 1700 began to work with the
microscope, and with the work of Linnæus in 1731 modern botany was
well started and ready to develop.[8]
[8] Bonnier, _Cours de Botanique_.
It is interesting to compare the numbers of plants known at various
periods, so as to see how greatly our knowledge has been increased of
recent years. Theophrastus (300 B.C.) knew about 500 plants. Pliny
(78 A.D.) knew 1000 species by name. Linnæus in 1731 raised the
number to 10,000. Saccardo in 1892 gives the number of plants then
known as follows:--
Flowering Plants 105,231 species
Ferns 2819 "
Horsetails and Club-mosses 565 "
Mosses 4609 "
Liverworts 3041 "
Lichens 5600 "
Fungi 39,663 "
Seaweeds 12,178 "
-------
173,706[9]
[9] Saccardo, _Atti d. Congresso, Bot. Intern. di Genova_, 1892.
But, during the years that have elapsed since 1892, many new species
have been described, so that we may estimate that at least 200,000
species are now known to mankind.
But it is in the inner meaning and general knowledge of the life of
plants that modern botany has made the most extraordinary progress.
It is true that we are still burdened with medieval terminology.
There are such names as "galbulus," "amphisarca," and "inferior
drupaceous pseudocarps," but these are probably disappearing.
The great ideas that plants are living beings, that every detail in
their structure has a meaning in their life, and that all plants
are more or less distant cousins descended from a common ancestor,
have had extraordinary influence in overthrowing the unintelligent
pedantry so prevalent until 1875.
Yet there were many, not always botanists, of much older date, who
made great discoveries in the science. Leonardo da Vinci, the great
painter, seems to have had quite a definite idea of the growth of
trees, for he found out that the annual rings on a tree-stem are
thin on the northern and thick on the southern side of the trunk.
Dante[10] seems to have also understood the effect of sunlight in
ripening the vine and producing the growth of plants (_Purgatorio_,
xxv. 77). Goethe seems to have been almost the first to understand
how leaves can be changed in appearance when they are intended to act
in a different way. Petals, stamens, as well as some tendrils and
spines, are all modified leaves. There is also a passage in Virgil,
or perhaps more distinctly in Cato, which is held to show that the
ancients knew that the group of plants, _Leguminosæ_, in some way
improved the soil. I have also tried to show that Shelley had a more
or less distinct idea of the "warning" or conspicuous colours (reds,
purples, spotted, and speckled) which are characteristic of many
poisonous plants (see p. 238).
[10]
"Guarda il calor del sol che si fa vino
Giunto all' umor che dalla vite cola."
He is speaking of wine--that "lovable blood," as he describes it.
But if we begin with the unlettered savage, one can trace the very
slow and gradual growth of the science of plant-life persisting all
through the Dark Ages, the Middle Ages, and recent times, until
about fifty or sixty years ago, when a sudden great development
began, which gives us, we hope, the promise of still more wonderful
discoveries.