Frazers. He was loud in admiration of Mrs Frazer's beauty and of her
devotion to her husband. 'He was out in the Crimea, you know, and was
reported dead; but he was only wounded. Some Russian family, to whose
house he had managed to be sent, had tended him with kindly care after
even his own doctors had given up hope, and had pulled him through his
danger. Mrs Frazer told me,' continued my friend, 'how one evening
when standing on a terrace at Genoa, she heard his voice; and thinking
it was a reproach from the grave (for she was going to marry another
fellow), she got brain-fever, and was near dying. The fact was, the
yacht in which a friend had brought him from Constantinople touched at
Genoa, and he had actually spent the day doing the palaces! When she
heard his voice, he was returning to the _Peri_, which lay about two
miles from the shore. Romantic story, isn't it? But Gordon takes her
devotion coolly enough; the love seems more on her side than on his. I
cannot understand that.'
Understand it? Yes, I could. Hers was one of those great-souled natures
who like to give rather than to take, to pour out all the wealth and
beauty of their being on the idol which they have clothed in all the
glory of their own imaginings. God grant she may live on to the end,
happy in her womanly idol-worship!
As for me, the dream I dreamt upon the Pincian Hill, before the cross
of golden light shone over the city roofs, was never realised. No
rustle of woman's garments makes low music in the old oak-panelled
rooms; no children's voices wake the echoes under the avenues of
arching limes. The old Devon manor-house stands as yet without a
mistress.
NARCOTISM.
In these days of medical knowledge, when so many merciful means for the
alleviation of pain are known, it follows as a matter of course that
great abuse of sleep-producing agents exists. We would therefore say a
few words of caution as to the pernicious practice of people making use
of chloral, chlorodyne, chloroform, and other kindred agents _without
medical advice_. It is, we think, little known to how great an extent
this evil exists. To come across a lady who is constantly more or less
under the influence of chlorodyne, is by no means uncommon; every
trifling ailment or passing _malaise_ being an excuse for a few drops
of that narcotic. Chloral is also extensively and improperly used; the
more so because, unfortunately at the time of its first introduction as
a sleep-producing agent, it was most erroneously stated to be perfectly
harmless, and many are still under this impression.
The real truth is, that _no_ narcotic of any kind whatever is harmless,
but on the contrary, invariably pernicious when taken otherwise
than by the advice and under the treatment of a medical man. True,
sleeplessness is one of the most trying things a person can suffer
from; but then there are other means of combating the enemy than by
dosing one's self with chloral or any such agent; and thus making an
infirmity chronic, which would in all probability have been only a
temporary evil. Rely upon opiates for sleep, and sleep will not come
without them. Thus a bad habit is formed; the bodily strength is
undermined, the digestive powers enfeebled, the mind and intellect
weakened and enervated, and the unfortunate sufferer becomes a slave,
bound hand and foot to a habit that it is almost impossible to shake
off. Sleeplessness often comes from want of sufficient fresh air and
exercise, from over-mental work, mental distress, from too great a
quantity of stimulants taken during the day, and from various other
causes, which a little care as to diet and regimen would quickly
overcome. Taking short naps during the day; too much tea and coffee
drinking, especially shortly before bedtime--all these are apt to cause
sleeplessness. In many cases a light and simple supper taken shortly
before retiring to rest, and attention to the feet being thoroughly
warm, will insure a good night's sleep when more energetic means have
failed.
In those terrible abodes of suffering, our cancer hospitals, the
method of all others most resorted to, and most efficacious for the
alleviation of pain, is the sub-cutaneous (under-the-skin) injection of
morphia. In sciatica, neuralgia, and other painful nervous affections,
this remedy is often exceedingly beneficial, when used under competent
medical advice and supervision; but like every other good thing it
is open to great abuse, and often made use of merely as a soothing
narcotic by the irritable, excitable, and discontented. A long train
of evils follows; but with these we are not called upon to deal here.
What we want now to lay before the reader is a plain statement as to
the prompt treatment called for in a case of over-narcotism from
too strong a dose of injected morphia. Coldness of the extremities,
lividity of the countenance, profuse cold sweat, and loss of power
over the limbs, insensibility, very deep breathing, and contraction of
the pupils of the eyes to such an extent that they resemble a black
pin-head, result.
What then is to be done? Time is precious, and perhaps half an hour
or more may elapse before medical aid can be obtained. Taking it for
granted that the patient is in a recumbent position, the first thing to
be done is to raise the head, to sponge the face and chest copiously
with fresh cold water, to rub the limbs steadily and strongly, to put
hot-water applications to the feet and to the sides of the body, if
it feel cold to the touch. Place strong smelling-salts to the nose;
lay the head on one side with the mouth open, so that the tongue may
not fall back and prevent respiration; give brandy-and-water, if the
patient can possibly swallow it; but if the narcotism be severe, this
will be impossible, and it is wisest to abstain from attempts which
may result in fluid going the wrong way. In fact do everything to keep
the body warm and the breathing unimpeded, and strive to rouse the
unconscious faculties into action.
Supposing, however, that the narcotism be very excessive, and the
breathing be slow, irregular, and low, then if medical aid be not
forthcoming, it would be well to resort to artificial respiration;
by no means a difficult matter to manage, if only any one present
has a slight amount of knowledge on the subject. The following is Dr
Sylvester's method, and is advantageous from its simplicity: 'Place the
patient on the back, inclined a little upwards from the feet by raising
and supporting the head on a cushion, placing support also under the
shoulder-blades. Draw out the tongue and keep it forward, so as to
leave the air-passages free. Remove all clothing from the neck, chest,
and abdomen. Stand by the patient's head, take firm hold of the arms
just above the elbows, and draw them gently and steadily upwards above
the head, keeping them stretched upwards for two or three seconds. Then
turn down the arms, and press them firmly and steadily against the
sides of the chest for two or three seconds. Repeat these movements
alternately, deliberately, and _perseveringly_, until a spontaneous
effort at respiration is perceived; immediately upon which, proceed to
try by every possible means to induce circulation and warmth.' However,
should the case of narcotism be _not_ a severe one, such extreme
measures as artificial respiration will not be called for, and in all
probability, after the use of those simpler remedies at first named,
sickness will occur, and this may be taken as a sign that the worst of
the evil is over.
And here let us once more emphatically state that in this and all
other cases we assume that a medical man is sent for, and that our
suggestions only refer to what is to be done _until_ he appears
upon the scene. Nothing is so annoying and so productive of harm as
for a non-professional person to be constantly making this and that
suggestion as to the treatment of a sufferer, when a medical man is
giving his best thought and skill to the case; but on the other hand
it is well for people--more especially women--to know what to do when
thrown upon their own resources.
Cases of poisoning from over-doses of opiates are of course only one
class of such-like accidents; and the accidental swallowing of irritant
poisons, embrocations, &c. often occur, and call for the utmost
promptitude of action and presence of mind on the part of those present.
In the less densely populated parts of the country, it is a positive
necessity that people should be able to rely upon themselves in cases
of emergency, for if a doctor is many miles distant, and it takes
several hours to fetch him, one might almost as well be without him,
where sharp practice is called for. To produce vomiting, one of the
best emetics we happen to know of is an American one. It consists of
a table-spoonful of common treacle (molasses it is called across the
water) and as much powdered alum stirred into it as the sticky compound
can be made to contain. Now alum is such a valuable drug in many ways
that it ought to be kept in every household medicine-chest; and treacle
is not usually hard to get. We have never seen this remedy tried in a
case of poisoning, but we _have_ seen its effect in croup; and anything
more decided and imperious in its action it would be difficult to
imagine. Such a dose might freely be given in _any_ case of poisoning;
and after the emetic has acted freely, we would give some soothing
mixture, such as thickened milk. There are various things which have
the power to a certain extent of protecting the coats of the stomach
from the action of irritant poisons; if the poison be an acid, the
scrapings off a white-washed wall or chalk and milk are good. Milk
almost stiffened with common brown sugar is one of them; sweet oil
taken to nauseation is another.
In all cases of poisoning, _loss of time_ is the one great thing to be
avoided; and the nearest remedy at hand is the best one to make use of.
Mustard and water, strong and plenty of it, is a capital emetic. Of
croup, that enemy of juvenile humanity, we must now speak a few words;
and we know of no better remedy than the American one above described,
combined with a hot bath and a hot blanket to roll the child well up in
afterwards.
The ignorance of the poor as to the treatment and still more the
prevention of the diseases of children is something appalling, and
there can be no doubt that thousands of little lives are annually
sacrificed to this Moloch.
'I can't tell what ails my child, ma'am,' said a labourer's wife to
the writer of this, one bitter day last winter, 'he's carrying on so
strange: crowing like a cock, and turning his-self almost black in the
face every nows and again.'
The infant in question was comfortably seated on a nice cold door-step,
and breathing as if he had swallowed a baby's rattle by mistake.
'Your child has the croup,' I said, picking up the unfortunate little
creature and carrying it to the fireside; 'and if you don't do
something for him at once, he'll very likely die.'
However something _was_ done for him, and he didn't die; but he had a
kick for his life all the same, and very little more door-step would
have finished him. Yet this poor woman was not an unloving mother; she
was only ignorant, and in her ignorance, assisting her child into the
grave she would have shed such bitter tears over.
From croup to diphtheria is a natural progression, and we would wish
to say a few, a very few words on this terrible disease; not as to its
treatment by the amateur nurse, for it is of the greatest importance
that such cases should have close medical care. It is then on the
subject of the operation called _tracheotomy_--that is, the making
an outward incision in the windpipe below the seat of the disease,
and inserting a tube for the purpose of respiration, that we would
speak--not to discuss it in its medical aspect, but simply to say a
word or two to nervous mothers who would shrink from the idea of the
surgeon's knife touching a sick child under any circumstances whatever.
Surely there can be no more pitiful sight to look upon than a child
dying of diphtheria--the eyes wild with fear, looking appealingly for
help from one troubled face to another; the little hand thrust into the
mouth in helpless, useless effort to dislodge the terrible leather-like
substance that is clogging up the throat, and making each breath a
sound so painful that for days and weeks to come it will not cease to
sound in our ears. What more agonising sight can the sick-room give us
to gaze upon? And yet doctors have told us of cases in which a mother
has had such an overpowering dread of the surgeon's knife, that even
when things come to such a state as this, she has positively refused to
allow of any attempt at alleviation of her child's agony by a simple
operation!
Now it is on this head we wish to say a few words of encouragement and
counsel. Tracheotomy is in the first place a _chance_--a very slight
chance in most cases--but still a chance for life; but if it does not
save life, it spares the child a death of awful suffering. The pain of
the operation itself is so momentary as not to be worth considering,
and relief is _instantaneous_. We are not speaking of recovery, but
simply of the difference between such a death as that described above
and the quiet 'falling asleep' of the child upon whom tracheotomy
has been performed; and this is what the writer saw--the frightened
appealing eyes; the pitiful effort at self-help; and then the instant
relief given by firm and skilful hands; and four-and-twenty hours
later, the quiet painless death; the boy smiling up into our faces as
the pure spirit fled to that place of rest and peace where 'there shall
be no more pain.' It was not a thing to be seen and forgotten.
LIFE IN A MILITARY PRISON.
BY A PRISON CHAPLAIN.
In an address lately delivered at Birmingham, Professor Tyndall says:
'I met some few years since in a railway carriage the governor of one
of our largest prisons. He was evidently an observant and reflective
man. He told me that the prisoners in his charge might be divided into
three classes. The first class consisted of persons who ought never to
have been in prison. External accident, and not internal taint, had
brought them within the grasp of the law, and what had happened to them
might happen to most of us. They were essentially men of sound moral
stamina, though wearing the prison garb. Then came the largest class,
formed of individuals possessing no strong bias moral or immoral,
plastic to the touch of circumstances, which would mould them into
either good or evil members of society. Thirdly came a class--happily
not a large one--whom no kindness could conciliate and no discipline
tame. They were sent into this world labelled "Incorrigible,"
wickedness being stamped as it were upon their organisations.'
As a matter of fact, there is a distinction made, and rightly made,
between the inmates of military prisons. They are divided into first,
second, and third classes; which you may call bad, worse, and worst, if
you are of the despairing type of philanthropist; or good, better, and
best, if you are a great believer in human nature, even in imprisoned
human nature. The first class wear a red stripe on the arm, and being
the best conducted, are given less work to do and more food. Class
number two are marked with a yellow stripe; while the third or lowest
class are distinguished by a white badge. A stranger might perhaps
shrink from all who wear white stripes as from 'incorrigibles;' but
some in the third class may be really very little more 'incorrigible'
than himself, for every prisoner, no matter what his character may
be, except in very special cases, is placed in the third class on his
reception. He then, by good conduct, becomes eligible for promotion
into the second class, and subsequently into the first. Rule one
hundred and sixty-six of the Regulations for Military Prisons, lays
down that 'the first class will be composed of those prisoners who,
from their quiet orderly habits and general good conduct under
punishment, may appear deserving of being promoted from the second
class after some experience has been gained of their characters.
Prisoners in either the first or the second class will also be liable
to be removed to a lower class for misconduct.' Though the first class
of prisoners are employed during the same hours as those prescribed
for the second class, the labour is of a less severe description:
picking oakum or drill being substituted for the deservedly hated crank
and shot exercise. Another privilege enjoyed by the first class is,
that they are never deprived of their bed, whereas, 'all prisoners
on reception are to sleep for the first week in the same manner as
a soldier on guard--that is, on a board without undressing--and
subsequently, the third-class prisoners are to sleep as on guard every
other night; and the second-class prisoners in the same manner every
third night: the prisoners of the first class being alone exempted
from this rule.' First and second class prisoners are employed in this
prison--which is no Castle of Indolence--at drill, shot exercise, the
crank, cleaning the passages and other parts of the premises from six
o'clock A.M. to six o'clock P.M.; and those of the third class from six
o'clock A.M. to eight o'clock P.M.; with the exception of regular times
for parades, chapel, and meals.
'If any man will not work neither let him eat,' is a motto strictly
adhered to by the authorities; for no prisoner is allowed meat-dinner
who is not employed at hard labour. Those not so engaged are only
given porridge and bread-and-milk. When labouring at hard work,
prisoners have a meat-dinner every Tuesday and Thursday. Eight ounces
of beef without bone and one pint of soup is the allowance. The first
class have an additional meat-dinner on Sundays. There is, we see,
considerable advantage to be gained by the prisoner, to reward his
ambition, should it prompt him to move upward into a higher class.
Now this is no trifling matter, for the very essence of good prison
discipline is the subordination of mere punishment to reformation;
and this system of classification tends not only to preserve a man's
self-respect, but to fan the spark of hope that otherwise might be
extinguished in his breast.
The justly celebrated novel _Never too late to Mend_ has made the
public in some degree familiar with the 'silent system' of prison
discipline. This system has been found not to work when sentences are
for a long period. Speech is discovered to be more than a luxury, being
essential to the mental health of prisoners. None now are condemned
to the silent system except those who are imprisoned for only a short
time. And how great is the punishment of not being allowed to speak,
is proved to the chaplain by this one fact. Nowhere are prayers so
diligently responded to and hymns sung with such _will_, if without
musical taste, as in the chapel of a military prison, for prisoners
recognise the service as an opportunity of convincing themselves that
they have not become dumb. Until this explanation was given by the
governor, I was full of admiration for religion, afterwards discovered
to be more loud-sounding than genuine.
Prisoners condemned to solitary confinement are forced to turn to
the wall on the approach of visitors or the superior officers of
the prison. 'Has my face assumed any terrific aspect? Am I so much
worse-looking than usual?' This is the thought that naturally comes
into one's mind on walking through a military prison for the first
time. Each man takes a quick glance at your Gorgon head, and then, fast
as lightning, turns his back to you and his face to the wall, until
your apparently baneful or bewitching influence has passed.
Another humiliation to which prisoners have to submit is that of having
their hair frequently cut short. A man must sink very low indeed
before he lose altogether personal vanity. It would seem as if there
were a peacock as well as an angel and a beast in each of us. For this
reason the regulation that requires the hair of all prisoners of the
third class to be cropped every fortnight is no slight punishment. It
is especially felt by those who leave the prison without having been
promoted to the second and first classes, in which a prisoner's hair is
permitted to grow during the last fortnight of imprisonment. How can a
man shew himself in respectable society, or take off his hat to a lady,
when that common act of courtesy would reveal the fact that his hair
was cut by--government?
Some may desire to know whether flogging has or has not been entirely
abolished. To the question, we answer: 'Yes; except for aggravated
breaches of prison discipline.' Nor is it easy to see in what other way
such cases can be dealt with. A man, let us suppose in a fit of sulky
stubbornness, does not attempt to pick his oakum. He is brought before
the governor, and sentenced to lose his supper and bed; that is, to be
obliged to sleep on the floor. On going back to his cell he says to
himself: 'What can I do now to avenge myself on the authorities?' and
he acts on the impulse that seizes him, which is to break the window
and destroy everything in his cell. Probably this sort of stubborn
ill-conditioned character is a coward; and if this be the case, nothing
is found to bring him to his senses so well as twenty-five lashes
administered in the presence of the governor and medical officer.
The punishments which we should like to see abolished, if others
without equal or greater disadvantages could be discovered, are the
crank and shot-drill. 'What is the crank?' may be asked by happy
people who have never had to do with prisons in any way. It is, we
answer, a Sisyphus' wheel that the prisoner is forced to turn twelve
or fourteen thousand times each day, for no other reason than because
the useless monotonous exercise is sufficiently hateful to him to be a
real punishment. 'To what purpose is this waste?' we may ask. Why is
this wheel not made to pump water or grind corn or do some other useful
work? Why should a man be degraded into a machine, and made to turn a
wheel merely for the sake of turning it? Will he not in this way lose
all self-respect? Yes; these are the unanswerable arguments against
the crank. But then its very uselessness is urged as an argument for
its retention. Suppose, for instance, that prisoners are employed in
gardens where vegetables are cultivated for barrack-use, what will
be the consequence? That soldiers will desire to abandon their own
profession for Adam's calling, and for this purpose will designedly get
into prison. If, again, the crank-wheel be utilised in any way, men
will feel that they are useful members of society, and will probably
prefer their new work to the dull routine and irksome duties of
barrack-life. Almost the same remarks are applicable to shot-drill, or
the very humiliating process of lifting six times each minute for three
hours per diem a thirty-six pound cannon-ball, for no other reason than
to put it down again three paces from where it originally lay. Nothing
can be more fatiguing and worrying than this process of putting the
shot there and back, there and back, there and back! But then we must
again remark, that to make prisons very comfortable is absolutely to
make them useless.
Almost all the inmates of military prisons are sentenced for such
crimes as these: Desertion--the commonest crime of all--making
away with kit, breaking out of barracks, insubordination. How is
desertion to be stopped? This is now a very difficult problem with the
authorities, and almost all officers give it as their opinion that the
plague of desertion can only be stayed by again having recourse to the
system lately abolished of branding the letter D on the deserter's
side. In the absence of this _Nota bene_, there is nothing to prevent a
soldier from enlisting over and over again in different corps, in order
to get a bounty and new kit on each occasion.