Martinique, July 1797.
Daily experience more and more confirms the observation, that the
prominent features of character, seen among the European French, obtain
likewise amidst the creole and other residents in their colonies. In
England, it is not confined to the vulgar to regard the terms Frenchman
and petit-maître as words of synonymous import; nor can it be denied, by
the warmest advocate for Gallic pretensions, that an air of frivolity
prevails among the French people, as a part of their national character.
The same is likewise observable among the inhabitants of their
settlements. Various causes probably act in combination to produce this
prominent trait among them. It commences with their infancy, and
connects with their earliest education.
The French people prescribe to themselves rules of health and of
regimen. They seem neither to eat, to move, to act, nor to think
according to nature: all is artificial, and _le petit remède_ is as
necessary as the pap or the breakfast. From the cradle they are taught
_de se soigner, de se menager!_ and habit begets a mode of
self-discipline which puts nature to the blush!
But let me return to the circumstance which has led to these remarks. A
few evenings ago, walking with some gentlemen of the hospital
department, upon the public promenade, we observed a party of French
boys, not amusing themselves with racing and rude gambols, like the
youths of England, but collected into a group, discussing rules of
health, and of diet, with all the zeal of practised nurses, or timid
hypochondriacs. The peculiarity of the conversation having excited our
curiosity, we were induced to listen to them with attention, and were
not less surprised at the acuteness and discrimination of these youthful
disputants, than amused at their subject, and the grave manner in which
they had been taught to discuss it.
To avoid hurtful excesses, and observe such moderation as may be
necessary for the preservation of health, is, at all times, advisable;
but to teach children to debate, like pedantic pretenders in medicine,
whether oatmeal-gruel be better than rice-gruel—barley-water more
wholesome than toast and water—veal-broth than chicken-broth; whether it
be best for the health to dine at half after twelve, or at one
o’clock—whether plantains produce more humours than bananas—whether it
be most proper for the constitution to put a bit of carrot or of turnip
into the soup, is to bring them up such ineffable triflers, that they
can be fit society only for invalids and aged females. The best mode of
preparing a basin of soup-maigre, and which vegetables may be boiled in
it with least danger of _inflaming the blood_, or forming too many
_humours_, would afford conversation for half a dozen Frenchmen, for as
many hours; and from the eagerness betrayed in the debate, a person
might be led to imagine that they must be occupied upon a subject of not
less consequence than apportioning allotments of the Turkish or the
Austrian empire.
After we had been amused with the conversation of these boys, upon
petit-bouillon, soup-maigre, eau-de-poulet, ptisan, and the like, we sat
a short time with a party of French ladies, when soup and sickness, bile
and humours, were again made the subject of discourse. An Englishman,
who was present, happened to put a knife to a small pine, with the
intention of dividing it among the party, when the French ladies all
rose, with uplifted hands, to prevent it, exclaiming in broken English,
“Eat anane at night!”—“Dat shall you make sick.”—“Cela vous fera mal au
ventre.”—“It is no good for eat anane at night.”—“If it you shall eat,
dat vill make much humours in de morning! Non! put it away, you shall
not you-self kill!”
With all these minutiæ we do not find that they have better health, or
live to a greater age, than those of the English who are temperate; the
only striking advantage that we observe to arise, from this great
attention to little things, is, that the French, both men and women,
make most excellent nurses, being minutely assiduous and useful about
the sick: and let me do them the justice to add, that I have never found
any other people equally kind and compassionate towards persons
afflicted with disease, whether their friends, their countrymen, or
strangers.
With very sincere grief I have to announce to you fatal tidings of our
poor commissary of accompts, Mr. Dornford, whom I mentioned to you in a
former letter; and in whose fate I feel the liveliest sorrow.
Notwithstanding the opinion of the learned Père Edouard respecting his
progressive convalescence, he was advised to proceed, without loss of
time, either to Europe or to North America: but, like too many others in
sickness, pleading the usual round of negatives, he urged his worldly
affairs as an insurmountable obstacle to the means recommended: viewing
only the difficulties of absenting himself from his calling, the time
necessary for performing a voyage to England or America appeared to him
quite an age; nor was it until he was assured, by his own disordered
feelings, that he must be soon removed from these and all other duties
for ever, if he continued longer at Martinique, that he was at last
prevailed upon to adopt the alternative of going to sea, and sailing
about from one island to another. But, alas! the event has proved that
it was too late for either the greater or the lesser means to be
employed with effect.
The commissary-general very kindly accommodated Mr. Dornford with a
commodious vessel, which had been fitted up in a superior manner, for
his own use. In this he took his departure for Barbadoes, from whence he
was to extend his voyage to various other islands. But, unfortunately,
he there suffered a renewed attack, became much worse, was unable to
pursue his voyage, and returned with all speed to Martinique, in the
determination of going directly, with the fleet, to England. But it
happened that the convoy had sailed the very morning of the day upon
which he arrived. This was a grievous disappointment to him, the
increase of malady, which he had experienced at Barbadoes, having
generated the most serious alarm, and caused him, at length, to feel
assured that there was no chance of his recovery, except from an
immediate removal to a colder climate: but his professional attendants
saw that it was now too late! They regarded it as a fortunate
circumstance that the fleet had sailed, and that he escaped the hurry
and agitation of going on board, where he would most likely have died
before the ship could have left the harbour.
The alarming symptoms which supervened at Barbadoes, had given a new
character to the disease, and proved that the system had suffered more
injury than even the most apprehensive had imagined. A purulent diarrhœa
and expectoration had suddenly taken place, and the already debilitated
frame was rapidly sinking under their continuance. His attendants had
only the sorrowful consolation of contemplating a departing friend, and
all that remained to them was to watch his rapid decline, soothing the
few short hours which might yet be spared him from the grave. On the
26th of June he landed at St. Pierre. In six days after, a final
exhaustion ensued; and, on the 1st of July, he was no more.
I was requested to attend the funeral, and notwithstanding the
distressful feelings I always experience from witnessing the awful
solemnity, I could not refuse myself the melancholy gratification of
joining in this last duty to so valued a man. Many officers of the staff
and garrison paid the same tribute of respect to his remains, and the
splendid, yet doleful procession, from his house to the place of
interment, formed one of the most impressive and affecting scenes I ever
beheld.
Upon examining the body, it was discovered that a large abscess had
formed within the right lobe of the liver; which, from the inflammation
having extended to the contiguous parts, had ulcerated into the
intestines, and also through the diaphragm into the substance of the
lungs; a circumstance which fully explained the symptoms of the few last
days, while it proved that no effectual remedy was within the reach of
human skill.