Quarantine: A Novel (21 page)

dark—she knew her way around the South End by a combina-

tion of sound, smell, and the feel of the changing path beneath

her feet: Mr. Tuttle’s chicken coop on Bromfield Street, Lucy

Arnott’s barking hounds on Milk Street, Marlowe’s Bakery on

the corner of Federal and Prospect, the bare tree root on Orange Street. Before going to bed, they drank a glass of warm milk

while their mother read from the Bible and their father sat by

the fire, smoking his pipe. Such a routine now seemed an illu-

sion. Leander feared that he had dreamed his entire family, every one of them. Suddenly, it seemed, he’d awakened in this strange

place, with its gardens and daily rituals, and he wasn’t sure who he was—his name, even, now seemed meaningless. Here, he

wasn’t Leander Hatch. In the fields others referred to him as

“you” or “boy.” No one had even asked if he had a name. When

handing him his clothes, Mr. Penrose said with a black-toothed

smile, “You the new boy? Ain’t you a tall one?”

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When he reached the far end of the orchard, Leander sat in the

grass, resting his back against the high fence. As the sun set, the west-facing windows of the Sumner house, an enormous white

clapboard structure with a grand cupola atop its hip roof, were

lit up with reflected fire. Flies and mosquitoes flitted about his face, but he was too exhausted to brush them away. Somewhere

a fiddler was scratching out a reel.

R

While Dr. Bradshaw paid calls to some of his High Street patients, seeking funds, Giles returned to the pest-house. Sitting at Bradshaw’s desk, he looked at the sheet of paper Uriah Clapp had given them.

The medical supplies were listed in the left-hand column: salts, quinine, mercury, castor oil, vinegar, Peruvian bark, ipecac, potassium nitrate, camphor, laudanum. In the middle column the quantities of each were neatly itemized, and then in the right-hand column their respective value, grossly inflated. In some cases, these quantities were quite substantial for a city of approximately eight thousand, but then this was a major port in a neutral country during a conflict between England and France; most likely a good portion of these supplies had been intended for shipment to other cities, other countries. At the bottom of the sheet of paper, Uriah Clapp had scrawled (he had the precise hand of an accounts clerk) the total:
4,950
£.

Giles tucked the sheet inside the ledger. Since morning, four

new names had been added to the list of the dead.

James Parsons, seaman, 28, Water Street.

Edith Saltonstall, charwoman, 42, Bromfield Street.

Mary O’Rourke, scullery maid, 21, Boardman Street.

Miles Pepperill, esq., schoolmaster, 58, Harris Street.

Giles had been a student of Master Pepperill’s for six years until he quit school when he was fourteen. Master Pepperill had read

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law, but for some reason he elected to teach children instead. He patrolled the aisles of the schoolroom, admonishing pupils who

failed in their attempts to recite from memory Alexander Pope’s

translation of
The Odyssey of Homer.
The man was as convinced of Pope’s genius as he was of his pupils’ stupidity. A day hardly passed when he wouldn’t at some point raise his voice and say, “Perverse humanity!” He was liberal only with the switch, and there were

few children in Newburyport who hadn’t at some point wished

some horrific death to be visited upon him; however, they could

all read and write, and they could do accurate sums. During the

war with Britain, while in the middle of surgery at sea, Giles often found himself suddenly, to the astonishment of his assistants, and sometimes even his patients, spouting lines from
The Odyssey of
Homer.

In the back of the ledger were Bradshaw’s notes. Giles skimmed

through the pages, feeling guilty that he had not entered his own contributions—to date, he had only listed the dead.

I find Calomel to be the most effective Purgative. It diverts
the Fever away from Internal Organs. However, persistent &
violent Evacuation inflames the Bowels. To Correct the vomits
I have offered a Julep of Salt of Tartar & Laudanum, & to
counter the effects thereof I have offered an anti-emetic of Milk

& Lime-water in equal parts.

Dr. Benjamin Rush, that great and patriotic Physi-

cian of Philadelphia, has claimed that he has not lost

one Patient to whom he has administered Mercury to the

salivary glands. Mercury, alas, was in short supply at the

outset of our Epidemic & I quickly depleted what little

stores I possessed.

The two strongest medications, Laudanum & Opium, we

are now without—there was little Laudanum at the outset

& I have not seen Opium in years. Both are instrumental in
alleviating pain; without them, our Citizens have no choice

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but to suffer these horrific symptoms to their fullest, without
mitigation or relief.

Castor oil purges are highly effective on some Patients, particularly children. A dry tongue is not a good sign. Sometimes
also a dry, hoarse Throat. Many Patients suffer from frequent,
uncontrollable bouts of the Hiccups. Profuse hemorrhages are
common, from the bowels, the mouth, the nose, the eyes, the

ears & the gums. In the case of women, also from the vagina.

Some Patients have exhibited the unusual reaction Dr.

Rush refers to as “a want of delicacy.” I have Witnessed

this in two female Patients. One was elderly, well beyond

the childbearing years; the other a girl of perhaps 17. In both
cases these Patients suddenly & dramatically became amorous
in Nature. They shed their clothing, resisting all attempts to
maintain Decency and Propriety, and then they behaved in

the most wanton fashion. The older woman, foul-smelling &
rancid with the stench of Fever, tried to force herself upon me.

The child addressed me in the most Abject terms, spreading

her legs & probing her nether Regions. With great Effort &
the assistance of two orderlies, the girl was restrained, her
hands and feet bound. Though we have used extreme heat

with most Patients here, in this unusual case I opted for Cold
Treatment, which, despite the child’s vociferous Protestations,
eventually brought about the desired calming Effect.

In some instances, the sudden & total disappearance of Pain
can be the most dangerous Sign. Some Patients lose all faculties of Reason. Others have the opposite reaction & they wil
converse about All manner of topics with great Pleasure (& in
some cases demonstrating considerable Knowledge and Erudition)

& then suddenly fall into violent Convulsions and Expire in a
matter of minutes.

Giles paused to pour himself a glass of whiskey, and then he continued to flip through the pages, until he came to a place that was 165

j o h n s m o l e n s

marked with the word “Venesection” written in a heavy hand

and underlined.

Venesection

Said treatment, along with Purgation, is the most reliable Cure
for this bilious Fever. I am not even certain what name to give
this vile malady. In texts I have read it has been called Yellow
Fever, Black Vomit, Scarletina, Bilious Pleurisies, Typhous

Fever, all of which seem to be the result of Dramatic changes
in the Earth’s atmosphere, Eruptions of internal gasses &
foul exhalations from places where water stagnates—cisterns,
gutters, standing ponds, cellars, sluices & culverts—may, over
time, alter the Miasma to the point where Human Life will

cease to Exist. I have found that Venesection & Purgation are
the most reliable Cures for this most terrible Maladay. This
too is consistent with the findings of Dr. Benjamin Rush, who
has practiced this Method with the greatest Diligence.

In the first week of the Outbreak here at Newbury-Port

I have applied the lancet to some three-hundred individuals.

In most cases I will draw between twelve and sixteen ounces,
often in two or three sessions. The amount is determined by

the General Health of the Patient: Sex, Age, Weight, Height,
Constitution & etc. In a few Extreme Cases I have withdrawn
as much as twenty ounces from the arm or leg of a given

Patient. Upon examination the Blood is often sizy, giving

the impression that the internal Organs have been exposed

to extreme Heat by the Fever, thus the appearance that the

blood is approaching a boil. It is my firm Belief that removing
a specific amount of Blood reduces the pressure on said Organs
and allows the agents of the Fever to be evacuated, with the
assistance of a Purgative.

My col eague, Giles Wiggins, Surgeon, is not so impressed

by the Method of Venesection. He has not the proper medical

training, but instead the experience gained from conducting

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surgery in conflict. Tho’ he is admirably enthusiastic & energetic in his attentions to our fair port’s Dilemma, he prefers
to Purge through Sweat, wrapping Patients in hot, wet linens

& placing hot bricks or stones on their Suffering Bodies. Said
practice of course has not met with great Success.

Giles slammed the ledger shut and left the tent, the neck of the whiskey bottle tight in his hand. The night air outside was cooler, heavy with mist, tinged with the foul smell of the camp necessary.

There were now more than fifty tents in the pest-house; most

glowed from within with lamplight. The sounds of coughing and

retching were constant, as were soft moans, pleas for water. Since the war, Giles had not heard such orchestration from so many. He went down the path between the tents, and at the gate he found

a guard who was fast asleep. Beyond the fence it was quiet now

except for the crackle of the fire that the gravediggers had built up on Old Burying Ground Hill.

Giles opened the gate and stepped outside the fence—the

guard never stirred from his slumber—but then the doctor

hesitated when he saw someone approaching from the direction

of the Frog Pond, a lantern swinging in his hand. Giles sat on

the edge of the small wooden stage that had been constructed

by the Reverend Cary’s zealous congregation. He uncorked

the bottle and took a long drink of whiskey. The pendulum

arc of the lantern continued toward him. At this hour it must

be Dr. Bradshaw. Giles took another deep pull on the bottle,

bracing himself for confrontation. “I am but a mere surgeon,”

he muttered to himself, “improperly educated, but—what was

it?—‘enthusiastic and energetic.’ No, ‘admirably enthusiastic and energetic.’ My methods are not very successful, and therefore

I will leave you, dear Dr. Bradshaw, to your own methods of

venesection and purgation. Take up your lancet and bleed them,

drain them dry, while I, your humble assistant, will take his leave from this pest-house.”

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But it was not Dr. Bradshaw—the man who approached was

not tall enough, and as he came nearer Giles sensed that there was something uneven, perhaps impaired about his gait. The man’s

stride was lame, or perhaps inebriated.

Suddenly, Giles got to his feet and said, “Emanuel? Is that

you?”

“Aye, Doctor, I believe that it is.” Emanuel Lunt stopped

and held up his lantern, gazing at the bottle in Giles’s hand.

“I am like the horse drawn to water. I fortified myself for the

trek up here from the waterfront, for it is a most warm and

humid night, and by the time I reached High Street I real-

ized that I was in need of rejuvenation. I’m dead on my feet,

Doctor. Heal me!” And then, deftly, he hung the lantern from

the hook that protruded from his right sleeve, and held out his

left hand. “Heal me!”

Giles gave him the bottle of whiskey.

Emanuel took a drink, tilting his head back, and then gasped,

“Halleluiah! Saved.”

“It’s my most successful method,” Giles said, taking the bottle

back. “You are among the fortunate few.” He began walking

toward the Frog Pond.

Emanuel caught up, the lantern casting an oscillating light on

the ground before them. “You are leaving?” Giles didn’t answer.

“You have the walk of a man who doesn’t intend to return.”

“You are drunk,” Giles said, “but a perceptive drunk. I have

always valued such qualities in a man.”

“Such a compliment humbles me. But I am slow—you walk

so fast.”

Giles did not alter his pace; if anything, he walked faster.

“Does this mean your work is finished here?” Emanuel asked,

struggling to keep up.

“My work, such as it is, is finished.”

“I see—so everyone is cured, and they have been sent home?”

“Anyone who is ‘cured’ gets a ride up the hill to that pit.”

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Suddenly, Emanuel took a few hasty, awkward steps, turned,

and stood in front of Giles, forcing him to stop. “But there are still others, back there, waiting to be healed.”

“Healed?” Giles attempted to go around his friend, but Eman-