CHAPTER XIII.
The "Fev-Nag."—Conflicting Theories.—"Oxergin and Hydergin."—Teazle's Rationale.—The Scourge of the West.—Sile Bates, and his Condition.—Squire Longbow and Jim Buzzard.—Puddleford Prostrate.—Various Practitioners.—"The Billerous Duck."—Pioneer Martyrs.—Wave over Wave.
During my first fall's residence at Puddleford, I frequently heard a character spoken of, who seemed to be full as famous in the annals of the place as Squire Longbow himself. He was called by a great variety of names, and very seldom alluded to with respect. He was termed the "Fev-Nag," the "Ag-an-Fev," the "Shakin' Ager," the "Shakes," and a great variety of other hard names were visited upon him.
That he was the greatest scourge Puddleford had to contend with, no one denied. Who he really was, what he was, where born, and for what purpose, was a question. Dobbs had one theory, Short another, and Teazle still another. Dr. Dobbs said "that his appearance must be accounted for in this wise—that the marshes were all covered with water in the spring, that the sun began to grow so all-fir'd hot 'long 'bout July and August, that it cream'd over the water with a green scum, and rotted the grass, and this all got stewed inter a morning fog, that rose up and elated itself among the Ox-er-gin and Hy-der-gin, and pizened everybody it touched."
Dr. Dobbs delivered this opinion at the public house, in a very oracular style. I noticed several Puddlefordians in his presence at the time, and before he closed, their jaws dropped, and their gaping mouths and expanded eyes were fixed upon him with wonder.
Dr. Teazle declared that "Dobbs didn't know anything about it. He said the ager was buried up in the airth, and that when the sile was turned up, it got loose, and folks breath'd it into their lungs, and from the lungs it went into the liver, and from the liver it went to the kidneys, and the secretions got fuzzled up, and the bile turn'd black, and the blood didn't run, and it set everybody's inards all a-tremblin'."
Without attempting the origin of the ague and fever, it was, and always has been, the scourge of the West. It is the foe that the West has ever had to contend with. It delays improvement, saps constitutions, shatters the whole man, and lays the foundation for innumerable diseases that follow and finish the work for the grave. It is not only ague and fever that so seriously prostrates the pioneer, but the whole family of intermittent and remittent fevers, all results of the same cause, press in to destroy. Perhaps no one evil is so much dreaded. Labor, privation, poverty, are nothing in comparison. It is, of course, fought in a great variety of ways, and the remedies are as numerous as they are ridiculous. A physician who is really skilful in the treatment of these diseases is, of course, on the road to wealth, but skilful physicians were not frequent in Puddleford, as the reader has probably discovered.
I recollect that, during the months of September and October, subsequently to my arrival, all Puddleford was "down," to use the expression of the country; and if the reader will bear with me, and pledge himself not to accuse me of trifling with so serious a subject, I will endeavor to describe Puddleford "in distress."
I will premise by saying that it is expected that persons who are on their feet during these visitations, give up their time and means to those who are not. There is a nobleness of soul in a western community in this respect that does honor to human nature. A village is one great family—every member must be provided for—old grudges are, for the time, buried.