In a recent letter a friend writes, "The other day one of our servants, Crispin, was ill. I tried to get him to go to the hospital, but he insisted he was not sick. I did not enjoy having him wait on the table, for I thought he had measles. So I took him to the hospital myself and told him to do what the doctor said. When I returned home a telephone call summoned us to the hospital to be vaccinated at once, for Crispin had the smallpox! They sent him to San Lazaro, where he had a good time, and came home smiling, while we spent a miserable ten days waiting to see what was going to happen to us. The native saindados came promptly to disinfect, but all they did was to put a bucket of something in the center of the room. I soon saw that they were not going to be thorough, so after ten minutes, just as they were going away, I called them back and telephoned to the board of health, asking if no American sanitary officer was coming. They said no, that Filipinos had been put in all the white men's places. So I went to work myself, burning bedding, clothes and hangings, and opening every trunk and closet. It was a revelation to those two little natives, who thought they had done enough before."
Apparently the natives had the same aversion to the preventive method of vaccination that some of our own countryfolk have, for Dr. Heiser writes of the early work in the field: "Formerly ... the lives of the vaccinators were seriously threatened by persons who refused to be vaccinated. However, after much persuasion, a considerable number of the inhabitants were vaccinated. Shortly afterwards smallpox was introduced and the death rate among the unvaccinated became alarming; the people themselves then noted that in spite of the fact that the vaccinated persons frequently came in constant contact with the disease they did not contract it, while the unvaccinated died in large numbers. This led to urgent request being made for vaccination and the vaccinators who previously found their lives in constant danger were welcomed."
But perhaps Dr. Heiser's greatest work has been done in freeing the Islands of the worst-feared disease of all times and nations—leprosy. I was walking along the street with him one day when he noticed the swollen ear lobes of a man near by. It was one of the first symptoms of leprosy. He stopped and spoke to the man and walked with him to the hospital. The disease is not really so much to be feared as people think, for it is seldom inherited and is not easily contagious.
We had planned to go to Culion, the beautiful island where thousands of lepers have been taken to live or to die, and where they have every care and comfort that science and unselfish devotion can give them. Unfortunately for us, the Secretary of War was obliged to cut the trip short, owing to official business in Manila, so we did not go there. We heard so much about the place that this was a real disappointment.
The island is a day's sail from Manila. It is well forested, and has hills and fertile valleys and a fine harbour. The more important buildings of the town which the authorities knew would be needed by the thousands of lepers then at large, were built from the foundations entirely of concrete, for sanitary reasons and economy. Besides hundreds of houses, one finds there to-day a theater, a town hall, a school, dining halls, hospitals, stores, docks and warehouses. Water, lighting and sewerage systems were also constructed, and a separate settlement was built for the non-leprous employees.
Culion is really a leper's heaven. The people have perfect freedom, and live normal lives, farming or fishing when they are able, carrying on their own government, having their own police force, playing in the band if they are musical, giving theatrical performances. They have social distinctions, too—those better born take the place denied them in the outer world because of their affliction. Here they are again Somebody.
When Americans took possession of the Islands there were six thousand lepers at large. Two things evidently had to be done—first, prevent a further spread of the disease; and second, cure those who already had it, if this were possible.
Segregation of all known cases, as fast as accommodations could be provided for them, was the immediate necessity. The colony at Culion was opened in 1906 with five hundred patients. These went reluctantly to their new abode, but once settled there, found it so much to their liking that they wrote home enthusiastically, and after that the authorities had no difficulty in persuading others to go. Indeed, the plight of these poor outcasts had been pitiful enough. They were so neglected that in one of the larger cities they had been known to go into the markets and handle the produce, as a protest against their treatment.
More than eight thousand have been transferred to Culion in all, and to-day every known leper in the Philippines is there. New cases are still occasionally found, but even the worst provinces are now practically free from the historic scourge. It was that remarkable man, Dr. Heiser, who not only organized and carried out this great undertaking, but who himself saw to the smallest details. Many times he is known to have carried the loathsome patients in his own arms.
The second problem, that of finding a cure, was not so easily solved. But it has been found, and our nation had the credit of finding it—"the first definite cure ever established," Dr. Heiser says. Two methods were tried out very carefully, both with some success. The first was the x-ray, which brought a marked improvement in most of the cases where it was used, and an apparent cure in one case. The other method was the use of chaulmoogra oil. This remedy had been known and used in the Far East for some time, but it could rarely be given long enough to produce much effect, because it was so unpleasant to swallow. Our doctors, however, devised ways of injecting it, after mixing it with resorcin and camphorated oil, so that there were no ill effects. Already several cures have resulted.