As I had declared my inability, from the distance at which I lived, to undertake the black’s cure, the duke had engaged one of the regimental surgeons from Sayda. The poor patient was conducted out, and with a glistening eye, furred lips, and a total inattention to objects around him, was half led and half supported to the spot destined for him. He fell on his mattress, and, after he had lain a minute or two, I spoke to him in English. At the sound of his mother tongue, he raised his head. It must be mentioned that his situation had something peculiarly distressing in it. Born in New York, a free black, he had at the age of fifteen accompanied a Dutch merchant to Havre, Paris, Antwerp, and Frankfort. There the duke, who one day caught sight of him and was taken with his fine countenance and person, offered him advantageous terms to come and live with him; which, with the consent of his first master, he did. The duke dressed him as a Mameluke, and (from being as handsome a black as could be seen, even now in sickness) his good disposition, coupled with his appearance, made him a favourite. He accompanied his royal highness in his travels. Having picked up a little German, all went on very well so long as his health was good; but when sickness overtook him, and his supposed malady made him an object of terror to everybody, he had much difficulty in explaining his wants. Judge, then, of the electrical effect that the sound of English must have had on him. He was called Wellington.
“Wellington,” said I, “how do you do? Take courage, my good fellow; I am come to see if I can be of any use to you.” He stared for some time before he could recover himself, but at last he answered, “Blessings on you then, sir, for I am much in want of somebody to speak to. I am very ill, and nobody can understand me. I want a clean shirt, and they say I can’t have one washed: now, that I won’t believe; and I wish you would tell somebody to send a washerwoman to me.” I assured him that nobody was to blame. I endeavoured to make him understand how he was situated; and, after comforting him awhile, told him I was desirous of examining his swellings. I had never seen a plague-swelling but once, and that twenty years before: so that my evidence could only be negative proof of the nonexistence of that disease. His attendant placed him in a favourable position, and, at the distance of five feet from him, I inspected it as well I could: it was as big, taking its outer border, as the back of a small hand, and seemingly angular. There was much stupor, into which he fell the moment I ceased to speak to him. His skin was dry, his tongue black, his head ran round if he raised it from the pillow; he had great thirst, great debility, and no appetite. These concomitant circumstances made it probable that the swelling was pestilential; and the surgeon of the regiment, who was with me, and who had seen many cases of plague, was of that opinion.
When I returned to the duke, who was waiting for me with the government secretary, and M. Lapi, the Austrian referendary, I told them I must decline saying it was not the plague. The duke was vexed; for I believe at that moment he would have given half his dukedom, and me a ribbon to my button-hole, to be out of his unpleasant situation; but I composed his mind as much as possible, by assuring him that, even if it were plague, neither he nor his suite now ran any risk of taking it: since, at such an advanced period of the spring, experience had shown that the contagion, under common precaution, was rarely propagated. Still the duke betrayed great anxiety, by his eagerness to obtain a positive denial from me of its being the plague. “It is nothing but a syphilitic case—I am sure you think so—do tell the quarantine inspector so”—and many expressions of that sort fell from his mouth; but I could not conscientiously speak otherwise than I had done, as too much responsibility for the safety of the community rested upon it.
I requested that a cabin of branches might be made over Wellington’s tent, to keep the burning sun out; and recommended such little comforts as his case seemed to require. It was agreed that the medical treatment should be the same as in malignant fever, and I then returned to Jôon.
Wednesday, May 30.—I did not see Lady Hester until after sunset. Poor Wellington’s situation excited in her much sympathy, and the duke’s still more. She treated my opinion lightly, and considered his highness hardly dealt with. She wrote a letter to that effect, and gave her own view of the subject, which was certainly entitled to much consideration, from her having the conviction that she had had the plague herself many years before. Plague is generally sporadic the first year of its appearance, little contagious, and passes almost unobserved, under the denomination of humma, or malignant fever: it is in the second year that its ravages become terrible.[27]
Thursday, May 3.—Provisions were sent down to the duke and his party, and Lady Hester was quite busy in providing for, and anticipating their wants. M. Lapi came up at her request, to give her some information respecting the duke and his suite.
Friday, June 1.—This day a messenger came from Beyrout with a file of newspapers up to April 15th. In one of them (April 12th), appeared a paragraph regarding Lady Hester’s affairs. M. Guys wrote me word that he was still prevented from setting off to Aleppo, owing to the plague. He informed me also that Mr. K. was about to commence an action against the French doctor, for unprofessional treatment in his wife’s illness, which Mr. K. styled assassination. This line of conduct did not accord with Lady Hester’s notions of humanity and forbearance towards a practitioner to whom less blame attached than if the case had been left solely to his guidance. She accordingly wrote to him the following letter, which, however, did not go until the 3rd:—
To Mr. K., merchant, at Beyrout.
June 3rd, 1838.
Sir,