“16. That the Apothecary keep secret and do not disclose what the Doctor prescribeth nor the prescriptions he useth but to such as in the Doctor’s absence may supply his place and that with the Doctor’s approbation.
“Allowed.”
The ordinances are peremptory, and for many years they governed the action of the Hospital in the control of the patients. Some of them, indeed (as §6), are still acted upon. They show that Harvey was determined to maintain the superior status of the physicians, and there is but little room to doubt that this was one of the guiding principles of his life. In February, 1620, he was appointed by the College of Physicians to act with Dr. Mayerne and Dr. William Clement in watching the proceedings of the surgeons who were moving Parliament in their own interest. For this purpose he attended a Conference at Gray’s Inn on the 17th of February, 1620, and he afterwards went to Cambridge; but he failed to induce the University to co-operate with the College of Physicians.
On the 4th of July, 1634, Harvey gave a tanned human skin to the College of Physicians, and on the same day by the order of the President he made a speech to the Apothecaries persuading them to conform to the orders of the College.
On the 7th of August, 1634, John Clarke was granted the reversion of Harvey’s office of Physician to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital “in the room and place of Dr. Andrewes late deceased. And this Hospital do order that after Doctor Harvey his death or departure, there be but one Physician forthwards.” Harvey, however, outlived Dr. Clarke, who died in 1653 and was buried in St. Martin’s, Ludgate, but as Harvey did not attend the Hospital after 1643 Clarke probably acted as sole Physician to the Hospital for ten years before he died. He was President of the College of Physicians 1645-1649.
The year 1634 was long memorable on account of “the Lancashire witches,” whose story is not yet quite forgotten. Their accusation, as in that of the great outbreak at Salem in New England in 1692, began in the lying story of a child. Edward Robinson, a boy of ten, and the son of a woodcutter living on the borders of Pendle Forest in Lancashire, played truant and to excuse himself accused Mother Dickenson of being a witch. The boy, being examined by the magistrates, told his story so openly and honestly that it was at once believed. He said that as he was roaming in one of the glades of the forest picking blackberries he saw two greyhounds which he thought belonged to one of the gentlemen living in the neighbourhood. A hare appearing at the same time he hied on the dogs, but neither of them would stir. Angry at the beasts he took up a switch and was about to punish them when one of the dogs started up as a woman, the other as a little boy. The woman was Mother Dickenson, who offered him money to sell his soul to the devil, but he refused. She then took a bridle out of her pocket, and shaking it over the head of the other little boy he instantly became a horse. Mother Dickenson seized Robinson in her arms and sprang upon the animal. They rode with inconceivable swiftness over forests, fields, bogs, and rivers until they came to a large barn. The witch alighted, and taking him by the hand led him inside. There he saw seven old women pulling at seven halters which hung from the roof. As they pulled, large pieces of meat, lumps of butter, loaves of bread, basins of milk, hot puddings and black puddings fell from the halters on to the floor. Thus a supper was provided, and when it was ready other witches came to share it. Many persons were arrested, for the boy was led about from church to church to identify those he had seen in the barn.
The story made a great sensation and Sir William Pelham wrote to Lord Conway that “the greatest news from the country is of a huge pack of witches which are lately discovered in Lancashire, whereof it is said nineteen are condemned and that there are at least sixty already discovered. It is suspected that they had a hand in raising the great storm wherein his Majesty was in so great danger at sea in Scotland.” Popular report exaggerated the number arrested, but seven of the accused were condemned and Bishop Bridgman, of Chester, was requested to examine them. He went to the gaol and found that three had died and another, Janet Hargreaves, lay “past hope of recovery.” Of the three examined by him two declared that they had no knowledge of witchcraft, but the third, Margaret Johnson, a widow of sixty, whom the Bishop describes as a person of strong imagination and weak memory, confessed to have been a witch for six years. She told him, “There appeared to her a man in black attire, who said, if she would give him her soul she should have power to hurt whom she would. He called himself Mamilion, and appeared in the shape of a brown-coloured dog, a white cat, and a hare, and in these shapes sucked her blood.”
The report of the Bishop to Secretary Coke reached the ears of the King, who commanded Henry Earl of Manchester, the Lord Privy Seal, to write:—
“To Alexander Baker Esq. and Sarjeant Clowes
his Majesty’s Chirurgions.