Plymouth memories of an octogenarian

by William T. Davis

Dr. Jackson was a man of broad and deep scientific learning, and in exploring the mysteries lying in the field of science he found so much that his frank and open nature would not permit him to conceal, that those who knew him were not surprised at the disputed claims which marked his career. He knew too much, and too many things for him to develop, and by his own labors to apply to practical use. His mind was like a garden so crowded with vegetation of his own planting that none or few reached perfect bloom and seed. But the passerby attracted by one or another, though ignorant of botany, would pluck a slip or a root, and setting it in his own grounds, by unremitting care nurse it into vigorous growth and a perfected life. Without the garden which the gardener had planted, the passerby would never have found the plant, and without the act of the passerby the plant would have died and the labors of the gardener would have been in vain. Thus it is true that one soweth another reapeth. Dr. Jackson married Susan Bridge of Charlestown, and died in 1880.

At the time the controversy between Jackson and Morton was going on, Horace Wells, a dentist in Hartford, made a claim that prior to the use of ether he had used in his profession nitrous oxide gas to prevent pain. In the autumn of 1846 he went to Europe to lay his discovery before the medical profession in Paris, and in March, 1847, on his return, he was my fellow passenger on board the steamship Hibernia, and shared my stateroom. He was a landsman, unfamiliar with the sea, and easily frightened by the noises of the ship. He was especially frightened on a dark night in a northwest gale surrounded by broken ice off the Flemish cap, the northeast edge of the grand banks. As we entered the field ice Capt. Harrison deemed it prudent to stand to the southward and escape it. We were constantly feeling the huge blocks of ice, thumping against us, and with the windows of the dining saloon which was on the main deck, well shuttered, it was about as dismal a prospect as passengers not yet fully satisfied of the seaworthiness of sidewheel ocean steamships had ever experienced. In those days the trumpet was used by the officers on the deck in giving orders at night or in a storm to the men at the wheel, and about ten o’clock the few of us who were not sick, sitting in the saloon, heard the order, “hard a port.” Of course we ran to the door, but before reaching it heard the order, “hard a starboard.” I saw on the port side perhaps a quarter of a mile distant the glisten of an iceberg, and those on the starboard side saw the glisten of another about the same distance away, and as we went wallowing along in the trough of the sea we sailed between them. We turned in soon after, but there was not much sleep for the poor Doctor after the fright he had received.

About midnight we were awakened by the crash on our decks of a gigantic wave, which enveloped the ship, filling the dining saloon sill deep, and pouring down into the cabin, endangering the lives of several passengers whose stateroom doors were broken open, and who were washed out of their berths. The Doctor was out and off in an instant, returning in about ten minutes telling me to get up as the ship was sinking. As I never was easily rattled, I remained in my berth, either taking no stock in his outcry, or thinking that a speedy death in my stateroom would be better than a lingering one among floating cakes of ice. In the morning we were clear of the ice, and once more on our course. The troubles to which Dr. Wells was subjected in endeavoring to substantiate his claim, affected his brain, and he committed suicide in New York, January 24, 1848. A statue has been erected to his memory in the park at Hartford, his native city.

Another distinguished Plymouthean was a resident on North street. Dr. James Thacher lived from 1817 to 1827 in what is now called the old part of the Samoset House, which he named Lagrange in honor of Lafayette, and moved from there into the Winslow house on North street, which he occupied until he built the house until recently occupied by Dr. Thomas B. Drew in or about 1832. I remember him in the Winslow house, but it was chiefly in the house built by him which he occupied until his death that I knew him intimately. His family and my mother were close friends, and I made frequent visits to his house to talk with him and learn from him tales and incidents of the past. I always found him sitting at his desk in the northwest corner of the westerly parlor ready to talk with a young man who was sufficiently interested in early days to visit an old man. He was as long ago as I knew him very deaf, and sometimes, though not always, I talked with him through an ear trumpet. Like all deaf persons, his hearing depended much on the tone in which he was addressed, not necessarily a loud one, but distinct, clear cut, and from the throat rather than the lips. His wife, whose voice was low and soft, but clear, conversed with him with ease. He was a short man, stoutly built, though not fleshy, and always as long as I knew him, walked with a cane. He was a jovial man, ready to laugh at a good story, or at a joke on a friend or on himself. He was an ardent friend of temperance, full of religious sentiment, but owing to his deafness he was while I knew him, a rare attendant on church worship. Before my day he had abandoned the practice of his profession, and was devoted to literary pursuits.

Dr. Thacher was born in Barnstable, February 14, 1754, and was the son of John and Content (Norton) Thacher of that town. He attended the public schools until he was eighteen years of age, when he was apprenticed to Dr. Abner Hersey for the study of medicine, completing his apprenticeship at the age of twenty-one soon after the battle of Bunker Hill. He at once presented himself for examination for medical service in the army, and being accepted was appointed surgeon’s mate in the hospital at Cambridge, under Dr. John Warren. In February, 1776, after another examination, he was assigned to Col. Asa Whitcomb’s regiment as mate to Dr. David Townsend, and went with his regiment on the expedition to Ticonderoga. In November, 1778, he was appointed surgeon of the First Virginia State Regiment, and in 1779 he exchanged into the First Massachusetts Regiment commanded by Col. Henry Jackson, and was present at the execution of Andre. In July, 1781, he was appointed surgeon in the Regiment, commanded by Col. Alexander Scammel, and was present at the siege of Yorktown, and the surrender of Cornwallis. Retiring from service in January, 1783, he settled in the following March in Plymouth, where he resided until his death. His large experience in the army, and his well known skill as a surgeon, gave him a large and lucrative practice, from which he would have acquired a handsome property, had not his investments and ventures been disastrous. He established with his brother-in-law, Dr. Nathan Hayward in 1796, the first stage line between Plymouth and Boston, which with other enterprises, no more successful, wasted the savings from his practice. While carrying on his practice he had in his office a number of students, among whom were Dr. Perry of Keene, N. H., Dr. Nathaniel Bradstreet of Newburyport, and Dr. Benjamin Shurtleff of Carver and Boston. In many things he was always a little in advance of his generation, and was inclined to adopt new ideas before they were sufficiently tried, though in others he was the successful pioneer. He introduced the tomato into Plymouth, and with my mother, was the first to set up a coal grate, and use anthracite coal for domestic purpose.

In 1810 Dr. Thacher published “The American Dispensatory,” and in 1812 “Observations on Hydrophobia.” In 1817 he published “The Modern Practice of Physic,” in 1822 the “American Orchardist,” and in 1823 “A Military Journal during the Revolutionary War,” in 1828 “American Medical Biography,” in 1829, “A Practical Treatise on the Management of Bees,” in 1831, “An Essay on Demonology, Ghosts, Apparitions and Popular Superstitions,” and in 1832 a “History of the Town of Plymouth.” Of some of these books second editions have been published; some are standard works, and all are rare. The suggestion I have made that he was in advance of his time is confirmed by his work on hydrophobia, in which more than a hint is given that methods of prevention or cure might be successfully adopted, such as Pasteur has in recent years advocated. In that work the following passage may be found:

“Experiments made upon the canine poison in brutes might be considered as an arduous and hazardous undertaking, but it is not to be deemed altogether impracticable, and I will suggest the following project for the purpose. In the first place dogs when affected with madness, instead of being killed, should be confined and secured that the disease may run its course, and for the ascertainment of many useful facts connected with its several stages. If experiments on dogs should be deemed too hazardous let other animals of little value be selected, provided a sufficient number can be procured. Having provided for their security in some proper enclosure, let them be inoculated with the saliva of the mad dog. With some the inoculated part might be cut out at different stages to ascertain the latest period at which it may be done successfully. To others, various counter poisons and specific remedies might be applied to the wound and administered internally. In fact it would be difficult to determine a priori, the extent of the advantages of this novel plan if judiciously conducted. You may smile at my project, but however chimerical and visionary it may appear, I would rejoice to be the Jenner of the proposed institution; though I might fail in realizing my thousands I could pride myself in being the candidate for the honor, and the author of an attempt to mitigate the horrors attending one of the greatest of all human calamities.”

Dr. Thacher received from Harvard the honorary degrees of Master of Arts and Doctor of Medicine in 1810, and from Dartmouth in the same year, and was made a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He married Susanna, daughter of Nathan Hayward of Bridgewater, and sister of Dr. Nathan Hayward of Plymouth, and had Betsey Hayward, 1785, who married Daniel Robert Elliott of Savannah, Georgia, and Michael Hodge of Newburyport; Susan, 1788, who died in infancy; James, 1790, who also died in infancy; James Hersey, 1792, who died in 1793; Susan, 1794, who married Wm. Bartlett, and Catherine, 1797, who died in 1800. Dr. Thacher died May 26, 1844, and his wife died May 17, 1842.

CHAPTER XXIX.

James Thacher Hodge, another distinguished son of Plymouth, was associated with North street, where he had his home for some years with his mother and his grandfather, Dr. James Thacher. His father, Michael Hodge of Newburyport, a graduate of Harvard in the class of 1799, married in 1814 Betsey Hayward, widow of Daniel Robert Elliott of Savannah, Georgia, and daughter of James and Susannah (Hayward) Thacher of Plymouth, and James Thacher Hodge, his only son, was born in Plymouth in 1816. Mr. Hodge graduated at Harvard in 1836, and at once applied himself to the study of chemistry, mineralogy and geology, a field of science in which he was destined to become distinguished. Among his early labors were those performed with Dr. Chas. T. Jackson, also a native of Plymouth, on the geological survey of Maine, and with Professor Henry D. Rogers on the geological survey of Pennsylvania. He was afterwards engaged in testing and utilizing the mineral wealth of Lake Superior lands, and the explorations and reports made by him largely aided in developing the mining interests of the northwest.