Chapter III

INFLUENZAS AND EPIDEMIC AGUES.

Epidemic agues are joined in the same chapter with influenzas for the reason that they can hardly be separated in the earlier part of the history. Until 1743 the name influenza was not used at all in this country. The thing itself can be identified clearly enough in certain instances from the earliest times. But there are periods, such as 1657-59, 1678-79, and 1727-29 when short waves of epidemic catarrhs or catarrhal fevers came in the midst of longer waves of epidemic agues, “hot agues,” or intermittents, the whole being called by the people “the new disease,” or “the new ague,” while by physicians, such as Willis and Sydenham, they were taken to be the distinguishable constituent parts of one and the same epidemic constitution. The last period in which epidemic agues were so recognised and named in England was from 1780 to 1785; and in the midst of that also there occurred an epidemic catarrh—the “influenza” of the year 1782. It is possible that our own recent experience of a succession of influenzas, or strange fevers, from 1889 to 1893, in some respects the most remarkable in the whole history, would have seemed an equally composite group if they had fallen in the 17th century and had been described in the terminology of the time and according to the then doctrines or nosological methods. Without prejudice to the distinctness and unity of the influenza-type in all periods of the history, I am unable, after trying the matter in various ways, to do otherwise than take the epidemics of ague in chronological order along with the influenzas. As the history will require the frequent use of the name “ague,” and, in due course, that of the name “influenza,” it will be useful to examine at the outset their respective etymologies and the meanings that usage has given to them.

Originally the English name ague did not mean a paroxysmal or intermittent fever, or a fever with a long cold fit followed by a hot fit, or the malarial cachexia with sallowness, dropsy and enlarged spleen, or any other state of health arising from the endemic conditions which are known as malarial over so large a part of the globe in the tropical and sub-tropical zones. It meant simply acuta, the adjective of febris acuta made into a substantive. Thus Higden’s reference in the Polychronicon (which is exactly in the words of Giraldus Cambrensis a century and a half before) to the febris acuta of Ireland is translated by Trevisa (14th cent.): “Men of that lond haue no feuere, but onliche the feuere agu, and that wel silde whanne”; and by an anonymous translator: “The dwellers of hit be not vexede with the axes excepte the scharpe axes, and that is but selde[533].” Again in the MS. English translation of the Latin essay on plague by the bishop of Aarhus, the acute fever which is described as the attendant or variant of bubo-plague proper (well known long after as the pestilential fever, a malignant form of typhus), is thus rendered:

“As we see a sege or prevy next to a chambre, or of any other particuler thyng which corrupteth the ayer in his substance and qualitee: whiche is a thing maye happe every daye. And therof cometh the ague of pestilence. And aboute the same many physicions be deceyved, not supposing this axes to be a pestilence.... And suche infirmite sometime is an axes, sometime a postume or a swellyng—and that ys in many thinges.”

The same use of ague is continued in the first native English book on fevers, Dr John Jones’s ‘Dyall of Agues,’ which has chapters on plague as well as on pestilential fever and on all other fevers including intermittents. In Ireland the name of ague was applied until a comparatively late period to the indigenous typhus of the country, as if in literal translation of the febris acuta first spoken of by Giraldus in the 12th century. Ague in early English meant any sharp fever, and most commonly a continued fever. The special limitation to intermittents appears to have followed the revival of the study of the Graeco-Roman writers on medicine, Galen above all, in the sixteenth century. But Jones, who was freer than the more academical physicians of his time from classical influences, is shrewd enough to see that it was a mistake to transfer the experiences of Greece verbatim to England and to make them our standard of authority: he is speaking, however, not of intermittents but of the simple ephemeral fever, or inflammatory fever of one day:

“Such as have the fever of heat or burning of the sun, sayeth Galen, theyr skin is drye and hot as that which is perched with the sun; of the which, in this orizon and countrye of oures, we have no great nede to entreate of, leaving it to the phisitions and inhabitantes that dwell nerer to the meridionall line and hoter regions, as Hispaine and Africke[534].”

At a later date, when the Hippocratic tradition had displaced the Galenic, Rogers of Cork, perhaps the earliest writer on fevers whose observations are essentially modern, has occasion thus to reflect upon the extreme deference of Sydenham to his Greek model: “Again we learn from Hippocrates that fevers in the warmer climates of Greece, at Naxos, Thasos or Paros, ran their course in certain periods of time, which no ways answers in regions removed at a farther distance from the sun,”—Rogers himself having had no experience of intermittents among all the fevers and dysenteries that he saw from 1708 to 1734, although Cork was surrounded by marshes[535].

At the time of the Latin translations of Greek medical writings by Linacre and Caius in the Tudor period, there were in this country actual experiences of strange fevers, which were interpreted according to the Greek teaching of quotidians, tertians and quartans, with their several bastard or hybrid or larval forms. These, as I have said, were certainly not the endemic fevers of malarious districts; they were, on the contrary, widely prevalent all over the country during one or more seasons in succession and more occasional for a few years longer; then there would be a clear interval of years, and again an universal epidemic of “the new fever,” “the new acquaintance,” “the new ague” or the like.

Sydenham, for example, has much to say of agues or intermittents prevalent in town and country for a series of years, and then disappearing for as long a period as thirteen years at a stretch. But he does not count these as the agues of the marsh; his single reference to the latter is in his essay on Hysteria, where he interpolates a remark that, if one spends two or three days in a locality of marshes and lakes, the blood is in the first instance impressed with a certain spirituous miasma, which produces quartan ague, and that in turn is apt to be followed, especially in the more aged, by a permanent cachectic state[536]. If Sydenham had intended to bring all the intermittents of his experience into that class, he would not have left the paludal origin of them to a casual interpolated remark. On the other hand, he refers the epidemic agues, which occupy his pen so much, to emanations from the bowels of the earth, according to a theory of his friend Robert Boyle, applied by the latter to epidemical infections in general and to epidemic colds or influenzas in particular. Sydenham and his learned colleagues were not ignorant of the endemic agues of marshy localities, but they made little account of them in comparison with the aguish or intermittent fevers that came in epidemics all over England.

In admitting the reality of such agues, we must be careful not to ascribe them to such conditions as Talbor, the ague-curer, found in one village in Essex. We must be careful not to do so, because there are plausible reasons for doing so. The ground is much better drained now than formerly; there is less standing water, fewer marshes, a much smaller extent of water-logged soil. But the malarious parts of England have been tolerably well defined at all times; and at all times the greater part of the country was as little malarious as it is now. It is the frequent reference to agues in old medical writings that has led some modern authors to construct a picture of a marshy or water-logged England, for which there is no warrant. Cromwell died of a tertian ague which he caught at Hampton Court; therefore “the country round London in Cromwell’s time” must needs have been “as marshy as the fens of Lincolnshire are now.” The country round London was much the same then as now, or as in John Stow’s time, or as in the medieval monk Fitzstephen’s time, or as it has ever been since the last geological change. The ague of which Cromwell died in the autumn of 1658 was one of those which raged all over England from 1657 to 1659—so extensively that Morton, who was himself ill of the same for three months, says the country was “one vast hospital.” Whatever was the cause of that great epidemic of “agues,” and of others like it, we have no warrant to assume that “the country round London,” or wherever else the epidemic malady prevailed, was then as marshy as the fens of Lincolnshire[537].

The other name in the title of this chapter, influenza, appeared comparatively late in the history. It is an Italian name, which is usually taken to mean the influence of the stars. It may have got that sense by popular usage, but the original etymology was probably different. As early as the year 1554 the Venetian ambassador in London called the sweating sickness of 1551 an influsso, which is the Italian form of influxio. The latter is the correct classical term for a humour, catarrh, or defluxion, the Latin defluxio itself having a more special limited meaning. It was not astrology, but humoral pathology, that brought in the words influxio and influsso; and I suspect that influenza grew out of the latter, but not out of the notion of an influence rained down by the heavenly bodies.

It was in 1743 that the Italian name of “influenza” first came to England[538], the rumour of a great epidemic, so called, at Rome and elsewhere in Italy having reached London a month or two before the disease itself. The epidemic of 1743 was soon over and the Italian name forgotten; so that when the same malady became common in 1762, some one with a good memory or a turn for history remarked that it resembled “the disease called influenza” nearly twenty years before. After the epidemic of 1782, the Italian name came into more general use, and from the beginning of the present century it became at once popular and vague. The great epidemics of it in 1833 and 1847 fixed its associations so closely with catarrh that an “influenza cold” became an admitted synonym for coryza or any common cold attended with sharp fever. Lastly, the series of epidemics from 1889 to 1893 effectually broke the association with coryza or catarrh.

Before influenza became adopted as the common English name towards the end of last century, what were the names popularly given to the malady in this country? The earliest references to it are in the medieval Latin chronicles under the name of tussis or cough, or in some periphrasis. In the fifteenth century the English name was “mure” or “murre,” which appears to be the same root as in murrain. Thus the St Albans Chronicle, under the year 1427, enters a certain “infirmitas rheumigata,” which in English was called “mure”; and the obituary of the monks of Canterbury abbey has two deaths from “empemata, id est, tussis et le murra[539].” In the Tudor period there is no single distinctive name, unless it be “hot ague”: in 1558 the name is “the new burning ague,” in 1562 “the new acquaintance,” in 1580 “the gentle correction,” and at various times in the 17th century “the new disease,” “the new ague,” “the strange fever,” “the new delight,” “the jolly rant.” Robert Boyle called one sudden outbreak “a great cold.” Molyneux, of Dublin, mentions “a universal cold” in one year (1688), and “a universal transient fever” in another (1693). The earlier 18th century writers mostly use the word catarrh or catarrhal fever, either in Latin or in English, the popular names probably continuing fanciful as before, as for example Horace Walpole’s “blue plagues.” That which stands out most clearly in the English naming from the earliest times is the idea of something new or strange; but the newness or strangeness pertained quite as much to the agues as to the catarrhs. The notion of ague may be said to be uppermost in the 16th and 17th centuries, that of catarrh in the 18th and 19th; while our very latest experiences have once more brought a suggestion of ague to the front.

Retrospect of Influenzas and Epidemic Agues in the 16th and 17th centuries.

In the former volume of this history I have dealt with the various epidemics of “hot ague,” “new disease” or the like down to the epidemic of 1657-59. It will be convenient to go over some of that ground again, with a view to distinguish, if possible, the catarrhal types from the aguish, and to illustrate the use of the word ague as applied to a universal epidemic. Two of the epidemic seasons in the 16th century, 1510 and 1539, are too vaguely recorded for our purpose; but I shall review briefly the seasons from 1557-58 onwards.

It is known from the general historians that there were two seasons of fever all over England in 1557 and 1558, of which the latter was the more deadly, the type according to Stow, being “quartan agues.” In letters of the time the epidemic of 1557 is variously named: thus Margaret, Countess of Bedford, writes on 9 August from London to Sir W. Cecil that she “trusts the sickness that reigns here will not come to the camp [near St Quentin, where Francis, Earl of Bedford was].... As for the ague, I fear not my son.” On the 18th of the same month, Sir Nicholas Bacon writes from Bedford to Cecil: “Your god-daughter, thanks be to God, is somewhat amended, her fits being more easy, but not delivered of any. It is a double tertian that holds her, and her nurse had a single, but it is gone clearly;” to which letter Lady Bacon adds a postscript about “little Nan, trusting for all this shrewd fever, to see her.” On 21 September, it appears that the sickness had reached the English camp near St Quentin, for the Earl of Bedford writes: “Our general is sick of an ague, our pay very slack, and people grudge for want.” As late as the 25th October the Countess of Bedford writes from London to Cecil that she “would not have him come yet without great occasions, as there reigns such sickness at London[540].”

Next year, 1558, the epidemic sickness returned in the summer and autumn, in a worse form than before. Stow calls it “quartan agues,” which destroyed many old people and especially priests, so that a great number of parishes were unserved. Harrison, a canon of Windsor, says that a third part of the people did taste the general sickness. On the 6th September, sickness affected more than half the people in Southampton, Portsmouth, and the Isle of Wight. From the 20th October to the end of the year, no fewer than seven of the London aldermen died, a number hardly equalled in the first sweating sickness of 1485, and the queen (Mary) died of the lingering effects of an ague, which was doubtless the reigning sickness. On 17th October, the English commissioners being at Dunkirk to negotiate the surrender of Calais, one of them, Sir William Pickering, fell “very sore sick of this new burning ague: he has had four sore fits, and is brought very low, and in danger of his life if they continue as they have done.” That year Dr Owen published A Meet Diet for the New Ague, and himself died of it in London on the 18th of October[541].

Fuller quaintly describes the ague of 1558 as “a dainty-mouthed disease, which, passing by poor people, fed generally on principal persons of greatest wealth and estate[542].” Roger Ascham wrote in 1562 to John Sturmius that, for four years past, or since 1558, “he was afflicted with continual agues, that no sooner had one left him but another presently followed; and that the state of his health was so impaired and broke by them that an hectic fever seized his whole body; and the physicians promised him some ease, but no solid remedy[543].” Thoresby, the Leeds antiquary of the end of the 17th century, found in the register of the parish of Rodwell, next to Leeds, a remarkable proof of the fatality of these agues, which fully bears out the general statements of Stow and Harrison. In 1557 the deaths in the register rose from 20 to 76, and in 1558, which the historians elsewhere say was the most fatal year, they rose to 124[544]. This was as severe as the sweating sickness of 1551, for example in the adjoining parish of Swillington, or in the parish of Ulverston, in Lancashire[545].

The English names of the epidemic sickness in the summers and autumns of 1557 and 1558 are all in the class of agues—“this new burning ague,” “a strange fever,” “divers strange and new sicknesses taking men and women in their heads, as strange agues and fevers,” “quartan agues.” One medical writer, Dr John Jones, says in a certain place that “quartans were reigning everywhere,” and in another place, still referring to 1558, that he himself had the sickness near Southampton, that it was attended by a great sweat, and that it was the same disease as the sweating sickness of 1551. There were certainly two seasons of these agues, 1557 and 1558, the latter being the worst; and it is probable from Short’s abstracts of a few parish registers in town and country that there was a third season of them in 1559. The year 1557 has been made an influenza year, perhaps because the Italian writers have emphasized catarrhal symptoms here or there in the epidemic of that year; while both the years 1557 and 1558 have been received into the chronology of epidemic or pandemic agues or malarial fevers[546]. There are perhaps a dozen English references in letters and chronicles to the sicknesses of those years, either to particular cases or to a general prevalence, but they do not enable us to distinguish a catarrhal type in 1557 from the aguish type which they assert for both 1557 and 1558.

Four years after, another very characteristic influenza was prevalent in Edinburgh.

Randolph writes from Edinburgh to Cecil in the end of November, 1562: “Maye it please your Honer, immediately upon the Quene’s (Mary’s) arivall here, she fell acquainted with a new disease that is common in this towne, called here the newe acqayntance, which passed also throughe her whole courte, neither sparinge lordes, ladies nor damoysells, not so much as ether Frenche or English. It ys a plague in their heades that have yt, and a sorenes in their stomackes, with a great coughe, that remayneth with some longer, with others shorter tyme, as yt findeth apte bodies for the nature of the disease. The queen kept her bed six days. There was no appearance of danger, nor manie that die of the disease, excepte some olde folkes. My lord of Murraye is now presently in it, the lord of Lidingeton hathe had it, and I am ashamed to say that I have byne free of it, seinge it seketh acquayntance at all men’s handes[547].”

It is not improbable that the interval between 1558 and 1562 may have been occupied with milder revivals of the original great epidemic, the one at Edinburgh counting in the series.

It appears from a Brabant almanack for the year 1561 that a sudden catarrhal epidemic was quite on the cards in those years: the astronomer foretells for the month of September, 1561: “Coughs innumerable, which shall show such power of contagion as to leave few persons unaffected, especially towards the end of the month[548].” There is an actual record from more than one country (Italy, Barcelona, as well as Edinburgh) of such universal catarrhs and coughs a year later than the one foretold. The Italian writers assign the universal catarrhs and coughs to the autumn of 1562, the Barcelona writer to the winter solstice of that year, and the letter from Edinburgh to “the laste of November.”

The next undoubted influenza, that of 1580, was compared abroad to the English sweat:

“In some places,” says Boekel, “the sick fell into sweats, flowing more copiously in some than in others, so that a suspicion arose in the minds of some physicians of that English sweat which laid waste the human race so horribly in 1529;” and again, “the bodies were wonderfully attenuated in a short time as if by a malignant sudden colliquation, which made an end of the more solid parts, and took away all strength[549].” The season of it was the summer.

The outbreak attracted much attention from its universality, and was described by many abroad.

Boekel says that it was of such fierceness “that in the space of six weeks it afflicted almost all the nations of Europe, of whom hardly the twentieth person was free of the disease, and anyone who was so became an object of wonder to others in the place.... Its sudden ending after a month, as if it had been prohibited, was as marvellous as its sudden onset.” It came up, he says, from Hungary and Pannonia and extended to Britain. The principal English account of this epidemic comes from Ireland[550]. In the month of August, 1580, during the war against the Desmonds, an English force had advanced some way through Kerry for the seizing of Tralee and Dingle; “but suddenlie such a sicknes came among the soldiers, which tooke them in the head, that at one instant there were above three hundred of them sicke. And for three daies they laie as dead stockes, looking still when they should die; but yet such was the good will of God that few died; for they all recovered. This sicknesse not long after came into England and was called the gentle correction.”

This outbreak among the troops in Ireland is said to have been in August, before the sickness came to England. But it can be shown to have been at its height in London in the month of July. The year 1580 was almost free from plague in London; the weekly deaths are at a uniform low level (a good deal below the births) from January to December, except for the abrupt rise shown in the following table,—the kind of rise which we shall see from many other instances to be the infallible criterion of an influenza[551]:

Weekly Deaths in London.

1580.

Week ending Deaths by all causes Dead of plague Baptised

June 23 55 2 59

" 30 47 4 57

July 7 77 4 65

" 14 133 4 66

" 21 146 3 61

" 28 96 5 64

Aug. 4 78 5 73

" 11 51 4 53

" 18 49 1 72

As in 1557-58, the English references are to agues, both before and after the Gentle Correction of July-August, 1580. Cogan says that for a year or two after the Oxford gaol fever (1577) “the same kind of ague raged in a manner all over England and took away many of the strongest sort in their lustiest age, etc.” And he seems to have the name “gentle correction” in mind when he says: “This kind of sickness is one of those rods, and the most common rod, wherewith it pleaseth God to brake his people for sin.” Cogan’s dates are indefinite. But there is a letter of the Earl of Arundel to Lord Burghley, 19th October, 1582, which shows that “hot ague” was epidemic as late as the second autumn after the influenza proper: “The air of my house in Sussex is so corrupt, even at this time of the year, as when I came away I left twenty-four sick of hot agues.”

Two such epidemics in England as those of 1557-8 and 1580-82, of hot agues or strange fevers, taking the forms of simple tertian or double tertian or quartan or other of the classical types, would have made ague a familiar disease, and its name a household word. For not only were there two or more aguish seasons (usually the summer and autumn) in succession, but to judge by later experience there would have been desultory cases in the years following, and in many of the seizures acquired during the height of the epidemic, relapses or recurrences would have happened from time to time or lingering effects would have remained. Hence it is unnecessary to assume that the agues that we hear casual mention of had been acquired by residence in a malarious locality. They may have been, and most probably were, the agues of some epidemic prevalent in all parts of the country. These epidemics were the great opportunities of the ague-curers, as we shall see more fully in the sequel. It is to the bargaining of such an empiric with a patient that Clowes refers in 1579: “He did compound for fifteen pound to rid him within three fits of his ague, and to make him as whole as a fish of all diseases.”

There were more sicknesses of that kind, perhaps not without a sweating character, in the last ten years of the 16th century[552]. But they are indefinitely given as compared with earlier and later epidemics, and I shall pass to the next authentic instance.

The autumn of 1612 was undoubtedly a season of epidemic ague or “new disease” in England[553]. When Prince Henry, eldest son of James I., fell ill in November, in London, during the gaieties attending the betrothal of his sister the Princess Elizabeth to the Count Palatine of the Rhine, a letter-writer of the time said of his illness: “It is verily thought that the disease was no other than the ordinary ague that hath reigned and raged almost all over England since the latter end of summer[554].” The attack began in the end of October. The spirited and popular prince had been leading the gaieties in place of his father, who could not stand the fatigue, and was “seized by a fever that came upon him at first with a looseness, but hath continued a quotidian ever since Wednesday last [before the 4th of November], and with more violence than it began, so that on Saturday he was let blood by advice of most physicians, though Butler, of Cambridge, was loth to consent. The blood proved foul: and that afternoon he grew very sick.... I cannot learn that he had either speech or perfect memory after Wednesday night, but lay, as it were, drawing on till Friday between eight and nine of the evening that he departed. The greatest fault is laid on Turquet, who was so forward to give him a purge the day after he sickened, and so dispersed the disease, as Butler says, into all parts; whereas if he had tarried till three or four fits had been passed, they might the better have judged of the nature of it; or if, instead of purging, he had let him blood before it was so much corrupted, there had been more probability.” At the dissection, the spleen was found “very black, the head full of clear water and all the veins of the head full of clotted blood. Butler had the advantage, who maintained that his head would be found full of water, and Turquet that his brains would be found overflown and as it were drowned in blood[555].” Butler, it appears, was “a drunken sot.” When King James asked him what he thought of the prince’s case, he replied “in his dudgeon manner” with a tag of verse from Virgil ending with “et plurima mortis imago.” The Princess Elizabeth could not be admitted to see her brother “because his disease was doubted to be contagious[556].” It was at least epidemic, for in the same week alderman Sir Harry Row and Sir George Carey, master of the wards, died “of this new disease[557].” The earliest reference to it that I find is the death, previous to 11 September, of Sir Michael Hicks at his house Rackholt in Essex, “of a burning ague,” which came, as was thought, by his often going into the water this last summer, he being a man of years[558]; but much more probably was a case of “the ordinary ague that hath reigned and raged almost all over England since the latter end of summer.” The next year was still more unhealthy, to judge by samples of parish registers; agues are mentioned also in letters; thus, one going on 25 March, 1613, to visit Sir Henry Savile, found him “in a fit, an ague having caught hold of him[559].”

The winter of 1613-14 was marked by most disastrous floods in Romney Marsh, in Lincolnshire, in the Isle of Ely, and about Wisbech, and most of all in Norfolk[560]; but the malarious conditions so brought about, being subsequent to, were not conceivably the cause of, the epidemics of ague in the autumn of 1612 and 1613, which made so great an excess of burials over christenings in the parish registers.

A curious record remains of an aguish sickness in a child, which had begun about January, 1614. On 18 March, of that year, the dowager Countess of Arundel wrote from Sutton, near Guildford, to her son Earl Thomas, who was making the grand tour to Rome and elsewhere with his wife, and had left the children to the care of their grandmother: “Your two elder boys be very well and merry, but my swett Will^m. continueth his tersion agu still. This day we expect his twelfth fitt. I assur myselfe teeth be the chefe cause. I look for so spedy ending of it, he is so well and merry on his good days, and so strong as I never saw old nor yonge bear it so well. I thank Jesu he hath not any touch of the infirmity of the head, but onely his choler and flushe apareth, but he is as lively as can be but in the time of his fits onely, which continueth some eight hours[561].”

The epidemic of ague or “new disease,” which began to rage all over England in the end of the summer, 1612, had probably recurred in the years following, down to 1616. There is not a trace of plague during those years in any known record; and yet they are among the most unhealthy years in Short’s abstracts of town and country parish registers[562].

The first half of the 17th century is a period which is almost a blank in the conventional annals of “influenza” in Europe. But that period, which was the period of the Thirty Years’ War, had many widespread sicknesses. I do not wish to claim these as influenzas, or to contend that they were infections equivalent thereto in diffusiveness. We may, however, find a place for them in this context; for they were certainly as mysterious as any epidemics admitted into the canon of influenzas. So far as concerns Britain, the first was the epidemic ague, or “new disease,” of 1612 and 1613, probably recurring until 1616. The second was the universal spotted fever of 1623 and 1624, of which I have given an account in the chapter on typhus. That was followed by the plague of 1625, and that again by a harvest ague in the country in the end of the same year. The next epidemic ague or “general sickness, called the new disease,” fell mostly in England upon the two years 1638 and 1639. It was in part a harvest ague, “a malignant fever raging so fiercely about harvest that there appeared scarce hands enough to take in the corn[563]”; but it was also a winter disease. I pass over the war-typhus of 1643, to which the name of “new disease” was also given, and the widespread fever of the year following. In 1651 we hear again of a strange ague, which “first broke out by the seaside in Cheshire, Lancashire and North Wales,” eighty or a hundred being sick of it at once in small villages. Whitmore, who saw this epidemic in Cheshire, identified it with the Protean disease which he described in 1657-58, and hazarded the theory that the former was a diluted or “more remiss” infection carried by the wind from Ireland, where the plague was then raging, in Dublin, Galway, Limerick and other places, after their sieges or occupations by the army of the Commonwealth.

Thus in the first half of the 17th century we have more or less full evidence of epidemics of “new disease” in 1612-13, 1623-24, 1625, 1638-9, 1643-4 and 1651, not one of which was an influenza as we understand the term[564].

We come at length to the years 1657-59, in the course of which one catarrhal epidemic, or perhaps two, did prevail for a few weeks. The hot agues or “new disease” had been raging all over the country from the summer of 1657; then in April, 1658, there came suddenly universal coughs and catarrhs, “as if a blast from the stars”; they ceased, and the hot agues dragged on through the summer and autumn. A letter from London, 26 October, 1658, says: “A world of sickness in all countries round about London: London is now held to be the wholesomest place,” and adds that “there is a great death of coach-horses almost in every place, and it is come into our fields[565].” It was after this, in the spring of 1659, if Whitmore has made no mistake in his dates, that coughs and catarrhs “universally infested London, scarce leaving a family where any store were, without some being ill of this distemper.” The details have been given fully in the former volume[566]. I wish merely to remark here that the two catarrhal epidemics, or influenzas proper, in two successive springs, were sharply defined episodes in the midst of a period of epidemic agues, and that the “new disease” as a whole, during the two or three years that it lasted, had such an effect in the way of ill health and mortality that it was afterwards viewed as a “little plague” worthy of being set in comparison with the Great Plague of 1665.

Willis does not say that the epidemic agues lasted after 1658, perhaps because his essay was printed early in 1659; but Whitmore, whose preface is dated November, 1659, says, without distinguishing the hot ague from the catarrhal fever but speaking of them both as one Protean malady: “it now begins again, seizing on all sorts of people of different nature, which shows that it is epidemic.” Sydenham does not appear upon the scene until 1661; but when his epidemic constitutions do begin, it is with intermittents or agues, which lasted, according to him, until 1664. Perhaps if Sydenham’s experience had extended back to 1657 he would have made his aguish constitution to begin with that year, and to go on continuously until 1664. At all events it does not appear that the year 1660 was a clear interval between Willis’s and Whitmore’s period of 1657-59, Sydenham’s period of 1661-64; for it so happens that John Evelyn has left the following note of his own illness:

“From 17 February to 5 April [1660] I was detained in bed with a kind of double tertian, the cruell effects of the spleene and other distempers, in that extremity that my physicians, Drs Wetherburn, Needham and Claude were in great doubts of my recovery.” Towards the decline of his sickness he had a relapse, but on the 14th April “I was able to go into the country, which I did to my sweete and native aire at Wooton.” On the 9th of May he was still so weak as to be unable to accompany Lord Berkeley to Breda with the address inviting Charles II. to assume the crown.

Sydenham makes the “constitution” which began for him in 1661 to decline gradually, and to end definitely in 1664, after which he finds intermittents wholly absent for thirteen years, or until 1677. This clear interval will make a convenient break in the chronology, whereat we may bring in the popular and professional notions of ague then current, and the popular practice in that disease by empirics.

The Ague-Curers of the 17th Century.

It is to be observed that all the respectable writers of the profession speak of agues or intermittents as epidemic over the country for a definite period, and as disappearing thereafter for years together. At the same time they say little or nothing of the endemic malarious fevers of marshy localities. Further, it appears that the professed ague-curers, although they would wish to represent ague as a perennial disease, are really basing upon the same experiences of occasional epidemics which Willis, Whitmore and Sydenham recorded as occasional. The best instance of this is the ‘Pyretologia’ by Drage of Hitchin. It was published for practice in 1665, being designed to show forth the author’s skill as an ague-curer[567]. When we examine its generalities closely, we find that they all come from the sickly season of 1657, the first of those described by Willis.

The great autumnal epidemic of that year (and the following), which we know from other sources to have been reckoned a “little plague,” he describes as “a malignant sickness,” which was followed in the winter by quartans. He himself escaped the autumnal fever but he incurred the quartan later in the year. In his own case, while the original paroxysm of this ague was still going on, a new one arose towards evening, and again, on the following day, a new paroxysm gathered vigour and supplanted the old, becoming the substantive paroxysm. Many of those who died of the quartan in 1657 had either the paroxysms duplicated, or a total want of them, or, in another passage, “the quartan which followed the autumnal disease of heterogeneous quality in 1657, cut off divers old people, the fever being erratic, duplicated or triplicated.” It was a bad sign when the quartan became doubled or trebled; regularity of the paroxysm was a sign of a good recovery. The symptoms of a quartan are various; but it is not easy to pronounce that these all are the symptoms of an intermittent fever, or the prodromal signs thereof, unless intermittent fevers be epidemic at the time. He gives the case of a civil and pious priest who had a tedious quartan from being struck with lightning; he was confined to bed for two years, with loss of hearing, but, strangely enough, retaining the use of his eyes; sometimes he was vexed with convulsions, sometimes with quartan fever. The “plebs medicorum” say that a quartan fever comes of melancholy, a tertian of choler, a quotidian of putrefied pituitous matter. The “plebs plebis” think that the cause is wind or flatus, and that they get rid of the ague by belching. In his own case he observed that if he drank more cold ale than usual, he was seized with distension in the loins and with palpitation, and belched up “flatus and crass vapours infected with the quality of a quartan.” He knew a man who, in the fourth or fifth month of a quartan, drank wine too freely, so that the paroxysms came every day, and that violently; after a week he had an especially severe paroxysm, and then no more for three weeks, when the fever returned under the type of an exquisite quartan. One case, which he mentions twice, led him to doubt whether quartans were not catching: a certain girl suffering from a quartan asked her father, who was skilled in the art, to open a vein; her parent declared that during the blooding the morbid smell of the flowing blood reached his nostrils, so that he was seized of his daughter’s fever at the proper time of her paroxysms, having three or four ague fits in due order; meanwhile the girl was free from the paroxysms for a whole week, but no longer. The singular nature of quartans is further brought out in the fact that papules, pustules and exanthems breaking out on the skin were quite common in the quartan fever which followed the malignant epidemic of the autumn of 1657. “In the fevers hardly any heat is perceived; and so the unskilled vulgar say ‘This is an ague’ (Hoc est anglicè Ague), and ‘This is fever and ague’ (Et hoc est febris et anglicè Ague) when cold and heat are mixed equally or combined regularly.” Peruvian bark does not evacuate the morbific matter unless by chance it provokes vomiting; cases treated by it often relapse, and are not well in the intervals. Bark does not occur in his own prescriptions; but he had cured many with “pentaphyllum.” He knew several physicians in the epidemic of quartans in 1657 who trusted to narcotics entirely.

Drage must have had a real experience of aguish distempers of one kind or another during the sickly seasons of 1657-59. But it is clear from the essays or advertisements of empirics that agues were discovered in many forms of sickness that were neither intermittent fevers nor fevers of any distinctive type. One of these practitioners in the time of Charles I. claims to be “the king’s majesty’s servant in ordinary[568]”; which is not incredible, as Sir Robert Talbor, whom Charles II. deigned to honour, was an ague-curer of the same class.

“An ague, which hitherto amongst all sorts hath been accounted the physitian’s shame, both for definition and cure (thus farre hath ignorance prevailed), but that the contrary is manifest appeareth sufficiently by this following definition: and shall be cured whether tertian, quartern or quotidian, by me Aaron Streater, physitian of Arts in Oxford, approved by Authority, the King’s Majesties servant in ordinary, and dwelling against the Temple, three houses up in Chancerie Lane, next house to the Golden Anchor.” An ague, he goes on, “is either interpolate (intermittent) or continual; it is either engendered of a melancholic humour or it is a splenetic effect; the liver is obstructed by abundance of choler proceeding from a salt rheum that cometh from the brain” etc. Agues are to be dreaded most for their remote effects: “Say not therefore, ‘It is but an ague, but a feaver; I shall wear it out.’ Dally not with this disease;” and he adds a case to show what people may come to if they neglect an ague at the beginning: “Being carried downe from London to South-hampton by Master Thomas Mason,—September 1640, word was brought me of a Mayd dead, 16 years of age: and being requested to see what disease she dyed of, I took my chirurgion with me and went. And after section or search, I found as followeth: a gallon and a half of green water in the belly, that stunk worse than carrion; under the lyver an impostume as bigg as my fist, full of green black corrupted matter, and the lyver black and rot. The spleen and kidneys wholly decayed, and the place as black as soot; the bowels they were fretted, ulcerated and rotten. In the chesse was two great handfuls of black burnt blood in dust or powder; the heart was all sound, but not a drop of blood in it; nor one spoonfull in the whole body.

Here was an Annatomy indeed, skinne and bone; and I verily beleeve that there was no braine left, but that she lived while that was moyst: the sent was so ill, and I not well, that I forbore to search it.

God that knowes the secrets of all hearts knowes this is a truth, and nothing else here written. Arthur Fauset, chirurgion at Southampton, was the man I employed to cut her up, as many there can witness that were present.

And what of all this, may some say? Why this. An eight weeks’ ague in the neglect of it breeds all these diseases, and finally death.”

Let us take next the advertisement of an apothecary a generation after, who professed to cure Kentish agues,—“the description and cure of Kentish and all other agues ... and humbly showing (in a measure) the author’s judgment why so many are not cured, with advice in relation thereunto, whether it be Quotidian, Tertian or Quartan, simple, double or triple[569].” Before the Fire of London he had practised in Mark Lane, but after his house was destroyed he removed to Kent, attending Maidstone market every Thursday, and residing at Rochester, a city which, “besides being subject to diseases in common with others, hath two diseases more epidemical, namely, the Scurvey for one but the Ague in special.” The symptoms of scurvy, as he gives them, cover perhaps the one moiety of disease, and those of ague the other.

Agues are of two sorts, curable and incurable; the curable are those that come in a common way of Providence, the incurable those that are sent more immediately from God in the way of special judgment, as instances adduced from Scripture show. What is an ague? Some think it is a strange thing, they know not what; the more ignorant think it is an evil spirit, but coming they know not whence. Agues have their seat in the humours either within the vessels or without them; those residing within are continual quotidians, continual tertians, continual quartans; those without are intermittent ditto. (This distinction of within and without the vessels is traditional, and is found in Jones’s Dyall of Agues as well as in Dutch medical books a century later.) The paroxysms of the intermittents are really the uprising of the Archaeus [of van Helmont], or spirit, to oppose the rottenness of the humours. A quartan is harder to cure than any other ague; part of its cure is an old 14th-century rule of letting blood in the plague; “let blood in the left hand in the vein between the ring finger and the little finger, which said thing to my knowledge was done about sixteen years ago [to say nothing of three hundred years ago] by the empiric Parker in this country, with very good success and to his great honour and worldly advancement.” This ague-curer says little of Peruvian bark; his specific is the powder of Riverius, “the preparation of which, as well as some of the powder itself is lately and providentially come to my hands.” Three doses cost not above five shillings, “and I never yet gave more in the most inveterate of these diseases.... My opinion is that he that will not freely part with a crown out of his pocket to be eased of such a disease in his body deserves to keep it.”

The most celebrated ague-curer of the Restoration period was Sir Robert Talbor, who thus describes the high motives that made him a specialist[570]:

“When I first began the study and practice of Physick, amongst other distempers incident to humane bodies I met with a quartan ague, a disease that seemed to me the ne plus ultra of physic, being commonly called Ludibrium et Opprobrium Medicorum, folly and derision of my profession, did so exasperate my spirit that I was resolved to do what study or industry could perform to find out a certain method for the cure of this unruly distemper.... I considered there was no other way to satisfy my desire but by that good old way, observation and experiment. To this purpose I planted myself in Essex near to the seaside, in a place where agues are the epidemical diseases, where you will find but few persons but either are, or have been afflicted with a tedious quartan. In this place I lived some years, making the best use of my time I could for the improving my knowledge.”

Talbor’s first chapter is a fluent account of how agues are produced by “obstructions” of the spleen. This was a matter of theoretical pathology which an empiric could make a show with as well as another. But the empiric betrays himself as soon as he comes to practice. The enlarged spleen of repeated agues, or of the malarial cachexia, is commonly known as the ague-cake. There is no doubt that much of the unhappiness of the aguish habit resides in the ague-cake, and that one of the best pieces of treatment is to apply counter-irritants or the actual cautery to the left side, against which the enlarged spleen presses as a cake-like mass. Talbor, however, desired to free the patient from his “ague-cake” altogether:

“I have observed these in four patients: two were cast out the stomach by nature, and the other two by emetic medicines. One of them was like a clotted piece of phlegm, about the bigness of a walnut, pliable like glue or wax, weighing about half an ounce; another about the bigness of the yolk of a pullet’s egg, and like it in colour, but stiffer, weighing about five drachms; the other two of a dark colour, more tough, about the like bigness, and heavier. It is a general observation amongst them that their ague comes away when they see those ague-cakes[571].”

Having followed this “good old way of observation and experiment” for several years among the residents of the Essex marshes, Talbor came to London, and set up his sign next door to Gray’s Inn Gate in Holborn. In 1672 (14th July) he issued a small work with a Greek title—the quacks were fond of the Greek character on their title-pages—“Πυρετολογια, a rational account of the cause and cure of agues, with their signs: whereunto is added a short account of the cause and cure of feavers.” He made a bid also for practice in “scurvy,” a disease of landsmen in those times which was more a bogey than ague itself—“a strange monster acting its part upon the stage of this little world in various shapes, counterfeiting the guise of most other diseases ... sometimes it is couchant, other times rampant, so alternately chronic and acute.”

Most of the agues which Talbor professed to have met with in London in those years must have been equally factitious: for Sydenham, who makes more of “intermittents” than other writers of repute, was of opinion that, for thirteen years from 1664 to 1677, fevers of that type had not been seen in London, except some sporadic cases or cases in which the attack had begun in the country. But the air was then full of talk and controversy about Peruvian bark, or Jesuits’ powder (pulvis patrum), or “the cortex,” which was cried up as a specific in agues by some, and cried down by others. Talbor had seized upon this specific, and claimed to have an original way of administering it, whereby its success was assured. We get a glimpse of his practice from Dr Philip Guide, a Frenchman who came to London and practised for many years as a member of the College of Physicians[572]. Talbor had cured the daughter of Lady Mordaunt of an ague, and the cure had reached the ears of Charles II. One of the French princesses having been long afflicted with a quartan ague,

“The king commanded Mr Talbor to take a turn at Paris, and as a mark of distinction he honoured him with the title of knight. He succeeded wonderfully. But he could not cure Lady Mordaunt’s daughter a second time, whom he had cured once before at London, by whom he gained most of his reputation.” He tried for two months, but did not relieve the symptoms. Dr Guide was called in, and being asked to give his opinion of the ague that the young lady was afflicted with, “after some inquiry I found her distemper was complicated and quite different from the ague, which made me lay the thought of the ague aside, and apply myself wholly to the complicated disease, which I effectually cured in twelve days, together with her ague, without having any further need of the infallible specific of Sir Robert Talbor.”

The Peruvian Bark Controversy.

It can hardly be doubted that the conflicting opinions as to the benefit of Peruvian bark in ague, which have been often cited in disparagement of medicine and as an example of its intolerance, arose from the indiscriminate use of it in “agues” diagnosed as such by quacks and pushing practitioners. The bark had been brought first to Spain in 1632 and had been tried medicinally in 1639[573]. It was under the powerful patronage of the Jesuits, especially of Cardinal de Lugo, and most of it at that time found its way to Rome, the centre of a malarious district. In 1652 it failed to cure a “double quartan” in an Austrian archduke, and thereafter fell into some disrepute. A violent controversy on its specific use in agues arose in the Netherlands; it had failed in every case at Brussels, it had not failed in a single case at Delft. Meanwhile it remained, very dear, sixty florins having been paid at Brussels in 1658 for as much as would make twenty doses, to be sent to Paris. The London ‘Mercurius Politicus’ of the week 9-16 December, 1658, contained an advertisement[574] that a supply of it had been brought over by James Thompson, merchant of Antwerp, and was to be had either at his own lodgings at the Black Spotted Eagle in the Old Bailey or at Mr John Crook’s, bookseller, at the sign of the Ship in St Paul’s Churchyard. The London physicians such as Prujean and Brady countenanced it, and Willis, in reprinting his essay on Fevers in 1660, spoke of it as coming into daily use. Sydenham, whose publisher was the same Crook at the sign of the Ship, made a brief reference to it in the first edition (1666) of his Observationes Medicae, in the section upon the epidemic constitution of intermittents during the years 1661-64. He admits that the bark could keep down fermentation for the time being; but the materies which the fermentation would have dissipated if it had been allowed its way, will remain in the system and quickly renew its power. He had known a quartan continue for several years under the use of bark. It had even killed some patients when given immediately before the paroxysm. Prudently and cautiously given, in the decline of such fevers, it had been sometimes useful and had stopped the paroxysms altogether, especially if the aguish fits were occurring at a season when the malady was less epidemical. But it is clear that Sydenham in 1666 inclined strongly to non-interference with the natural depuratory action of the fever upon the materies of the disease. His teaching that the cortex, while it kept down the fermentation of the blood for a time, left the dregs of the fever behind, was thus popularly stated some years after by Roger North in relating the fatal illness of his brother the Lord Keeper Guilford in the summer of 1685[575].

The fever of Lord Guilford was not an intermittent at all, but a “burning acute fever without any notable remissions and no intermissions,” a case of the epidemic typhus of that and the succeeding year, elsewhere described. The treatment was first in the hands of Dr Masters, pupil and successor of Dr Willis, whose cardinal doctrine of fevers was that they were a natural fermentation of the blood. He ordered phlebotomy. Next Dr Short, of another school, was sent for: “So to work with his cortex to take it off: and it was so done; but his lordship continued to have his headache and want of sleep. He gave him quieting potions, as they called them, which were opiates to make him sleep; but he ranted and renounced them as his greatest tormentors, saying ‘that they thought all was well if he did not kick off the clothes and his servant had his natural rest; but all that while he had axes and hammers and fireworks in his head, which he could not bear.’ All these were very bad signs; but yet he seemed to mend considerably; and no wonder, his fever being taken off by the cortex. And it is now found that, without there be an intermission of the fever, the cortex doth but ingraft the venom to shoot out again more perniciously.” The Lord Keeper’s illness dragged on, and at length the physicians “found he had a lent fever which was growing up out of the dregs which the cortex had left; and if it were not taken off, they knew he would soon perish. So they plied him with new doses of the same under the name of cordial powders, whereof the quantity he took is scarce credible; but they would not touch his fever any more than so much powder of port. And still he grew worse and worse. At length the doctors threw up[576].”

Sydenham having indicated in his edition of 1666 that bark was dangerous when given immediately before a paroxysm, but that it was sometimes useful in the decline of the fever, and that its benefits were greatest in those desultory agues which appeared at, or continued into, a season when agues had become less epidemical, he proceeded in his third edition of 1675 to enlarge these indications for giving bark in ague. He begins, as Talbor had begun in his essay of 1672, and as the empiric Streater had in his advertisement of 1641, by calling quartans the opprobrium medicorum, and he then lays down precisely how bark was to be given in those obstinate fevers, as well as in tertians of the aged or feeble: namely, after the fever had exhausted itself suo Marte, in the intervals between two paroxysms, an ounce of bark (in two ounces of syrup of roses) to be taken in the course of the two free days, a fourth part at a time morning and evening. The dosage may have been borrowed from Talbor, as Sir George Baker alleges[577]; it matters little for anyone’s fame. Sydenham, however, in a letter of October, 1677, thus claimed to have been independent of Talbor so far as concerned the directions for giving bark which he inserted in his edition of 1675:

“I have had but few trials, but I am sure that an ounce of bark, given between the two fits, cures; which the physicians in London not being pleased to take notice of in my book, or not believing me, have given an opportunity to a fellow that was but an apothecary’s man, to go away with all the practice on agues, by which he has gotten an estate in two months, and brought great reproach on the faculty[578].”

Talbor was patronised by Charles II., who caused him to be made one of his physicians. On 2 May, 1678, a few months after the date of Sydenham’s letter, Lord Arlington wrote to the president of the College of Physicians[579]: “His Majesty, having received great satisfaction in the abilities and success of Dr Talbor for the cure of agues, has caused him to be admitted and sworn one of his physicians.” Next year, 1679, the king had an attack of the reigning ague, and a recurrence of it in 1680. It is probably to the occasion of one or other of these attacks that an undated letter belongs from the Marquis of Worcester to the marchioness: “The physicians came to the Council to acquaint them that they intend to give the king the Jesuit’s powder five or six times before he goes to Newmarket, which they agreed to. He looks well, eats two meals of meat a day, as he used to do[580].” Evelyn has preserved a story told him by the Marquis of Normanby, which probably relates to the same aguish attack of Charles II.[581]:

“The physicians would not give the quinquina to the king, at a time when, in a dangerous ague, it was the only thing that could cure him (out of envy, because it had been brought into vogue by Mr Tudor [Talbor] an apothecary), till Dr Short, to whom the king sent to know his opinion of it privately, sent word to the king that it was the only thing which could save his life, and then the king enjoined his physicians to give it to him, which they did, and he recovered. Being asked by this lord [Normanby] why they would not prescribe it, Dr Lower said it would spoil their practice, or some such expression.”

What Dr Lower was most likely to have said was, that it went against his principles to give bark in fevers. He was a physiologist, in the sense of an anatomist, the pupil of Willis at Oxford and his successor in practice in London. It was the teaching of Willis that blood was like the juice of vegetables, particularly the juice of the grape, in respect of fermenting, just as it was like milk in respect of curdling. Fever was a sudden access of fermentation, apt to arise in spring and autumn, from internal or constitutional occasions, as well as to come at any time by infection; by this febrile ferment, ebullition or commotion, the blood was purged of certain impurities, comparable to the lees of wine, which were removed from the body in the sweat, the urine or other critical evacuation. Jesuit’s bark was believed to check fermentation, or, in the later phrase of Pringle and others, it was antiseptic; and it was probably because he thought it would check the natural defaecating action of the blood in an ague that Lower refused to prescribe it. Sydenham was more tentative, pliant, empirical. He cavilled at Willis’s doctrine of the ebullition or fermentation of the blood without actually rejecting it; for he held practically the same view of the salutary or depuratory nature of fever, which was indeed the Hippocratic view of it. Accordingly in his first reference to bark, in 1666, he sustains the objection to it, that it interfered with a natural depuratory action; and it was only in following the lead of Talbor, a more empirical person than himself, that Sydenham overcame his doctrinal scruples. Dr Short, to whom Charles II. sent privately for advice, was of Sydenham’s party; soon after that occasion, the latter dedicated to Short his ‘Tractate on Gout and Dropsy’ (1683). It was Short who “went to work with his cortex” upon the Lord Keeper in 1685, after Dr Masters, of the school of Willis, had tried his hand with phlebotomy. The king’s experiences, a few months before the Lord Keeper’s death, had been just the same, and with the same result: the deathbed of Charles II., it is well known, was the scene of ecclesiastical rivalries; but the physicians at the bedside of the king had their rivalries too.

On Monday the 2nd of February, at eight in the morning, the king had a seizure of some kind in his bed-chamber, which was currently said to have been an “apoplectic fit[582],” although there is nothing said of paralysis. A letter of the 3rd February[583] says the king “was seized in his chair and bed-chamber with a surprising convulsion fit which lasted three hours.” Dr King, an expert operator who had assisted Lower in the delicate operation before the Royal Society on 23 November, 1667, of transfusing blood from one body to another, happened to be at hand, and, at once drawing his lancet, bled the king. His promptitude in action, which probably left him little time for diagnosis, was much applauded, and the Privy Council voted him a reward of a thousand pounds, which Burnet says he never received.

“This rescued his Majesty for the instant,” says Evelyn, (who came up from Wooton on hearing the news, and is probably correct in his narrative), “but it was only a short reprieve. He still complained, and was relapsing, often fainting, with sometimes epileptic symptoms, till Wednesday, for which he was cupp’d, let blood in both jugulars, had both vomit and purges, which so reliev’d him that on Thursday hopes of recovery were signified in the public Gazette; but that day, about noone, the physitians thought him feverish. This they seem’d glad of, as being more easily allay’d and methodically dealt with than his former fits; so as they prescribed the famous Jesuit’s powder: but it made him worse, and some very able doctors who were present did not think it a fever, but the effect of his frequent bleeding and other sharp operations us’d by them about his head, so that probably the powder might stop the circulation, and renew his former fits, which now made him very weake. Thus he pass’d Thursday night with greate difficulty, when, complaining of a paine in his side, they drew 12 ounces more of blood from him; this was by 6 in the morning on Friday, and it gave him reliefe; but it did not continue, for being now in much paine, and struggling for breath, he lay dozing, and after some conflicts, the physitians despairing of him, he gave up the ghost at halfe an houre after eleven in the morning, being 6 Feb. 1685, in the 36th yeare of his reigne, and 54th of his age.... Thus died King Charles II. of a vigorous and robust constitution, and in all appearance promising a long life[584].”

Whether the bark would have saved him if the aguish nature of the paroxysms (such as he had in 1679 and again in 1680) had been clear from the first, may be doubted. But his chances of recovery were certainly made worse by the halting and stumbling diagnosis, (according to Evelyn)—now apoplexy, now epilepsy, now fever[585].

The true value of cinchona bark in medicine was not seen until much that was vague in the use of the term “ague” had been swept away. In the last great epidemic period of agues in this country, as we shall see, from 1780 to 1786, bark was found, for some reason, to be ineffective. It is not in the treatment of epidemic agues, but of agues in malarious countries, that the benefits of Jesuits’ bark have been from first to last most obvious.

The practice in so-called agues was long in the hands of empirics, who, like their class in general, made business out of ignorant or lax diagnosis. I shall add here what remains to be said of specialist ague-curers in later times. They are heard of in London in the Queen Anne period, and as late as 1745.

Swift writes in his Journal to Stella, 25 December, 1710, from Bury Street, St James’s: “I tell you a good pun: a fellow hard by pretends to cure agues, and has set out a sign, and spells it egoes; a gentleman and I observing it, he said, ‘How does that fellow pretend to cure agues?’ I said, I did not know, but I was sure it was not by a spell. That is admirable.” In 1745, Simon Mason, of Cambridge, published by subscription and dedicated to Dr Mead an essay, The Nature of an Intermitting Fever and Ague considered (Lond. 1745), in which he has the following on “charm-doctors”:—“When one of these poor wretches apply to a doctor of this stamp, he enquires how many fits they have had; he then chalks so many strokes upon a heater as they tell him they have had fits, and useth some other delusions to strengthen the conceit of the patient” (p. 167). Francis Fisher, who had been upper hostler in a livery stable in Crutched Friars near forty years, “told me he seldom missed a week without several ague patients applying to him, and he cured great numbers by a charm they wore in their bosoms” (p. 239). Another, who kept a public-house near St George’s Fields, Southwark, sold “febrifuge ale” at a shilling a pint. It was a small ale brewed without hops, but with bark, serpentery, rhubarb and cochineal mixed in the brewing. The receipt was given him by an old doctor who was a prisoner in the King’s Bench. His customers came in the morning fasting, and drank their shilling’s worth after the publican had given them faith by a cordial grip of the hand. “By this means,” he told Mason, “I got a good trade to my house, and a comfortable maintenance too.”

We may now return to the actual history of the epidemic fevers upon which the Peruvian bark was first tried on a large scale in England. The “intermittent” constitution which began in 1677 and lasted year after year until 1781 or even longer was a very remarkable one. It was called at the time the new fever, or the new ague, and it had at least one short interlude of influenza or epidemic catarrhal fever in the winter of 1679, just as the last epidemic of the kind, in 1657-59, had at least one, and probably two, short and swift epidemic catarrhs in spring. But before we come to that epidemic of 1678-81, there falls to be noticed an epidemic in the month of November, 1675, which has always been counted among the influenzas proper. After giving the particulars of it from Sydenham and from the London bills of mortality, I shall show from Sydenham and the bills of mortality that there was an exactly similar epidemic in the month of November, 1679, which has not been admitted into the conventional list of influenzas. Thereafter I shall proceed to the epidemic constitution of 1678-81 as a whole, which has been reckoned among the epidemic agues or malarious epidemics.

The Influenza of 1675.

The first that we hear of the universal cold of 1675 is an entry which Evelyn makes in his diary under 15 October: “I got an extreme cold, such as was afterwards so epidemical as not only to afflict us in this island, but was rife over all Europe, like a plague. It was after an exceeding dry summer and autumn.” It was not until November that the epidemic cold made an impression upon the death-rate in London; the deaths mounted up from 275 in the week ending 2 November, to 420 and 625 in the two weeks following, and thereafter gradually declined to an ordinary level. Part of the excess, but by no means the greater part of it, was set down under fevers, as the following section from the weekly bills of the year will show:

1675

Week Ending Fever Smallpox Griping in the Guts All causes

Nov. 2 42 9 29 275

9 60 12 42 420

16 130 13 43 625

23 99 2 28 413

30 61 6 29 349

Dec. 7 54 7 25 308

14 43 5 12 266

This shows the characteristic rise and fall of an epidemic catarrh both in the article of fever deaths and in the column of deaths from all causes. The other excessive articles besides fever in the two worst weeks are also characteristic of influenza mortality:

Week ending 9 Nov. Week ending 16 Nov.

Consumption 68 99

Aged 40 67

Tissick 10 35

Sydenham’s account bears out the figures[586]. At the end of October, he says, the mild, warm weather turned to cold, while catarrhs and coughs became more frequent than at any time within his memory. They lasted until the end of November, when they ceased suddenly. Afterwards he gives a special chapter to the “Epidemic Coughs of the year 1675, with Pleurisies and Pneumonias supervening.” The epidemic spared, he says, hardly anyone of whatever age or temperament; it went through whole families at once. A fever which he calls febris comatosa had been raging far and wide since the beginning of July, with which in the autumn dysenteric and diarrhoeal disorders were mingled (it was an exceedingly dry season). This constitution held the mastery all the autumn, affecting now the head, now the bowels, until the end of October, when catarrhs and coughs became universal and continued for a month. Sydenham’s view of the sequence of events was his usual one, namely, that one constitution, by change of season, passed by transition into another. Whatever the constitution of “comatose” fevers may have been, which prevailed “far and near,” it has left no trace upon the bills of mortality in London, which are remarkably low until the beginning of November. But as soon as the epidemic of coughs begins, the weekly deaths mount up in an unmistakeable manner, so that for two or three weeks in November, the mortality is nearly double that of the weeks preceding or following.

The “severe cold and violent cough,” of 1675, says Thoresby of Leeds[587], who was then a boy, “too young or unobservant to make such remarks as might be of use,” was known in the north of England “profanely” by the name of the “jolly rant.” Thoresby well remembered that it affected all manner of persons, and that so universally that it was impossible, owing to the coughing, to hear distinctly an entire sentence of a sermon. He gives December as the month of it in Leeds, and says that it affected York, Hull, and Halifax, as well as the counties of Westmoreland, Durham, and Northumberland. In Scotland also we find a trace of a strange epidemic sickness. It was the time of the persecution of the Covenanters, whose preachers moved hither and thither among the farm-houses. One of them, John Blackadder, was at the Cow-hill in the parish of Livingstown in August, 1675. He came in one evening from the fields very melancholy, and in reply to questions, he said he was afraid of a very dangerous infectious mist to go through the land that night. He desired the family to close doors and windows, and keep them closed as long as they might, and to take notice where the mist stood thickest and longest, for there they would see the effects saddest. “And it remained longest upon that town called the Craigs, being within their sight, and only a few families; and within four months thereafter, thirty corpses went out of that place[588].” The prophecy was fulfilled within four months, which would bring us to the date of the influenza, although the mortality for a small place is somewhat excessive.

The Influenza of 1679.

For the sake of comparison, I pass at once to an epidemic of coughs and colds in the month of November, 1679, which Sydenham has chronicled, but no one except Cullen[589] has thought of including among the influenzas. It produced the characteristic effect of influenza on the London weekly bills, and it came in the midst of epidemic agues, just as the epidemic catarrhs of 1658 and 1659 had done. The following rise and fall are just as distinctive of an influenza as on the last occasion in 1675:

1679

Week Ending Fever Smallpox Griping of the Guts All causes

Nov. 11 50 18 34 328

18 89 27 39 541

25 126 21 55 764

Dec. 2 82 27 38 457

9 63 12 38 388

Sydenham’s account[590] of this remarkable November outburst of sickness in London, written within a few weeks of its occurrence, is almost exactly a repetition of his language concerning the epidemic coughs of November, 1675. The prevailing intermittent fevers, he says, gave place to a new epidemic depending upon a manifest crasis of the air. The new epidemic was one of coughs, which were so much more general than at the same season in other years that in nearly every family they affected nearly every person. In some cases of the cough, the aid of a physician was hardly needed; but in others the chest was so shaken by the violent convulsive cough as to bring on vomiting, and the head was affected with vertigo. For the first few days the cough was almost dry, and so purely paroxysmal as to remind Sydenham of the whooping-cough of children. Everyone was surprised, he says, at the frequency of these coughs in this season. His own suggestion was that the rains of October[591] had filled the blood with crude and watery particles, that the first access of cold had checked transpiration through the skin, and that Nature had contrived to eliminate this serous colluvies either by the branches of the “vena arteriosa” or (as some will have it) by the glands of the trachea, and to explode it by the aid of a cough. Phlebotomy and purging were the best cures; diaphoretics he considered less safe, and he ascribed to their abuse the fever into which some fell, and the pleurisies which were apt to attack patients with great violence during the subsidence of the epidemic catarrh.

The Epidemic Agues of 1678-80.

The other English writer on the epidemic constitution of 1678-79 is Dr Christopher Morley[592]. Like Sydenham, he is occupied almost exclusively with the epidemic agues; but he also records the extraordinary rise of the mortality in London for a few weeks in the last months of the year, and the causes thereof, although it did not occur to him to count that as a separate part of “the new disease,” still less as the principal part, which it really was in London so far as concerned the death-rate. Dating his preface from London, the 31st of December, 1679, he says in the text: “Within the very days of my present writing, it happens that as many as four hundred deaths more than usual have taken place in a fortnight,” the excessive mortality having been due to “coryza, bronchitis, catarrh, cough and fever,” which were the effects of “most pernicious destillations.”

I shall now go back to the beginning of the epidemic constitution in the midst of which this November interlude occurred, and I shall follow it season after season to the end, so as to set forth in historical prominence that which was regarded at the time as “the new disease.” When Sydenham returned to London in the autumn of 1677, after six months’ rest from practice, he was told by his professional friends that intermittents were being seen here and there (after a clear interval of thirteen years), being more frequent in the country than in the city. In the letter of October, 1677, cited above, he speaks of Talbor having made a fortune in two months by his cures of agues with bark.

The first particular notice of the “new fever” occurs in a London letter of 23 February, 1677/78: “Lady Katherin Brudenhall has been in great danger of death by the new feaver[593].” A severe aguish illness of Roger North, fully described in his ‘Autobiography,’ was probably another instance of the reigning malady; it came upon him in the hot weather of 1678, while he was residing with his brother, Lord Guilford, at Hammersmith[594]. In the autumn of 1678, the “new fever” came more into notice. On the 8th of September, a letter was brought to Evelyn in church, from Mr Godolphin (afterwards celebrated as the minister of William III.), to say that his wife was exceedingly ill and to ask Evelyn’s prayers and assistance. Evelyn and his wife took boat at once to Whitehall, and found the young and much-beloved Mrs Godolphin “attacqu’d with the new fever then reigning this excessive hot autumn, and which was so violent that it was not thought she could last many hours.” She died next day, in her twenty-ninth year; but, as she had been brought to bed of a son six days before, her fever may have been more from puerperal causes than from “the new fever then reigning.” Other known cases of ague the next season were those of Sir James Moore, his majesty’s engineer, who, in August, 1679, coming from Portsmouth “was seized with an ague, and had two or three violent fits, which carried him off[595];” and of the king, Charles II., who was congratulated on his recovery by the lord mayor and aldermen, on 15 September, and had a recurrence of the aguish attack (“two or three fits”) on 15 May, 1680[596]. There are also references to the agues of 1679 in the country, in the letters of Lady North[597].

Sydenham wrote his account of this epidemic of intermittents in compliance with a request from Dr Brady, Master of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, that he would continue the method of his ‘Observationes Medicae’ into the years following, and in particular give an account of his method of administering bark. He occupied most of his space with treatment; but he gives here and there the following epidemiological details. The agues were mostly tertians, or quotidians, or duplex forms of these, whereas on a former occasion they had been mostly quartans; after two or three intermissions they were apt to become continual fevers. The agues, which had occurred in the spring of 1678, became more common in the summer and autumn, when they raged so extensively that no other disease deserved the name of epidemic so much. In winter smallpox took the lead; but early in July, 1679, the agues began again, and so increased day by day that in August they were raging excessively and destroying many. It was in August that the king had his “great cold” at Windsor, which afterwards changed to an ague. Sydenham then comes to the November interlude of epidemic catarrhs, which was followed by “a fever without cough” (non penitus deleta, sed manente adhuc in sanguine, malae crasis impressione), lasting to the beginning of 1680. As that year wore on, the intermittent fevers began again, and continued more or less until 1685, becoming indeed less common in London, and less severe, than in the first four years of the constitution, but in other places, now here, now there, not less so than at first[598].

I have kept to the last the special account of this epidemic written by Morley at the end of the second year of it, namely, in December, 1679. He had been a witness of this fever, first at Leyden in the autumn of 1678, and next in England in the autumn of 1679, and he made it the subject of a treatise at the request of an eminent physician in London. It was not so severe by half in England as in Holland, but the English made a great deal more of it, calling it the New Disease, the New Ague, the New Fever, the New Ague Fever, and, in Derbyshire sarcastically, the New Delight. In Holland they called it neither new nor old, neither intermittent nor continued, nor a conjunction of both, but simply morbus epidemicus, or febris epidemica. His master at Leyden, Professor Lucas Schacht, taught very decidedly that it was of a scorbutic nature, and as early as the month of June, 1678, had prophesied the arrival of such an epidemic fever because “tertians were becoming more and more scorbutic,” just as they had done before the great epidemic of fever in Holland in 1669. Morley claims, however, that the fever of 1678 was in some respects different from that of 1669, as well as from that of the year immediately preceding, 1677, when “an incredible multitude of people all over Belgium, and in every city and town, fell sick.” The Dutch, it appears, called these occasional outbreaks simply “the epidemic fever,” neither intermittent nor continued; and certainly that of 1669, which is sometimes counted among the epidemic agues, was a very remarkable “ague.” (See Chapter I. p. 19.)

The epidemic fever of 1678, wherever it may have been bred or engendered, was prevalent in England at the same time as in Holland—in an exceedingly hot and dry autumn. The most constant symptoms, says Morley (and he writes both for Holland[599] in 1678 and for the country districts of England in the autumn of the following year), were nausea, severe vomiting, incredible tightness about the breast, weight in all the limbs, weariness, giddiness, vigils, thirst, restless tossing, and languor remaining after the disease was gone. Among the more remarkable symptoms were the following: Many had aphthae of the mouth, some twice or thrice, some being endangered by the severity and closeness of the patches of thrush. In some there occurred bleeding from the nose, or from piles, stranguary, etc. Round worms were observed, issuing both by the mouth and anus. In some few there were spots on the skin, but hardly ever petechiae or tumours near the ears. It affected all classes equally, all ages and both sexes. Some said it was easier to children than to adults, but others denied this. Some said it was more pernicious in the country than in the towns. In Leyden, the deaths never exceeded 150 in the week, being about twenty in a week above the ordinary level. More died from the coughs, anginas, peripneumonies and pleurisies that followed, than from the disease itself. Schacht says that the wind for nearly two years had been steadily from the North, or veering to the East or West. The Leyden faculty, and the Dutch generally, did not think the disease a malignant one; it was very freely called so, however, in England, the chorus being led by empirics and illiterate persons: “Ac indicio est,” says Morley, “libellus perexiguus nostra lingua ab Empirico conscriptus de hoc morbo.” This seems to refer to the tract by one Simpson, which I shall notice briefly[600].

Simpson styles himself a Doctor of Physic, and denies that he is an empiric. One sign of his affinity to that order, however, is that he objects to the orthodox treatment—emetics, drenches, a too cooling regimen, and purges, while he thinks blood-letting of doubtful utility. The symptoms were chills at the outset, pains in the head and back (in some with shaking), then intense burning heat, thirst, profuse immoderate sweats and great debility, a general lassitude, dulness, and stupor which in many were followed by delirium and a comatose state. Sometimes the fever simulated a quotidian, sometimes a tertian. He calls it “this new fever so grassant in city and country” and says that in many it assumed “the guise of a morbus cholera, known by the much vomitings or often retchings to vomit; and in others under the livery of the gripes with looseness, or, in some, looseness without gripes.” This choleraic tendency concurring with other usual causes from the late season of fruit-eating etc., had swelled the bills of mortality. The morbus cholera and the gripes were to the new fever “like the circumjoviales that move in the same sphere with (but at some distance from) their master-planet.”

The meaning of all this is obvious on turning to the London weekly, bills of mortality. In the months of August and September for three years in succession, 1678-80, the deaths from “griping in the guts” and from “convulsions” rose greatly. These were, indeed, three successive seasons of fatal diarrhoea, mostly infantile, as I shall show in the chapter on that disease.

The following extracts from the London weekly bills of mortality show how “fevers,” as well as other diseases, contributed to the great rise in the autumns of 1678, 1679, and 1680.

Autumnal London Mortality in 1678.

1678

Week Ending Fever Smallpox Griping in Guts All causes

Aug. 20 77 31 87 459

27 79 37 130 510

Sept. 3 82 37 121 530

10 103 27 164 621

17 82 23 178 580

24 83 20 152 528

Oct. 1 82 25 117 485

8 77 27 106 456

Summer and Autumnal London Mortality in 1679.

1679

Week Ending Fever Smallpox Griping in Guts All causes

July 22 42 55 101 442

29 60 50 134 565

Aug. 5 78 63 143 531

12 62 43 161 579

19 55 64 149 545

26 68 53 112 514

Sept. 2 96 40 97 466

9 92 47 75 471

16 85 50 87 462

(For the Influenza weeks, see former Table.)

Autumnal London Mortality in 1680.

1680

Week Ending Fever Smallpox Griping in Guts All causes

Aug. 10 70 17 108 427

17 90 6 132 494

24 98 17 127 552

31 140 18 228 816

Sept. 7 101 14 215 671

14 94 13 173 635

21 106 9 175 628

28 130 9 159 615

Oct. 5 125 16 138 597

12 121 10 94 530

19 109 14 68 488

26 93 5 58 407

Nov. 2 77 10 53 396

The last of the three autumnal seasons, 1680, is one of the few in the bills with high deaths from fever along with high deaths from choleraic disease; and that excess of fever mortality may have been due in part to the ague epidemic, then in its third season.

The following extracts from Short’s summation of parish registers show the great excess of burials over baptisms in various parts of England during the years of the aguish epidemic constitution.

Country Parishes.

Year Registers examined Sickly parishes Baptisms in do. Burials in do.

1678 136 17 312 527

1679 137 44 800 1203

1680 137 54 1093 1649

1681 137 41 679 1156

1682 140 30 632 975

Market Towns.

Year Registers examined Sickly parishes Baptisms in do. Burials in do.

1678 22 5 578 789

1679 23 7 877 1371

1680 24 7 946 1494

1681 24 9 945 1333

1682 25 9 795 1092

1683 25 8 1109 1398

1684 25 8 865 1243

1685 25 4 741 1191

The Influenza of 1688.

The seasons continued, according to Sydenham, to produce epidemic agues until 1685, when the constitution radically changed to one of pestilential fevers, affecting many in all ranks of society and reaching a height in 1686. Sydenham records nothing beyond that date, having shortly after fallen into ill health and ceased to write or even to practise. One would wish to have known what he made of the “new distemper” in the summer of 1688, for it was a sudden universal fever, and yet not a catarrh or a “great cold.” It is thus referred to in a letter of the month of June, from Belvoir, Rutlandshire[601]: “The man that dos the picturs in inemaled is gon up to London for a weke.... I wish the man dos not get this new distemper and die before he comes agane.” On turning to the London weekly bills of mortality we find in the first weeks of June the characteristic rise of one of those sudden epidemic fevers or new diseases, of which the earliest with recorded figures was the “gentle correction” of July, 1580. The following are the weekly London figures corresponding to the “new distemper” of 1688:

Weekly London Mortalities.

1688

Week ending Fevers All causes

May 29 58 368

June 5 76 518

12 101 559

19 65 435

26 66 437

The contemporary London notice of this “influenza” comes from Dr Walter Harris, who mentioned it in a book written the year after[602]:

“From the middle of the month of May in the year 1688, for some weeks, a slight sort of fever became epidemical. It affected the joints of the patients with slight pains, and they complained of a pain in their heads, especially in the fore-part, and of a sort of giddiness. It was more rife than any that I ever observed before, from any cause whatsoever, or in any time of the year. A great many whole families were taken at once with this fever, so that hardly one out of a great number escaped this general storm. Now this so epidemical or febrile insult seemed plainly to me to depend upon the variety of the season of the year, the most intense heat of some days being suddenly changed to cold.... Never were so many people sick together: never did so few of them die. They recovered under almost any regimen,—almost everyone of them.”

It will be seen, however, that the bills rose very considerably for four weeks, and that, too, in the healthiest season of the year.

A somewhat fuller account of its symptoms is given by Molyneux for Dublin[603]. He had been informed by a learned physician from London that it had been as general there as in Dublin, which we know to have been the case from Harris’s account. Both Molyneux and Harris call it a slight fever, without mentioning catarrhal symptoms. The spring months immediately preceding had been remarkable for drought.

At Dublin this “short sort of fever” was first observed about the beginning of July, or some six weeks later than in London. “It so universally seized all sorts of men whatever, that I then made an estimate not above one in fifteen escaped. It began, as generally fevers do, with a chilness and shivering all over, like that of an ague, but not so violent, which soon broke out into a dry burning heat, with great uneasiness that commonly confined them to their beds, where they passed the ensuing night very restless; they commonly complained likewise of giddiness, and a dull pain in their heads, chiefly about the eyes, with unsettled pains in their limbs, and about the small of their back, a soreness all over their flesh, a loss of appetite, with a nausea or aptness to vomit, an unusual ill taste in their mouths, yet little or no thirst. And though these symptoms were very violent for a time, yet they did not continue long: for after the second day of the distemper the patient, usually of himself, fell into a sweat (unless ’twas prevented by letting blood, which, however beneficial in other fevers, I found manifestly retarded the progress of this): and if the sweat was encouraged for five or six hours by laying on more cloaths, or taking some sudorifick medicine, most of the disorders before mentioned would entirely disappear or at least very much abate. The giddiness of their head and want of appetite would often continue some days afterwards, but with the use of the open fresh air they certainly in four or five days at farthest recovered these likewise and were perfectly well. So transient and favourable was this disease that it seldom required the help of a physician; and of a thousand that were seized with it, I believe scarce one dyed. By the middle of August following, it wholly disappeared, so that it had run its full course through all sorts of people in seven weeks time.... This fever spread itself all over England; whether it extended farther I did not learn.”

This short fever of men was preceded by a slight but universal horse-cold[604].

The Influenza of 1693.

Molyneux considered the strange transient fever of the summer of 1688 to have been the most universal fever that perhaps had ever appeared, and he thought the universal catarrh of five years’ later date (1693) to have been “the most universal cold.” We have thus a means of contrasting in the descriptions of the same author a universal slight fever and a universal catarrh, which happened within five years of each other, and were neither of them called at the time by the name of influenza,—a name not known in Britain until half a century later. Before coming to Molyneux’s description, it should be said that the London bills of mortality bear no decided trace of an influenza in the end of the year 1693, the following being the highest weekly mortalities nearest to the date given for the epidemic at Dublin[605]: