by Mark Twain
EXPERIENCE OF THE McWILLIAMSES WITH MEMBRANOUS CROUP
[As related to the author of this book by Mr. McWilliams, a pleasant NewYork gentleman whom the said author met by chance on a journey.]
Well, to go back to where I was before I digressed to explain to you howthat frightful and incurable disease, membranous croup,[Diphtheria D.W.]was ravaging the town and driving all mothers mad with terror, I calledMrs. McWilliams's attention to little Penelope, and said:
"Darling, I wouldn't let that child be chewing that pine stick if I wereyou."
"Precious, where is the harm in it?" said she, but at the same timepreparing to take away the stick for women cannot receive even the mostpalpably judicious suggestion without arguing it, that is married women.
I replied:
"Love, it is notorious that pine is the least nutritious wood that achild can eat."
My wife's hand paused, in the act of taking the stick, and returneditself to her lap. She bridled perceptibly, and said:
"Hubby, you know better than that. You know you do. Doctors all saythat the turpentine in pine wood is good for weak back and the kidneys."
"Ah--I was under a misapprehension. I did not know that the child'skidneys and spine were affected, and that the family physician hadrecommended--"
"Who said the child's spine and kidneys were affected?"
"My love, you intimated it."
"The idea! I never intimated anything of the kind."
"Why, my dear, it hasn't been two minutes since you said--"
"Bother what I said! I don't care what I did say. There isn't any harmin the child's chewing a bit of pine stick if she wants to, and you knowit perfectly well. And she shall chew it, too. So there, now!"
"Say no more, my dear. I now see the force of your reasoning, and I willgo and order two or three cords of the best pine wood to-day. No childof mine shall want while I--"
"Oh, please go along to your office and let me have some peace. A bodycan never make the simplest remark but you must take it up and go toarguing and arguing and arguing till you don't know what you are talkingabout, and you never do."
"Very well, it shall be as you say. But there is a want of logic in yourlast remark which--"
However, she was gone with a flourish before I could finish, and hadtaken the child with her. That night at dinner she confronted me with aface a white as a sheet:
"Oh, Mortimer, there's another! Little Georgi Gordon is taken."
"Membranous croup?"
"Membranous croup."
"Is there any hope for him?"
"None in the wide world. Oh, what is to be come of us!"
By and by a nurse brought in our Penelope to say good night and offer thecustomary prayer at the mother's knee. In the midst of "Now I lay medown to sleep," she gave a slight cough! My wife fell back like onestricken with death. But the next moment she was up and brimming withthe activities which terror inspires.
She commanded that the child's crib be removed from the nursery to ourbedroom; and she went along to see the order executed. She took me withher, of course. We got matters arranged with speed. A cot-bed was putup in my wife's dressing room for the nurse. But now Mrs. McWilliamssaid we were too far away from the other baby, and what if he were tohave the symptoms in the night--and she blanched again, poor thing.
We then restored the crib and the nurse to the nursery and put up a bedfor ourselves in a room adjoining.
Presently, however, Mrs. McWilliams said suppose the baby should catch itfrom Penelope? This thought struck a new panic to her heart, and thetribe of us could not get the crib out of the nursery again fast enoughto satisfy my wife, though she assisted in her own person and well-nighpulled the crib to pieces in her frantic hurry.
We moved down-stairs; but there was no place there to stow the nurse, andMrs. McWilliams said the nurse's experience would be an inestimable help.So we returned, bag and baggage, to our own bedroom once more, and felt agreat gladness, like storm-buffeted birds that have found their nestagain.
Mrs. McWilliams sped to the nursery to see how things were going onthere. She was back in a moment with a new dread. She said:
"What can make Baby sleep so?"
I said:
"Why, my darling, Baby always sleeps like a graven image."
"I know. I know; but there's something peculiar about his sleep now.He seems to--to--he seems to breathe so regularly. Oh, this isdreadful."
"But, my dear, he always breathes regularly."
"Oh, I know it, but there's something frightful about it now. His nurseis too young and inexperienced. Maria shall stay there with her, and beon hand if anything happens."
"That is a good idea, but who will help you?"
"You can help me all I want. I wouldn't allow anybody to do anything butmyself, anyhow, at such a time as this."
I said I would feel mean to lie abed and sleep, and leave her to watchand toil over our little patient all the weary night. But she reconciledme to it. So old Maria departed and took up her ancient quarters in thenursery.
Penelope coughed twice in her sleep.
"Oh, why don't that doctor come! Mortimer, this room is too warm. Thisroom is certainly too warm. Turn off the register-quick!"
I shut it off, glancing at the thermometer at the same time, andwondering to myself if 70 was too warm for a sick child.
The coachman arrived from down-town now with the news that our physicianwas ill and confined to his bed. Mrs. McWilliams turned a dead eye uponme, and said in a dead voice:
"There is a Providence in it. It is foreordained. He never was sickbefore. Never. We have not been living as we ought to live, Mortimer.Time and time again I have told you so. Now you see the result. Ourchild will never get well. Be thankful if you can forgive yourself; Inever can forgive myself."
I said, without intent to hurt, but with heedless choice of words, that Icould not see that we had been living such an abandoned life.
"Mortimer! Do you want to bring the judgment upon Baby, too!"
Then she began to cry, but suddenly exclaimed:
"The doctor must have sent medicines!"
I said:
"Certainly. They are here. I was only waiting for you to give me achance."
"Well do give them to me! Don't you know that every moment is preciousnow? But what was the use in sending medicines, when he knows that thedisease is incurable?"
I said that while there was life there was hope.
"Hope! Mortimer, you know no more what you are talking about than thechild unborn. If you would--As I live, the directions say give oneteaspoonful once an hour! Once an hour!--as if we had a whole yearbefore us to save the child in! Mortimer, please hurry. Give the poorperishing thing a tablespoonful, and try to be quick!"
"Why, my dear, a tablespoonful might--"
"Don't drive me frantic! . . . There, there, there, my precious, myown; it's nasty bitter stuff, but it's good for Nelly--good for mother'sprecious darling; and it will make her well. There, there, there, putthe little head on mamma's breast and go to sleep, and pretty soon--oh,I know she can't live till morning! Mortimer, a tablespoonful everyhalf-hour will--Oh, the child needs belladonna, too; I know she does--andaconite. Get them, Mortimer. Now do let me have my way. You knownothing about these things."
We now went to bed, placing the crib close to my wife's pillow. All thisturmoil had worn upon me, and within two minutes I was something morethan half asleep. Mrs. McWilliams roused me:
"Darling, is that register turned on?"
"No."
"I thought as much. Please turn it on at once. This room is cold."
I turned it on, and presently fell asleep again. I was aroused oncemore:
"Dearie, would you mind moving the crib to your side of the bed? It isnearer the register."
I moved it, but had a collision with the rug and woke up the child. Idozed off once more, while my wife quieted the sufferer. But in a
littlewhile these words came murmuring remotely through the fog of mydrowsiness:
"Mortimer, if we only had some goose grease--will you ring?"
I climbed dreamily out, and stepped on a cat, which responded with aprotest and would have got a convincing kick for it if a chair had notgot it instead.
"Now, Mortimer, why do you want to turn up the gas and wake up the childagain?"
"Because I want to see how much I am hurt, Caroline."
"Well, look at the chair, too--I have no doubt it is ruined. Poor cat,suppose you had--"
"Now I am not going to suppose anything about the cat. It never wouldhave occurred if Maria had been allowed to remain here and attend tothese duties, which are in her line and are not in mine."
"Now, Mortimer, I should think you would be ashamed to make a remark likethat. It is a pity if you cannot do the few little things I ask of youat such an awful time as this when our child--"
"There, there, I will do anything you want. But I can't raise anybodywith this bell. They're all gone to bed. Where is the goose grease?"
"On the mantelpiece in the nursery. If you'll step there and speak toMaria--"
I fetched the goose grease and went to sleep again. Once more I wascalled:
"Mortimer, I so hate to disturb you, but the room is still too cold forme to try to apply this stuff. Would you mind lighting the fire? It isall ready to touch a match to."
I dragged myself out and lit the fire, and then sat down disconsolate.
"Mortimer, don't sit there and catch your death of cold. Come to bed."
As I was stepping in she said:
"But wait a moment. Please give the child some more of the medicine."
Which I did. It was a medicine which made a child more or less lively;so my wife made use of its waking interval to strip it and grease it allover with the goose oil. I was soon asleep once more, but once more Ihad to get up.
"Mortimer, I feel a draft. I feel it distinctly. There is nothing sobad for this disease as a draft. Please move the crib in front of thefire."
I did it; and collided with the rug again, which I threw in the fire.Mrs. McWilliams sprang out of bed and rescued it and we had some words.I had another trifling interval of sleep, and then got up, by request,and constructed a flax-seed poultice. This was placed upon the child'sbreast and left there to do its healing work.
A wood-fire is not a permanent thing. I got up every twenty minutes andrenewed ours, and this gave Mrs. McWilliams the opportunity to shortenthe times of giving the medicines by ten minutes, which was a greatsatisfaction to her. Now and then, between times, I reorganized theflax-seed poultices, and applied sinapisms and other sorts of blisterswhere unoccupied places could be found upon the child. Well, towardmorning the wood gave out and my wife wanted me to go down cellar and getsome more. I said:
"My dear, it is a laborious job, and the child must be nearly warmenough, with her extra clothing. Now mightn't we put on another layer ofpoultices and--"
I did not finish, because I was interrupted. I lugged wood up from belowfor some little time, and then turned in and fell to snoring as only aman can whose strength is all gone and whose soul is worn out. Just atbroad daylight I felt a grip on my shoulder that brought me to my sensessuddenly. My wife was glaring down upon me and gasping. As soon as shecould command her tongue she said:
"It is all over! All over! The child's perspiring! What shall we do?"
"Mercy, how you terrify me! I don't know what we ought to do. Maybe ifwe scraped her and put her in the draft again--"
"Oh, idiot! There is not a moment to lose! Go for the doctor.Go yourself. Tell him he must come, dead or alive."
I dragged that poor sick man from his bed and brought him. He looked atthe child and said she was not dying. This was joy unspeakable to me,but it made my wife as mad as if he had offered her a personal affront.Then he said the child's cough was only caused by some triflingirritation or other in the throat. At this I thought my wife had a mindto show him the door. Now the doctor said he would make the child coughharder and dislodge the trouble. So he gave her something that sent herinto a spasm of coughing, and presently up came a little wood splinter orso.
"This child has no membranous croup," said he. "She has been chewing abit of pine shingle or something of the kind, and got some little sliversin her throat. They won't do her any hurt."
"No," said I, "I can well believe that. Indeed, the turpentine that isin them is very good for certain sorts of diseases that are peculiar tochildren. My wife will tell you so."
But she did not. She turned away in disdain and left the room; and sincethat time there is one episode in our life which we never refer to.Hence the tide of our days flows by in deep and untroubled serenity.
[Very few married men have such an experience as McWilliams's, and so theauthor of this book thought that maybe the novelty of it would give it apassing interest to the reader.]
