Part 1

LIFE IN A TUB;

WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE TURKISH BATH.

BY ΔΙΟΓΕΝΗΣ.

“If men knew how to use water so as to elicit all the remedial results which it is capable of producing, it would be worth all other remedies put together.” —Dr. Macartney’s Lectures at Trinity College, 1826.

“The Sixth Commandment is suspended by one Medical Diploma, from the North of England to the South.” —Sydney Smith.

THIRD EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED.

DUBLIN:

WILLIAM M’GEE & CO., 18, NASSAU-STREET. CORK: BRADFORD & CO., 44, PATRICK-STREET, AND AT ALL RAILWAY STATIONS.

1858.

DEDICATION.

“Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water.” Henry VIII. Act IV. Sc. 2.

TO RICHARD BARTER. ESQ., M.D.

Dear Sir,

To whom can I more fitly dedicate the following pages than to one, to whom, under Divine Providence, I owe the inestimable blessings of renewed health and of an invigorated constitution? Having derived untold benefit from the use of the Turkish Bath, first introduced by you into this country, and having witnessed the wonders effected by it in the case of others, I have felt it my duty to propagate the knowledge of its virtues in every direction: this I have endeavoured to do in the following pages, in conjunction with some observations on the Hydropathic and Allopathic systems.

Should the perusal of these pages lead to the currency of more correct ideas on the subject of Hygiene, and a greater knowledge of the principles of Hydropathy, than, at present prevail, my object in writing will have been fully attained.

Wishing you a long continuance in your career of enlightened usefulness,

I remain, Dear Sir, Very sincerely yours, ΔΙΟΓΕΝΗΣ.

Dublin, October, 1858.

LIFE IN A TUB. [1]

See the wretch that long has tost, On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again.—Gray.

Perhaps there is nothing more characteristic of the march of intellect of the present day, or more indicative of a healthy tone of mind, than the suspicion with which the public in general, and many physicians in particular, are beginning to regard the use of drugs as curative agents—that chiefest engine of the allopathic physician for the relief of suffering humanity.

The freeing of the mind from old and preconceived ideas—from practices, with which we have been familiarized from childhood—the looking with distrust upon a system which since the times of Æsculapius and Hippocrates has held undisputed sway, arrogating to itself the name of Orthodox, and dubbing its opponents as quacks—such a change in public opinion deserves respect or reprobation, according to the causes from which it springs, whether from a calm investigation of the question presented for examination, in which strong arguments, based on natural laws—prescribing a treatment which produces the results aimed at—are found to preponderate in favour of a new system, or from a revolutionary love of novelty, indicative of versatility and want of faith in established institutions, a love of change which would espouse and propagate any doctrine irrespective of its merits, merely because it was new.

That this change of opinion to which we refer, viz., the want of confidence in drugs, is not altogether frivolous, would appear from the following confession of Dr. Forbes, a distinguished allopathic physician, who thus sums up the experience of a long professional career:—

“Firstly, that in a large proportion of the cases treated by allopathic physicians, the disease is cured by nature and not by them. Secondly, that in a lesser, but still not a small proportion, the disease is cured by nature in spite of them; in other words their interference opposing instead of assisting the cure; and Thirdly, that consequently in a considerable proportion of diseases it would fare as well or better with patients, if all remedies, especially drugs, were abandoned.”

Again one of the most eminent of living medical writers says:—

“When healthy properties are impaired, we know of no agent by which they can be directly restored, when vital action is perverted or deranged, we possess no means of immediately rectifying it, but we must be satisfied with using those means under which it is most likely to RECTIFY ITSELF.”

It is the knowledge of these facts that has produced discontent with the usual mode of medicinal treatment, and has encouraged the belief, that it does more harm than good in cases of disease. Dr. Gully states:—

“By it (the drug system) the body is placed in the most unnatural position, and its efforts at relief constantly thwarted. Disease, which is quite as natural a process as health, is not allowed to go on as nature would; the internal organs whose morbid action alone can cause death, are made the arena for all sorts of conflicting and inflicting medical stimulants; and between the action which these excite, and that which originally existed, their vitality fails, their efforts towards restoration flag, and their functions are at last extinguished.”

Dr. Rush says:—

“We have multiplied diseases—we have done more, we have increased their mortality.”

The celebrated Dr. Bailie, who enjoyed, it appears, a long and lucrative practice, declared at the termination of his career, “that he had no faith in physic;” and on his death-bed frequently exclaimed, “I wish I could be sure that I have not killed more than I have cured.”

Abernethy observes sarcastically,

“There has been a great increase of medical men of late years, but upon my life, diseases have increased in proportion.”

The British and Foreign Quarterly Journal—the leading advocate of drug medication—thus writes:—

“This mode of treating disease (Hydropathy) is unquestionably far from inert, and most opposed to the cure of diseases, by the undisturbed processes of nature. It in fact perhaps affords the very best evidence we possess of the curative power of art, and is unquestionably when rationally regulated a most effective mode of treatment in many diseases. Still it puts in a striking light, if not exactly the curative powers of nature, at least the possibility—nay, facility—with which all the ordinary instruments of medical cure, drugs, may be dispensed with. If so many and such various diseases get well entirely without drugs, under one special mode of treatment, is it not more than probable, that a treatment consisting almost exclusively of drugs may be often of non-effect—sometimes of injurious effect?”

Dr. Headland, in his prize essay on the action of medicines on the system, thus writes:—

“On no question perhaps have scientific men differed more than on the theory of the action of medicines. Either facts, essentially opposed and incompatible, have been adduced by the disagreeing parties, or which is nearly as common, the same fact has received two distinct and opposite interpretations.”

Such quotations as the above, which might be multiplied ad infinitum, by any student of medical lore, show that enquiry is abroad amongst the medical profession, and that some at least of its members are dissatisfied with the truth of the system which would consider drug medication as an essential instrument in the cure of disease.

The following remarks by Dr. Maclæoud, contained in a letter written by him to Professor Simpson of Edinburgh, show at least, that if the lay public place confidence in allopathic drugging, they place their faith in a system which does not command the confidence of physicians themselves.

“Formerly there were several wards in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, of which three Fellows of the Royal College of Physicians had the charge. One physician had the top ward, another the middle ward, and a third the low ward. It happened that on the same day, three young persons of nearly the same age, ill of typhus fever, were admitted into the hospital. The disease was of equal severity in each, and the stage of complaint the same in all. What was the treatment pursued in those three cases, by the three Fellows of the College? Of course, it should have been the same, at least, if the system be correct; for the physicians in question would choose the best. But, sir, it was not the same. He in the top ward bled his patient with lancet and leeches. He in the middle ward treated his patient with drastic purgatives. He in the low ward, again, gave whiskey, wine, and opiates. What was the result of such deplorable freaks? I refer you to the statistic book; I have no doubt you will find it there!”

“In the University formerly, two professors used to lecture, on alternate days, on clinical medicine. It happened once that each had, at the same time, under his care an acute case of pericarditis. The professor who lectured on his case on Monday night, said in substance, as follows:—

“Gentlemen.—As to the treatment of this disease, it has been the practice to give large doses of mercury, so as to bring the constitution under its action, and to effect this as rapidly as possible, small quantities of opium are usually combined with it. The practice I, however, believe to be erroneous; for I have observed the progress of the disease unchecked, even during profuse salivation. The most efficient remedy—in fact our sheet-anchor—in this disease is tartar emetic. You will have noticed the large doses I have given of this remedy, and yet the patient seems not to suffer from it. In fact, the constitution in this disease, as in some others, has a remarkable tolerance for tartar emetic.”

“When the lecture was finished, I left the hall fancying I had heard some great truth, and knew better than an hour before how to save life. On Wednesday evening, during the same week, in the same hall, and to the same students, the other professor lectured. The lecture was devoted to the acute case of pericarditis under his care in the hospital. After describing the case, and giving a sketch of the character and progress of the disease, he spoke in substance, as follows:—

“Gentlemen.—It is a remarkable thing that there should be any difference in regard to the mode of treatment to be pursued in a disease such as this, I believe it is the Italian and French schools which advocate so very strongly the employment of tartar emetic; but I would strongly urge you to put no confidence in this remedy, for if you do so, you will lean on a broken reed. Our sheet-anchor in this disease is mercury; under the action of which you must bring the patient as soon and as freely as you possibly can—even bleeding is of little importance in comparison with the use of mercury. The two combined, i.e., mercury and blood-letting is, of course, best; but at all events use mercury, and never trust to tartar emetic.

“Thus doctors differ and the patient dies.”

As in the theatrical world a peep behind the scenes destroys the illusion of the piece, so in the real world such revelations as the foregoing, are well calculated to stagger thoughtful minds, and to shake to the centre a blind and unreasoning faith in the allopathic system.

Does not the reflection suggest itself on reading such a revelation as the above—since it is impossible that the practice of both these learned professors can be right, is it not possible that the practice of both may be wrong?

That eminent physician, the late Sir Philip Crampton, was in the habit of warning all his gouty and rheumatic patients to avoid the use of colchicum, terming it a “desperate remedy,” and affirming that it was better to bear any amount of pain than have recourse to it. This was the deliberate opinion of one of the most able men in his profession, who must have been fully impressed with a conviction of its injurious effects; yet this remedy is continued to be prescribed to thousands, with what result let those who have experienced it testify. Here then again is a serious disagreement in practice between members of the medical profession, in which one party must again be wrong. If those who use colchicum are to be ranged amongst the latter, where our own sufferings under it would place them, their victims may well be pitied. If colchicum be not a poisonous drug, why did Sir Philip Crampton so strongly inveigh against it? If it be, can that system be right which prescribes it as a remedy? Such is the system termed orthodox, styling all who presume to differ from it quacks.

Before we proceed to inquire whether any escape is open to us from this unsatisfactory state of affairs—whether any system has been discovered more intelligible in its principles and more certain in its action, whose professors are found to agree in their practice, instead of maintaining opinions directly opposed to each other—we would respectfully address a few words to those whom we have often heard exclaiming, “I cannot believe that a system which has existed so long as the allopathic can be wrong; if it were, it would long since have been exposed and its errors refuted. No; when I reflect how long it has existed, I cannot but believe it is right.” To such we will merely say that we charitably hope they do not call this exclamation an argument, and that if they reflected for a moment they ought to remember numberless instances where error has existed for centuries unrefuted, and acquiesced in by all mankind; that on their principle error ought to prevail in exact proportion to its greatness, since the oldest errors are the earliest, and the earliest are, generally speaking, the greatest, the infancy of every science being its most imperfect stage. According to them, we should at present believe that the sun moves round the earth, because this doctrine prevailed for upwards of 5,000 years, and “if it had been wrong it could not have existed so long.” If such persons studied human nature better, they would acknowledge the truth of Horace’s lines, especially when applied to the medical profession, who, with some honourable exceptions, have on every occasion opposed all innovation on their system with the most uncompromising hostility—

“Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt, Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus et. quæ Imberbes didicere, senes perdenda fateri;” [2]

an hostility which can only be ascribed to the effects of professional habit and prejudice. In such a profession reform must be brought about by the action of an enlightened public opinion, which, unwarped by prejudice and unfettered by professional trammels, is free to perceive truth, and hold to it when discovered. When the public take the lead, the medical profession will “move on,” but not before. We are sorry to be forced to make these observations, but we appeal to the history of the medical profession past and present, and to the observation of our readers, in confirmation of their truth.

Sir Bulwer Lytton has well observed:—

“A little reflection taught me that the members of a learned profession are naturally the very persons least disposed to favour innovation upon the practices which custom and prescription have rendered sacred in their eyes. A lawyer is not the person to consult upon bold reforms in jurisprudence. A physician can scarcely be expected to own that hydropathy will cure diseases that have resisted an armament of vials.”

On looking about us for some therapeutic system more satisfactory than the allopathic, simpler in its principles and more consonant with the laws of nature, we select for examination hydropathy, on account of the great success which has attended its practice, the simplicity and rationality of its processes, and the high recommendations it has received from several eminent men, amongst which we extract the following. Mr. Herbert Mayo, Senior Surgeon of the Middlesex Hospital, speaking of hydropathy, thus expresses himself:—

“It (hydropathy) more than doubles our power of doing good. Of course it will meet with much opposition, but none, come from quarter it may, can possibly prevent its progress, and its taking firm root. It is like Truth, not to be subverted.”

Sir Charles Scudamore, M.D., records his opinion as follows:—

“The principles of the water-cure treatment are founded in nature and truth. We have in our power a new and most efficacious agent for the alleviation and cure of disease in various forms, and in proper hands as safe as it is effectual. I should be no friend to humanity nor to medical science if I did not give my testimony in its recommendation.”

Dr. James Johnson, Editor of the Medical Quarterly, thus writes of hydropathy:—

“Its paramount virtue is that of preserving many a constitution from pulmonary consumption.”

These are no small recommendations for any system to possess. Let us, therefore, with the readers’ permission, proceed at once to examine the principles and mode of action of this novel system, and see how far it can prove the title it lays claim to, of being a true rational and natural mode of curing disease.

The most eminent physiologists of the present day agree in regarding disease in general, as an effort of nature to relieve the system of matter injurious to its well-being. This being the case, the natural and common sense mode of curing disease, would obviously consist in assisting nature in its efforts to expel the morbid substance from the system, and thus relieve it from the danger which threatened it. Now, this is exactly the principle on which Hydropathy proceeds; it aids, encourages, and strengthens the efforts of nature to heal herself, instead of irritating, thwarting, and weakening those efforts, by the pernicious administration of drugs.

To render the foregoing position intelligible to our readers, it is necessary to premise, that the action of all active medicines depends upon the principle (admitted by all physiologists), that nature ever makes a continued effort to cure herself, never ceasing in her attempts to relieve the body from whatever injurious matter may be present in it. It is this effort of nature to expel the irritant matter from the system, which makes the drug produce its effect. Thus when a preparation of sulphur is administered as a medicine, nature, in her effort to get rid of the sulphur, opens her pores to expel it. This is proved by the resulting perspiration, and by the circumstance that everything in contact with the patient is found, on analysis, to be largely impregnated with the constituents of the medicine;—the well-known fact of all articles of silver about the person, being tarnished, being an illustration of this effect;—in addition to this the stomach is weakened and irritated by the medicine which has been poured into it; and further, if the dose is repeated, nature, getting gradually accustomed to the intruder, ceases from her inhospitable exertion to expel it, and, as a consequence, the medicine fails in producing its intended effect. We have here referred to the successful administration of a drug, but in many instances it entirely fails to produce the desired result, acting injuriously upon other organs of the system, quite contrary to the effect intended. We will now compare this treatment with the hydropathic mode of producing the effects aimed at by sudorifics. Instead of injuring the stomach by pouring deleterious drugs into it, the Hydropathist applies himself; at once, to the great organ he seeks to act on, viz., the skin; his usual appliances consisting of the lamp and Turkish baths, and the result is this, that by his method a most powerful effect is produced on the skin in the course of about half an hour, after which the patient feels lightened, strengthened, and invigorated, no deleterious substances are passed into the stomach to irritate its membranes, producing nausea and other disagreeable results, and the process may be repeated as often as may be necessary with undiminished effect. Who ever saw a patient recovering from the perspiratory process under the orthodox allopathic mode of treatment, that was not weakened and dejected by it, whilst buoyancy of spirits and invigoration of the system, are the usual accompaniments of the hydropathic process. Take another example from the process of wet-sheet packing, and examine its effects in subduing inflammatory and febrile affections. By this simple process the pulse is often reduced from 120 pulsations per minute to sixty-five, in the short period of three-quarters of an hour, the circulation equalized throughout the body, and a soothing effect produced on the patient, which language fails to describe—a result which no drug or combination of drugs, in the whole of the pharmacopeia, is capable of producing—in this case, again, little lowering of strength is produced, and the stomach is again saved from the injurious and irritating effects of Tartar emetic and other drugs; instead of the fever raging for a period of three weeks, it is generally subdued in as many days, when the patient goes forth, but little reduced in strength, instead of weak, miserable, and emaciated with the prospect of some six weeks elapsing before he is restored to his wonted strength. Sir Bulwer Lytton thus describes, from personal experience, the process of wet-sheet packing:—

“The sheet, after being well saturated, is well wrung out—the patient quickly wrapped in it—several blankets bandaged round, a down coverlet tucked over all; thus, especially where there is the least fever, the first momentary chill is promptly succeeded by a gradual and vivifying warmth perfectly free from the irritation of dry heat—a delicious sense of ease is usually followed by a sleep more agreeable than anodyne ever produced. It seems a positive cruelty to be taken out of this magic girdle in which pain is lulled and fever cooled, and watchfulness lapped in slumber.”

In the effects of wet-sheet packing in cases of congestion of the liver and other internal viscera, we fear an unfavourable comparison must again be drawn between the effects of the allopathic and hydropathic modes of treatment. In these cases the object to be effected is to relieve the oppressed and congested organs from the superabundance of blood with which they are gorged; and it appears to us that this effect is produced more certainly, more quickly, and more permanently, without subsequent injurious effects, by the wet-sheet packing and other hydropathic appliances, sitz baths amongst the rest, than could possibly be effected by all the drugs in the Apothecary’s Hall. In fact, hydropathy appears to possess greater power in controlling the circulation and regulating the currents of the blood than any other system of therapeutics yet revealed to us; it can stimulate the circulation when low, reduce it when excited and disordered, determine it from the head in cases of apoplexy and cold feet, and drive it to the surface of the body in cases of visceral congestion. An engine capable of producing these effects without weakening the constitution, and possessing, in addition, the power of bracing and stimulating the nervous system when weakened, and of soothing and allaying irritation wherever it may exist, more effectually than any opiate; such a system we say, must ever occupy a high, if not the foremost place amongst all existing systems of Hygiene. The physiological effects of wet-sheet packing are thus described by Dr. Wilson:—