Caspar Wistar



In early September when Dr. Benjamin Rush first tried drastic purges on patients, he invited Dr. Caspar Wistar to observe their affects on the wife of Captain Bethel, a ship's chandler on North Front Street. She was Rush's mother's step-daughter from her last marriage. She was experiencing the restlessness characteristic of the early stages of the fever. Rush told her to "drink copiously of chicken water," i.e. a very weak broth, and lie in her bed. Then he gave her a pill that combined 10 grains of calomel with 15 grains of rhubarb. She took the first dose, and the two doctors did not have long to wait for a reaction. She vomited "a large quantity of bile."

Wistar was taken aback by the violence of the reaction, and asked, "whether it gave relief as an emetic or cathartic?" That is, was it intended to induce vomiting or purge the intestines and bowels. Rush answered that while the target was not the stomach, but the seat of putrefaction below, the puking was a good sign showing that the medicine provided "more speedy service." Wistar argued that if relief came from vomiting, a medicine with less bothersome side effects could have been used. Rush ended the discussion by giving Mrs. Bethel another dose. Wistar thought Mrs. Bethel looked "very unwell." Rush later told Wistar that he waited until the pill brought on a copious purge followed by a sweat, and Mrs. Bethel recovered.

Wistar soon found it more difficult to see patients. He had constant headaches. Then he could no longer stand the light of the sun. He diagnosed his own case: he had yellow fever. He had taken preventatives, including bark every morning and evening,

and followed all the rules save one - he swallowed his spittle while in a sick room. Because of that Wistar thought he got the fever. Two days after he saw Rush treat Mrs. Bethel, he had "a smart fever and delirium." By a messenger Rush ordered him to take calomel, but he didn't. He had his apprentice fetch ipecac, which worked several times.

His stomach still felt heavy and sore. Then Rush came to him and did not consult. He insisted that Wistar take calomel and jalap. He did and when he was able, Wistar sent word that the purge operated and relieved him, but he didn't tell Rush that his fever returned sharply and he felt miserable.

When Wistar recovered, Rush counted it a major victory for mercurial purges. He tried to elicit a testimonial for his cure. For the moment Wistar kept to himself what remedies he thought most beneficial. He appreciated the power of calomel, but as he recovered from a delirium he became conscious of a wonderful cold wind from a window left open in his room. He instructed his students to keep him cool. When the breeze from the window was too hot, the young men took turns fanning their master. To that, Wistar attributed his recovery.

A few weeks later Wistar described his illness and treatment in a letter published in a newspaper. After describing his consultations with Rush early in his illness, and how calomel and jalap relieved him, Wistar said he was not sure if mercurials or milder saline cathartics were better. That said, he endorsed cold air as the best remedy. Having the window open had revived him far more than any medicine. Wistar also acknowledged Dr. Kuhn for stopping his diarrhea with laudanum, and prescribing a "tincture amara" which, after sipping for every two hours for 24 hours, allowed Wistar to "eat rice and chocolate without suffering."

After reading that Rush threw down the paper, and quoted Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: "This was the most unkindly cut of all...." Wistar was his Brutus. He lashed out at Wistar in his morning letter to his wife. Wistar's letter was "certainly calculated to injure me and to create doubts as to the efficacy of the new remedies."

He wrote a short letter to the newspaper chiding Wistar. If he had taken calomel as Rush had prescribed it, he would have recovered quickly and been back at work, "uniting at the same time, his testimony, with that of thousands of his fellow citizens, in favor of that excellent remedy."

Dr. Malachi Treat

In late July New York's port physician, Dr. Malachi Treat, inspected the Zephyr, a ship from the West Indies that had three crew members sick with fevers. The ship's boy died the day Treat boarded the vessel. The doctor looked into a sack that held the corpse and thought he died of "bilious remitting fever," then the medical description of yellow fever. No one would believe his diagnosis.

The captain of the Zephyr was anxious to land his cargo, and unceremoniously dumped water damaged coffee into the East River to hurry along inspection of his ship. He too was sick but described his own fever as dysentery, and claimed the boy died of worms.

Alarmed at the putrefying corpse, Treat had it and himself rowed out to Nutten Island to assure its proper burial. When Treat himself got a fever, those jealous of the port's reputation for health pinpointed that exertion in the hot sun by a man known to have a chronic stomach disorder as the source of his fever, not his exposure to contagion on the Zephyr. Of course, while Treat's own fever could be explained away, his report of yellow fever was handed to the city's health committee. It toned down Treat's report, noting only that the boy had "suspicious symptoms." The ship's passengers were allowed to land.

Then the ship William hauled up next to the Zephyr and several crew members soon had a bad fever. Common report described it as yellow fever. The port warden talked to the owner of the William who said there had been much sickness on board during its passage. The health committee kept the warden's report to itself.

Shortly before he died on July 29, a colleague visited Treat. He "knew me when I entered the room," Dr. William Smith wrote to a doctor in Philadelphia a month later, "he looked yellow, red, and bloated - his extremities cold - his pulse irregular - he raised himself in bed, and seemed willing to make unavailing efforts to get on the floor, which I dissuaded him from - he said if he could stop his gulping he should do well - it was a mixt spasmodic affection, I could hardly tell whether most a hiccup or an effort to vomit - it produced no evacuation - I inquired of him whether he thought himself under the influence of infection - he answered, and nothing more was said on the subject - 'Ah Dr. I don't know' - 'sometimes I think - But don't you think' - his debilitated intellect labored under a gloomy incertitude!" He died eight hours later.

In the week after he died there were eulogies in the newspapers, but no mention of nor speculation on the cause of his death.

Dr. John Morris

On Friday evening a servant informed Margaret Morris that her son Dr. John Morris was sick. The relationship between them was strained. Like Ephraim of the Bible, he had "joined himself to Idols," i.e. he was a drunkard. She forgot his transgressions and rushed to his Pear Street house. She found two doctors there, Thomas Parke and Samuel Powel Griffitts, both Quakers like Morris. They had prescribed a blister and Rush's calomel and jalap. They thought he had favorable symptoms and would recover. Margaret thought her son "struck with death."

All the doctors' prescriptions worked exactly as they should. Still on Saturday morning "his skin was as yellow as gold." He had convulsions and was delirious. The family maid had two days before to attend her sick mother, leaving only a 10 year old indentured servant girl to help John's wife Abby care for four children including a baby. Margaret took charge of the situation, sending the two older children to their grandfather Benedict Dorsey, a respected Quaker grocer who lived four blocks away. Heeding Rush's initial alarms, he refused to take them in,
afraid they were carrying the disease. The children's mother, Abby, went to change his mind. While she was gone, her husband had one of his strongest fits. Margaret could not call on the frightened children for help. When Abby returned she provided no relief. She never told her mother-in-law what her father said to her. She simply "went upstairs, undrest and went to bed, saying she had got the disorder and she'd die." She lay in the room next to her husband. Margaret sent the baby to a wet nurse, the toddler to her house, and again sent two children to their grandfather. When they didn't return, she felt more encouraged as she faced the difficult task
before her. As she scouted the Morris house, in which she had been a stranger since her estrangement from her son, she found the Morris boy cowering in the cellar. His grandfather had only taken his sister. Margaret sent him to Benjamin Smith with a message that she needed help.

The mayor's letter relaying the offer of the Free African Society to provide nurses,
appeared in all the newspapers at the end of the week. As the ad instructed, Smith applied to Absalom Jones and William Gray who both lived near Pear Street, and by the evening a man and woman came to help Margaret Morris. As was the case in most of the letters describing their help, the nurses remained nameless.

Soon after the nurses arrived Rush came to see his colleague. Dr. Griffitts had the fever and asked Rush to attend his patients. Rush was gratified to see the black nurses. The Free African Society had provided nurses for most of his patients. He gave Dr. Morris more calomel and jalap, and while not much encouraged, told Margaret that his fever was lower. He did not see Abby in the next room. Evidently Margaret viewed her as afraid, not sick with the fever. Still she had to be attended during the night. Margaret wanted to stay with her son and decided that she would feel more comfortable with the woman nurse. The male nurse sat by Abby. Shortly after one o'clock Margaret gained the first sleep she had had in two days.

Margaret Morris woke at about 5 a.m.. felt her son's pulse, and "thought the fever gone off." She tried to give him medicine but he could not take it. She feared the worse, sent the male nurse to get Benjamin Smith and had the woman stay with Abby. Three weeks later she recalled her son's last moments. He was sensible for the first time in three days and mother and son were able to reconcile: "he spoke to me in a manner that poured balm into my wounded heart, lamenting errors of his past life and had hopes of mercy. This was all I had presumed to ask for, and my chastened spirit said 'thy will be done.' A convulsion fit followed, and after that a sweet composure took possession of his features and he departed without sigh, groan or struggle."

She knew that her son had to be buried within hours to save all the smell of his corpse. That the morning was cloudy and cooler was a blessing, but she decided not to wait for family to help her prepare the body for the grave. Rush began his morning rounds by visiting the Morris house, arriving soon after the doctor died. "His excellent mother rushed from his bed into my arms," Rush wrote to his wife that night, "fell upon my neck, and in this position gave vent to the most pathetic and eloquent exclamations of grief that I have ever heard. I was dumb and finding
myself sinking into sympathy, tore myself from her arms and ran to other scenes of distress."

Margaret managed to prepare her son for the grave and even see him buried promptly,
with the help of the Free African Society that organized a group of black men to handle infected corpses. But Benjamin Smith saw that she was "scarcely any longer herself." She collapsed in complete prostration. Benjamin had her carried back to her own house and sent for Rush. Smith also arranged to move Abby Morris. When her father refused to take her in, the business-like Smith didn't recriminate against the most un-Quakerly act and solicited the help of the relative who had the most commodious house, Richard Wells, cashier of the Bank of North America. Wells polled each member of his household on North Third Street and they all agreed to take
Abby in.

Rush was unable to see Margaret until the morning. He found her resting comfortably and determined that she was only exhausted.

The letters Rush wrote to his wife, sometimes he wrote two a day, are a major source for the above. The main source is what Margaret Morris wrote in letters to members of her family outside the city. Here is an excerpt from a September 25th letter to her sister describing Dr. Morris's sickness and death:

Will it fatigue thee my Patty to read a Narrative of what I've past thro since we parted? I think thee answer no - Well then I'll begin my tale of woe from the 5th of this Mo[nth] - when I returned that eve from my Debby, who was not well enough to be about the house, was told my Dear JM [her son Dr. John Morris] was ill & wishd to see me - I went there immediately & found him very ill with a raging fever. Dr. Park & Griffitts both attending - I faithfully followed their orders - the blister drew finely - the powder had all the effect could be wished - alas - in the morning his skin was yellow as gold - a convulsion fitt & delirium deprived me of hope - yet the repetition of the powders, which operated well, revived me again, & I was willing to flatter myself - he might recover- As AM's [Abby, Mrs. John Morris] Maid was called away on 4th day to attend her mother who was ill, they had only a little girl to tend the child & I told AM to write a note & beg her F[ather] to let P[atty]. & Molly stay there, that the house might be quiet, they soon returned saying that their G[rand] F[ather] was sick & they could not be there This alrmed my poor A - & she begged to go see her F & stayed an hour or more - when she returned & went up stairs, undrest & went to bed, saying she had got the disorder & she'd die. She did not come into JM's room afterwards - I then had 2 to nurse & 2 little ones down stairs to provide for - at last I sent thy namesake and Wm again to the GF. Patty, they kept, & on going in the kitchen, found Wm hid in the cellar, he said they would not let him stay, they were afraid he wd bring the disorder to them. I sent M to my house. On 7th day B[enjamin] S[mith, her son-in-law] came there & kindly went about town to procure assistance for me, & after night sent a black man and woman to me - who were but just done nursing at another place. Dr. Rush came that day & tho he could not flatter me, assured me the fever was lower at night - I watched by him till about one oclock & having been up the 2 preceding night was quite spent & as he slept quite easy, I lay down by him - the Negro woman sitting near to the bed - about 5 I awoke - & feeling his pulse, thought the fever was near gone off, & went to give the medicine but he could not take it - he spoke to me in a manner that poured balm into my wounded heart, lament the errors of his past life & had hopes of mercy - this was all I had presumed to ask for & my chastend spirit said thy will be done - a convulsion fitt followed & after that a sweet composure took possession of his features & he departed without sigh, groan or struggle - All this time I was alone, the woman I had was with Abby - the Man I sent to B Smith who took care to provide the coffin & after sitting by him awhile - Oh then the hands of the pitiful Mother prepared her Child's body for the grave & well it had been if I had contented myself with doing all that was required of me - but alas I got off my guard & thought that I who had been thus supported was equal to every thing & insisted on seeing laid beside the dear Companion of my youth - & there my fortitude forsook me - for that was not required of me - what followed I know not - till I found myself 2 days after in my own front parlor in the bed I had provided for others....

Dr. James Hutchinson

On Saturday morning Dr. James Hutchinson awoke with a sharp pain in his head. The night before he had dined with Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson at an estate along the Schuylkill. Famous as the former ambassador to France's wine cellar was, Hutchinson knew he did not have a hangover. At dinner he had described the fever's symptoms to Jefferson. It "begins with a pain in the head," and could end in death "from the 2nd to the 8th day."

Hutchinson summoned Dr. Adam Kuhn, considered by many the city's best practitioner.


Hutchinson explained how "he had gone to bed about 11 o'clock perfectly well and he indeed never felt better or in higher spirits." At three, he woke with "a most violent headache attended with fever." A few days before, Kuhn had opined that only 9 people had died of yellow fever in the city. So he quizzed Hutchinson sharply, asking several times if he had a chill, a pain in the back or uneasiness in the stomach. "He declared that he had no chill, sickness, or pain any where but in his head, which he described as excruciating." Kuhn noted that his skin was dry, his pulse "not much more frequent and not fuller than in health."

Kuhn suggested that Hutchinson take a lenient purge. The two doctors decided that cream of tartar would be best. Hutchinson's wife, who was in her ninth month of pregnancy, was an uneasy bystander during this consultation. "With great anxiety," Kuhn recalled, she asked him if her husband had yellow fever. Hutchinson saw Kuhn's embarrassment and "immediately answered there was no doubt of it. A week ago he had examined the houses along Water Street" where several people had died of fevers. Kuhn did not disagree.

That evening Kuhn returned to his patient. He had had one bowel movement "of a putrid nature." Once the stomach and bowels were evacuated, Kuhn treated putrid fever by using remedies that would "produce a fermentation in the stomach and correct putrefaction." He suggested wine whey and water, or lemonade, and ripe fruit. Once putrefaction was checked he would "restore tone to the system." Hutchinson indicated he wanted a tonic and chose elixir of vitriol, sulfuric acid in wine with cinnamon and ginger which thanks to it's "grateful acid taste," had been a popular pick-me-up at least since 75 B.C.

Kuhn also suggested a cold bath of which doctors with experience in the West Indies spoke so highly. When Kuhn left, Hutchinson had himself splashed with cold water and found it refreshing. He also decided he didn't feel adequately purged. He took more cream of tartar and passed a restless Saturday night.

The cream of tartar inspired three bowel movements that Sunday and the whale of a man who weighed over 300 pounds had gone down two flights of stairs and his back steps so that he could do it in the out house. Kuhn thought Hutchinson was too weak for such exertion, and expressed "extreme regret." During the night Hutchinson could not stop his bowels, and had eight more movements. Kuhn thought that very dangerous in a putrid fever and tried to stop it with laudanum, an opiate. He also prescribed one ounce of Peruvian bark as a tonic.

Hutchinson passed 10 stools on Monday and had bleeding hemorrhoids. Kuhn was not sanguine, as he explained to Samuel Coates, president of the Pennsylvania Hospital, whom he met in the streets: "What would you think of him venturing down three pairs of stairs, after such a severe illness. He would have whipped one of his own patients for such an act of impudence." Kuhn said he had great hopes of recovery, but no more, "Hutchinson must submit to his fate."

Hutchinson summoned two younger doctors, William Currie and Benjamin Barton. Currie came Tuesday evening, Hutchinson was sitting up talking, lucid enough to describe his own case and give Currie permission to write about in a book he was preparing that described the current fever epidemic.

Hutchinson told Currie that he liked the baths and vitriolic salt tonics. When he felt well, as he did then, he took no medicine but lime juice punch. In the essay Currie would send to the printer at the end of the week, Hutchinson's treatment was held up as a model.

After Currie left him on Tuesday night, Hutchinson walked downstairs. When he came back up, his nose bled until "he was much debilitated and faint." He took 45 drops of laudanum, got to sleep, and rested well until he awoke "with sickness and great distress."

Currie came back at 10 o'clock Wednesday morning and found Hutchinson with a low pulse, and cold and dry skin. His face was bloated and livid. "His mind was considerably deranged -his thirst became insatiable - he cast up all he drank, as soon as his stomach became full, with straining and noise." When he wasn't puking he was hiccupping. No matter what medicine Currie suggested, Hutchinson "obstinately" refused it, claiming that "nothing was the matter." Currie sent his manuscript to the printer anyway.

On Thursday the 5th Dr. Benjamin Rush went to Hutchinson. He found the massive doctor "sitting in a chair near the head of his bed, with all his clothes on, as if he had been in his usual health." But he wasn't. Rush saw that he was delirious with a face "suffused with blood." Rush urged "a strong mercurial purge," explaining that it had saved 29 out of 30 who had taken it. Hutchinson refused for the moment, but did send one of his apprentices to Kuhn. "Rush should know," Kuhn replied sharply, "that Hutchinson had 30 stools in three days." He did not need further purging.

On Thursday morning he lapsed into a coma. Hutchinson lived through Friday in a coma. He died Saturday. His wife went into labor that same day, and bore him his fifth child, a girl. His began to "mortify before he died," and had to be buried in a hurry that night.

Hutchinson's friends were inconsolable. His obituary was in newspapers all over the country. "For five days no two or more persons met when the first interrogatory was not 'How does Hutchinson.'" the young editor Samuel Smith wrote to his sister. "Now he is no more - but I cannot dwell on the gloomy subject." Hutchinson had given Smith courage to stay in the city, but as he sealed his letter, a carriage waited to take him to Lancaster 60 miles away.