CHAPTER II.

One such happened in the city and district of Bangor in the summer of 1882. The registration district had only 95 deaths from enteric fever in the ten years 1871-80, but in the single year 1882 it had 87 deaths registered under that name. Of 548 attacks (with 42 deaths) which were known from 22 May to 12 September, 407 fell in August and the first twelve days of September[407]. In the following year and throughout the rest of the decennium the district had its usual low average of enteric-fever deaths. One thing relevant to the explosion was probably the excessive rainfall of June and July (9·5 inches, as compared with 4·8 inches about London).Another explosion, probably unique in the history of enteric fever, took place at Worthing, on the Sussex coast, in the summer of 1893. The enteric death-rate of the town had been much below the average of England and Wales from 1871 to 1880, the rate being 0·15 per 1000 and the whole deaths in ten years 36. During the next ten years, 1881-90, the whole enteric deaths were 43 in the entire registration district (population in 1891,32,394). In 1891 the typhoid deaths were two, in 1892 they were six. In 1893 a severe outbreak of typhoid took place within the municipal borough (population 16,606): In the first quarter of the year Worthing was one of the places mentioned for typhoid, having had 5 deaths; in April there were no deaths, in May 25, in June 19, in July 61, in August 64, in September 11, and in the last quarter of the year 8, making 193 deaths in the year. The highest weekly number of cases notified was 253 in the second week of July. The enormously wide dispersion of the poison, in a town little subject to enteric fever, caused suspicion to fall on the water-supply, the more reasonably that the district of West Worthing, which had a separate water-supply, was said not to have suffered from the outbreak. A new water-supply was at once undertaken. A relief fund of £7000 was raised for the sufferers.The towns of Middlesborough, Stockton and Darlington, in the lower valley of the Tees, were together the scene of two remarkable explosions of enteric fever, the first from 7 September to 18 October, 1890, the second from 28 December, 1890, to 7 February, 1891. The phenomenal nature of these outbreaks in the autumn and winter of 1890-91 will appear from the following table of deaths by enteric fever:DarlingtonStocktonMiddlesboroughTen years1881-90104258460189021661301891175993In the first of the two explosions the three towns were almost equally attacked per head of their populations; in the second explosion, in mid-winter, Darlington had relatively only half as many cases as each of the other two, which had about the same number of cases as in the former six-weeks’ period. In both periods, of six weeks each, the three towns had together 1334 cases of typhoid, while the country districts near them had a mere sprinkling. A flooded state of the Tees appeared to be a relevant antecedent to each of the explosions. The Tees is a broad shallow river flowing rapidly, subject to frequent inundations, tortuous in its lower course, forming at its mouth, where Middlesborough stands, a wide estuary bordered by low flat grounds. The rainfall at Middlesborough was 6·3 inches in August, of which 2·2 inches fell on the 12th of the month, the river being high in flood thereafter. There were again high floods in November, chiefly caused by the melting of snow in the upper basin (5 inches fell at Barnard Castle in November, 3·1 inches at Middlesborough, while the December fall was 1·2 inches at the former and 1·4 inches at the latter). To apply correctly the ground-water doctrine of enteric fever to these explosions, other particulars would have to be known, more especially the extent of the previous dryness of the subsoil (the rainfall at Middlesborough was 9·3 inches in the first half of 1890, 15·6 in the second half, and below average for the whole year). But the flooded state of the Tees valley in August and November must have changed abruptly the state of the ground-ferments within the areas of the respective towns and so afforded, according to the general law, the conditions for an abrupt increase of enteric fever in these its endemic or perennial soils[408].

Another explosion, probably unique in the history of enteric fever, took place at Worthing, on the Sussex coast, in the summer of 1893. The enteric death-rate of the town had been much below the average of England and Wales from 1871 to 1880, the rate being 0·15 per 1000 and the whole deaths in ten years 36. During the next ten years, 1881-90, the whole enteric deaths were 43 in the entire registration district (population in 1891,32,394). In 1891 the typhoid deaths were two, in 1892 they were six. In 1893 a severe outbreak of typhoid took place within the municipal borough (population 16,606): In the first quarter of the year Worthing was one of the places mentioned for typhoid, having had 5 deaths; in April there were no deaths, in May 25, in June 19, in July 61, in August 64, in September 11, and in the last quarter of the year 8, making 193 deaths in the year. The highest weekly number of cases notified was 253 in the second week of July. The enormously wide dispersion of the poison, in a town little subject to enteric fever, caused suspicion to fall on the water-supply, the more reasonably that the district of West Worthing, which had a separate water-supply, was said not to have suffered from the outbreak. A new water-supply was at once undertaken. A relief fund of £7000 was raised for the sufferers.

The towns of Middlesborough, Stockton and Darlington, in the lower valley of the Tees, were together the scene of two remarkable explosions of enteric fever, the first from 7 September to 18 October, 1890, the second from 28 December, 1890, to 7 February, 1891. The phenomenal nature of these outbreaks in the autumn and winter of 1890-91 will appear from the following table of deaths by enteric fever:

In the first of the two explosions the three towns were almost equally attacked per head of their populations; in the second explosion, in mid-winter, Darlington had relatively only half as many cases as each of the other two, which had about the same number of cases as in the former six-weeks’ period. In both periods, of six weeks each, the three towns had together 1334 cases of typhoid, while the country districts near them had a mere sprinkling. A flooded state of the Tees appeared to be a relevant antecedent to each of the explosions. The Tees is a broad shallow river flowing rapidly, subject to frequent inundations, tortuous in its lower course, forming at its mouth, where Middlesborough stands, a wide estuary bordered by low flat grounds. The rainfall at Middlesborough was 6·3 inches in August, of which 2·2 inches fell on the 12th of the month, the river being high in flood thereafter. There were again high floods in November, chiefly caused by the melting of snow in the upper basin (5 inches fell at Barnard Castle in November, 3·1 inches at Middlesborough, while the December fall was 1·2 inches at the former and 1·4 inches at the latter). To apply correctly the ground-water doctrine of enteric fever to these explosions, other particulars would have to be known, more especially the extent of the previous dryness of the subsoil (the rainfall at Middlesborough was 9·3 inches in the first half of 1890, 15·6 in the second half, and below average for the whole year). But the flooded state of the Tees valley in August and November must have changed abruptly the state of the ground-ferments within the areas of the respective towns and so afforded, according to the general law, the conditions for an abrupt increase of enteric fever in these its endemic or perennial soils[408].

While the more or less steady or endemic prevalence of typhoid fever is due to the formation and reproduction in the soil of an infective principle (probably of faecal origin) which affects more or less sporadically the individuals living thereon, after the manner of a miasma rising from the ground, there have been some hardly disputable instances of the infection being conveyed to many at once from a single source in the drinking water and by the medium of milk[409]. But such instances, suggestive though they be and easy of apprehension by the laity, must not be understood as giving the rule for the bulk of enteric fever. In like manner, the escape or reflux of excremental gases from pipes or sewers, or the leakage into basements or foundations from faulty plumber-work, are causes, real no doubt, but of limited application, which do not conflict with, as they do not supersede, the more comprehensive and cognate explanation of enteric fever as an infection having its habitat in the soil and an incidence upon individuals after the manner of other miasmatic infections. Sex has little or nothing to do with the incidence of the infective virus. As to age, enteric fever rarely befalls infants, and, in the general belief of practitioners, is a less frequent cause of death among children than among adolescents and adults.

In the following Table from the Registrar-General’s Decennial Review, 1871-80, enteric fever is not separated from other continued fevers. It is probable that a considerable ratio of the deaths from 0 to 5 years are due to febrile disorders other than enteric.Annual Mortality per million living at all ages and at eleven groups of ages, males and females, from fever (including Typhus, Enteric Fever and Different Forms of Continued Fever) 1871-80.Allages0-5-10-15-20-25-35-45-55-65-75+Both sexes484651518439543509411379402458553498Males494644483390513579436395437503629593Females477658550487573445387362369418488425

Annual Mortality per million living at all ages and at eleven groups of ages, males and females, from fever (including Typhus, Enteric Fever and Different Forms of Continued Fever) 1871-80.

The cases notified under the Act in 1891 and 1892 have been found to average five or six for every death registered in the corresponding districts, the rate of fatality ranging widely. It is matter of familiar knowledge that many of the attacks and fatalities occur among the richer classes. New comers to an endemic seat of the disease are most apt to take it (this has been elaborately shown for Munich, and holds good for the British troops in India). There are undoubtedly constitutional proclivities to it among individuals, which may run strongly in families. As in other miasmatic infective diseases, such as yellow fever, Asiatic cholera, and (formerly) plague, there seem to be occasions in the varying states of body and mind, as well as in the external circumstances, when the infection of enteric fever is specially apt to find a lodgement and to become effective. The old plague-books gave lists of the things that were apt to invite venom or to stir venom (see former volume pp. 212, 674); and it is probable that some of these hold good also for the incidence of enteric fever.

FEVER AND DYSENTERY IN IRELAND.

The history of the public health in Ireland has been so remarkable that it may be useful to take a continuous view of it in a chapter apart, so far as concerns flux, or dysentery, and typhus with relapsing fever.

Ireland is a country which would have given Hume, had he thought of it, the best of all his illustrations of the difficult problem handled in the essay “Of National Characters”—how far the habits, customs, temperaments and, he might have added, morbid infections have been determined by climate, and how far by laws and government, by revolutions in public affairs, or by the situation of the nation with regard to its neighbours. Not only is there something special and peculiar in the actual epidemiology of Ireland, but its political and social history has been apt to borrow the phrases of medicine in a figure. “First the physicians are to take care,” says Burke, “that they do nothing to irritate this epidemical distemper. It is a foolish thing to have the better of the patient in a dispute. The complaint, or its cause, ought to be removed, and wise and lenient arts ought to precede the measures of vigour[410].” And this singular use of the imagery of disease in Irish history might be illustrated from many other passages of the same orator and essayist, just as it may be seen any day in the columns of newspapers in our own time. Giraldus Cambrensis began it, within a few years of the first English conquest of Irish territory by Henry II. Writing of that singular effect upon the English settlers by contact with the native Irish, whereby theybecame, in the words of another medieval author,ipsis Hibernis hiberniores, he resorts to the medical figure of “contagion” as the best way to account for it. So again, to overleap six centuries, Bishop Berkeley in his query “whether idleness be the mother or daughter of spleen[411],” is trying upon the Irish both Hume’s problem of national character and the use of the medical figure. And, to take a modern instance, Lord Beaconsfield used the same figure of the old humoral pathology, and gave his adhesion to a theory of national characters adverse to the sense of Hume, when he ascribed the habits and manners of the Irish, and the course of their national history, to their propinquity to a “melancholy” ocean.

As far back as we can go in the history, two diseases are conspicuous—the flux or “the country disease,” and the sharp fever or “Irish ague.” When Henry II. invaded Ireland in 1172, his army suffered from flux, which the contemporary chronicler, Radulphus de Diceto, dean of St Paul’s, set down to the unwonted eating of fresh meat (recentium esus carnium), the drinking of water, and the want of bread[412]. Less than a generation after, Giraldus of Wales wrote his “Topography of Ireland,” wherein he remarks that hardly any stranger, on his first coming to the country, escapes the flux by reason of the juicy food (ob humida nutrimenta)[413]. At that time Ireland was almost wholly a pastoral country, and a pastoral country it has remained to a far greater extent than England or Scotland. It is to this comparative want of tillage, an almost absolute want when Giraldus was there, that we shall probably have to look in the last resort for an explanation of the two national maladies that here concern us—the “country disease” and the “Irish ague.” The same dietetic reason that the dean of St Paul’s gave in 1172 for the prevalence of flux in the army of Henry II., the want of bread and the eating of fresh meat, can be assigned for the country disease long after, and, in some periods, on the explicit testimony of observers. As to the Irish ague, or typhus fever, Giraldus mentions it in the medieval period; and Higden, copying him exactly, says: “The inhabitants of Ireland are vexed by no kind of fever except theacute, and that seldom”—the wordacutabeing the original of “the ague,” or, as in another translation of the passage, “the sharp axes[414].” In this pastoral country, according to Giraldus, there was little sickness and little need of physicians; but there is hardly an instance of military operations by the English unattended with sickness among the troops, and famine with sickness among the native Irish.

The generalities of Fynes Moryson, a traveller of the time of James I., who included Ireland among the many countries that he visited and described, throw light upon the dietetic peculiarities of the Irish. Having little agriculture, and at that time no general cultivation of the potato (although they adopted it much sooner than the English and Scots), they lived, says Moryson, mostly on milk (as Giraldus Cambrensis also records in the twelfth century), and upon the flesh of unfed calves, which they cooked and ate in a barbarous fashion. “The country disease” is also noted. The experience in Ireland from time immemorial, that a bellyful was a windfall, must have been the origin of a habit observed by Moryson:

“I have known some of these Irish footemen serving in England to lay meate aside for many meales to devoure it all at one time.” And again: “The wilde Irish in time of greatest peace impute covetousnesse and base birth to him that hath any corne after Christmas, as if it were a point of nobility to consume all within these festivall dayes.” The Irish slovenliness or filthiness in their food, raiment and lodging was apt, he says, “to infect” the English who came to reside in their country[415].

About a generation after we come to the earliest medical account of the sicknesses of Ireland, by Gerard Boate, compiled during the Cromwellian occupation[416]. The following occurs under the head of The Looseness:

The English have given it the name of the Country Disease. The subjects of it are often troubled a great while, but take no great harm. It is easily cured by good medicines: “But they that let the looseness take its course do commonly after some days get the bleeding with it; ... and last it useth to turn to the bloody flux, the which in some persons having lasted a great while, leaveth them of itself; but in far the greatest number is very dangerous, and killeth the most part of the sick, except they be carefully assisted with good remedies.”

The other reigning disease is the “Irish Ague,” a continued fever of the nature of typhus:

“As Ireland is subject to most diseases in common with other countries, so there are some whereunto it is peculiarly obnoxious, being at all times so rife there that they may justly be reputed for Irelandendemii morbi, or reigning diseases, as indeed they are generally reputed for such. Of this number is a certain sort of malignant feavers, vulgarly in Ireland called Irish agues, because that at all times they are so common in Ireland, as well among the inhabitants and the natives, as among those who are newly come thither from other countries. This feaver, commonly accompanied with a great pain in the head and in all the bones, great weakness, drought, loss of all manner of appetite, and want of sleep, and for the most part idleness or raving, and restlessness or tossings, but no very great nor constant heat, is hard to be cured.” If blood-letting be avoided and cordial remedies given, “very few persons do lose their lives, except when some extraordinary and pestilent malignity cometh to it, as it befalleth in some years.” Those who recover “are forced to keep their beds a long time in extreme weakness, being a great while before they can recover their perfect health and strength.”

The occasion of Boate’s writing was the subjugation of Ireland by Cromwell, in the course of which we hear from time to time of sickness. The greatest of the calamities was the utter destruction of the prosperity of Galway by the frightful plague of 1649-50, and by the suppression of the Catholics, who had brought the port of Connaught to be a place of foreign commerce[417].

Cromwell’s troops in 1649 incurred dysentery through the hardships of campaigning. On 17 September, 1649, the Lord General writes from Dublin to Mr Speaker Lenthall after the storming of Tredah or Drogheda: “We keep the field much; our tents sheltering us from the wet and cold. But yet the country-sickness overtakes many: and therefore we desire recruits, and some fresh regiments of foot, may be sent us.” And on 25 October, “Colonel Horton is dead of the country-disease[418].”

Another general reference to the “country disease” of Ireland, by Borlase, is very nearly the same as Boate’s. It is introduced early in the history, on the occasion of the death in 1591 of Walter, Earl of Essex, earl marshal of Ireland:

“The dysentery, or flux, so fatal to this worthy person, is commonly termed the country disease; and well it may, for it reigns nowhere so epidemically as in Ireland; tainting strangers as well as natives. But whether it proceeds from the peculiar disposition of the air, errour in diet, the laxity and waterishness of the meat, or some occult cause, no venomous creature living there to suck that which may be thought (in other countries) well distributed amongst reptilious animals, I shall not determine, though each of these circumstances may well conduce to its strength and vigour. Certain it is that regular diet preserves most from the violence, and many from the infection of this disease; yet as that which is thought very soveraign—I must say that the stronger cordial liquors (viz. brandy, usquebeh, treacle and Mithridate waters) are very proper, or the electuaries themselves, and the like[419].”

From the Restoration to the Revolution little is known of epidemics in Ireland. It is probable that Dublin and the other considerable towns fared much the same as English towns. A Dublin physician writing to Robert Boyle on 27 February, 1682, speaks of a petechial fever, marked by leaping of the tendons, which had been fatal to very many in that city for these twelve or fourteen months[420]. With the Revolution the troubles of the country begin again, and enter on their peculiarly modern phase. For our history, two characteristic incidents come at the very beginning of the new period of disorder among the Irish—the sicknesses of the siege of Londonderry and the unparalleled havoc of disease among the troops of Schomberg in the camp of Dundalk. In both, the old “country disease,” which had affected Cromwell’s troops, was the primary malady, occurring, of course, in circumstances special enough to have bred it anywhere; in both, the dysentery was attended or followed by typhus fever, the old “Irish ague;” and although the epidemics of Londonderry and Dundalk in 1689 are properly examples of war sickness, yet the circumstances of each may help to realize the connexion between dysentery and typhus in the ordinary history of the Irish.

The siege of Londonderry[421]by the Catholic Irish army of James II. began in April and ended on 28 July, having lasted 105 days. On 19 April the garrison numbered 7020 men, and the total of men, women and children in the town was estimated at 30,000, a number which included refugees from the neighbouring country and would have been more but for many Protestants at the beginning of the siege leaving the city and taking “protection” at the hands of the besiegers. On 21 May, a collection was made for the poor, who began to be in want. Sickness is heard of on 5 June, when several that were sick were killed in their beds by the enemy’s bombs. The dread of the bombs in the houses caused the people to lie about the walls or in places remote from the houses all night, so that many of them, especially the women and children, caught cold, which along with the want of rest and failing food, threw them into fluxes and fevers. The pinch of hunger began to be felt before the middle of June, about which time and for six weeks after the fluxes and fevers were rife. A great mortality spread through the garrison as well as the inhabitants; fifteen captains and lieutenants died in one day, and it was estimated that ten thousand died during the siege, “besides those who died soon after.” The want, the dysentery, the fever and the vast numbers of dead every day must have produced a horrible state of things; when, on 2 July, five hundred useless persons were put outside the walls, to disperse as they best could, the besiegers are said to have recognized them when they met them “by the smell.”

About the middle of June large quantities of provisions were found in cellars and places of concealment under ground; after that the garrison had always bread, although the allowance was small. An ingenious man discovered how to make pancakes of starch and tallow, of which articles there was no lack; the pancakes not only proved nutritious, but are said to have been an infallible cure of the flux, or preservative from it. At length, on 28 July some of the victuallers and ships of war which had been in Lough Foyle since the 15th of June, sailed up to the head of the Lough on the evening flood tide, finding little resistance from the enemy’s batteries and none from “what was left of” the tide-tossed boom of logs across the mouth of the river. Provisions poured in, and the siege was raised; but it is clear that the infection continued for some time after, having been found among such of the released garrison as repaired to Schomberg’s camp at Dundalk.

The Catholic army is said (by the Protestants) to have lost 8000 or 9000 before the walls of Londonderry, “most by the sword, the rest of fever and flux, and the French pox, which was very remarkable on the bodies of several of the dead officers and soldiers[422].”

Not far off, at Dundalk, there began, a few weeks after, an extraordinary outbreak of war-sickness, which, unlike the pestilence in Londonderry, was altogether inglorious in its circumstances. In many respects it resembled the disaster to Cromwell’s troops at the first occupying of Jamaica in 1655-56[423]; but it was worse than that, and it is probably unexampled in the military annals of Britain[424].

Supplies had been voted in Parliament for quelling the Catholic rebellion in Ireland, and an expedition was got together under the illustrious Marshal, Duke of Schomberg. The force consisted of some ten thousand foot, most of them raw levies from the English peasantry, with one regiment of seasonedDutch troops (“the blue Dutch”), and cavalry. While the bulk of the force was undisciplined, their clothes, food, tents and other munitions of war were bad or insufficient through the fraud of contractors. The expedition embarked at Hoylake on the Dee and landed on the 15th of August, 1689, nearly three weeks after the relief of Londonderry, at Bangor, on the south side of Belfast Lough. Schomberg took Carrickfergus, and began to advance on Dublin; but finding the towns burned and the country turned into a desert, he threw himself into an entrenched camp around the head of Dundalk Bay, nearly a mile from the town of Dundalk. His camp was on a low moist bottom at the foot of the hills. The Irish Catholic army took up a position among the hills “on high sound ground,” not more than two miles distant from the English lines, and, being in superior force, in due time they offered battle, which was declined. Schomberg, who had been joined by the Enniskillen regiments of dragoons and by men from Londonderry, had under him some 2000 horse and not less than 12,000 foot at the time when James II. offered battle. The undisciplined state of his English troops and the suspected treachery of a body of French Protestants were among the causes that held Schomberg back; but he had to reckon also with sickness almost from the moment of sitting down at Dundalk. At a muster on 25 September, several of the regiments were grown thin “by reason of the distemper then beginning to seize our men.” The distemper was dysentery and fever. The two maladies were mixed up, as they usually are in war and famines, the flux commonly preceding the fever, and perhaps affording the virulent matters in the soil and in the air upon which the epidemic prevalence of the fever depends. It was easy to account for the dysentery among the troops at Dundalk; but as to the fever, there was an ambiguity at the outset which Story is careful to note: “And yet I cannot but think that the feaver was partly brought to our camp by some of those people that came from Derry; for it was observable that after some of them were come amongst us, it was presently spread over the whole army, yet I did not find many of themselves died of it.” Where the cause of death is specially named, it is fever, as in the cases of Sir Thomas Gower, Colonel Wharton and other officers on the 28th and 29th October. The fever was a most malignant form of typhus, marked by the worst of all symptoms, gangrene of the extremities, so that the toes or awhole foot would fall off when the surgeon was applying a dressing[425].

It seems probable that most of the enormous mortality was caused by infection, and not by dysentery due to primary exciting causes.

The primary exciting causes were obvious, but seemingly irremovable. Schomberg had a great military reputation, but he was now over eighty, and it does not appear that he made himself personally felt in the camp, although he issued incessantly orders to inspect and report. As the mortality proceeded apace during the six or eight weeks of inactivity, murmurings arose against the commander. He was unfortunate in his choice of a camping ground, and in an unusually cold and wet season. The newly raised English troops seem to have been lacking equally in intelligence and in moral qualities. Their foul language and debauchery were the occasion of a special proclamation; their laziness and inability to make themselves comfortable called forth numerous orders, but all to no purpose. The regiment of Dutch troops were so well hutted that not above eleven of them died in the whole campaign; but the English would not be troubled to gather fern or anything else to keep themselves dry and clean withal: “many of them, when they were dead, were incredibly lousy.”

The camping ground not only received the drainage of the hills, but, strange to say, the rain would be falling there all day while the camp of the enemy, only a few miles farther inland, would not be getting a drop. On 1 October the tents on the low ground were moved a little higher up. On the same date there were distributed among the regiments casks of brandy—Macaulay says it was of bad quality—which appears to have been the trusted remedy against camp sickness, as in the Jamaica expedition of 1655. There were twenty-seven victuallers or other ships riding in Dundalk Bay; but the stores were bad, and the regimental surgeons had come unprovided with drugs that might have been useful in flux or fever. While the weather continued cold and wet, there was also a scarcity of firing and forage. On 14 October all the regimental surgeons were ordered to meet at ten in the morning to consult withDr Lawrence how to check the sickness[426]. Several officers having died on the 16th and 17th, the camp was shifted on the 20th to new ground, the huts being left full of the sick. Gower’s regiment had sixty-seven men unable to march, besides a good many dead before or sent away sick. Story, the chaplain, went every day from the new camp to visit the sick of his regiment in the huts, and always at his going found some dead. He found the survivors in a state of brutal callousness, utterly indifferent to each other, but objecting to part with their dead comrades as they wanted the bodies to sit or lie on, or to keep off the cold wind. The ships at anchor had now received as many sick as they could hold, and the deaths on board soon became as many as on shore. On 25-27 October, the camp was again shifted, but the sickness continued apace. At length on 3 November, the Catholic army having dispersed to winter quarters, the sick were ordered to be removed to Carlingford and Newry. “The poor men were brought down from all places towards the Bridge End, and several of them died by the way. The rest were put upon waggons, which was the most lamentable sight in the world, for all the rodes from Dundalk to Newry and Carlingford were next day full of nothing but dead men, who, even as the waggons joulted, some of them died and were thrown off as fast.” Some sixteen or seventeen hundred had been left dead at Dundalk. The ships were ordered to sail for Belfast with the first wind, and the camp was broken up. There was snow on the hills and rain in the valleys; on the march to Newry, men fell out of the ranks and died at the road side. When the ships weighed anchor from Dundalk and Carlingford, they had 1970 sick men on board, but not more than 1100 of these came ashore in Belfast Lough, the rest having died at sea in coming round the coast of County Down. Such was the violence of the infection on board that several ships had all the men in them dead and nobody to look after them whilst they lay in the bay at Carrickfergus. An infective principle, once engendered in circumstancesof aggravation such as these, is not soon extinguished. Belfast was the winter quarters, and in the great hospital there from 1 November, 1689, to 1 May, 1690, there died 3762, “as appears by the tallies given in by the men that buried them.” These numbers together make fully six thousand deaths, which agrees with the general statement that Schomberg lost one half of the men whom he had embarked at Hoylake in August. The Irish Catholic army began to sicken in their camp in the hills above Dundalk Bay just before they broke up, and they are said to have lost heavily by sickness in their winter quarters.

The war ended with the Treaty of Limerick, in 1691. The Seven Ill Years followed,—ill years to Scotland, in a measure to England, and almost certainly to Ireland also; but it does not appear that the end of the 17th century was a time of special sickness and famine to the Irish, and it may be inferred from the fact of Scots migrating to Ireland during the ill years that the distress was not so sharp there. The epidemiology of Ireland is, indeed, a blank until we come to the writings of Dr Rogers, of Cork, in some respects the best epidemiologist of his time, which cover the period from 1708 to 1734. His account of the dysentery and typhus of the chief city of Munster in the beginning of the 18th century will show that the old dietetic errors of the Irish, noted in medieval times, had hardly changed in the course of centuries.

Rogers is clear that typhus fever was never extinct, while the three several times when it “made its appearance amongst us in a very signal manner,” are the same as its seasons in England, namely 1708-10, 1718-21 and 1728-30[428]. His experience relates only to the city of Cork, and, so far as his clinical histories go, only to the well-to-do classes therein; and although those seasons were years of scarcity and distress all over Ireland, yet Rogers does not seem to associate insufficient food with the fever, and never mentions scarcity. The fevers were in the winter, for the most part, and were usually accompanied by epidemic smallpox of a bad type, which in 1708 “swept away multitudes.” Nothing is said of dysentery for the earliest of thethree fever-periods; but for 1718 and following years we read that “dysentery of a very malignant sort, frequently producing mortification in the bowels,” prevailed during the same space; and that the winters of the third fever-period, namely, those of 1728, 1729 and 1730 were “infamous for bloody fluxes of the worst kind.” It is clear that the fever spread to the richer classes in Cork, for his five clinical histories are all from those classes. The following is his general account of the symptoms:

The patient is suddenly seized with slight horrors or rather chilliness, to which succeed a glowing warmth, a weight and fixed pain in the head, just over the eyebrows; soreness all over his flesh, as if bruised, the limbs heavy, the heart oppressed, the breathing laboured, the pulse not much altered, but in some slower; the urine mostly crude, pale and limpid, at first, or even throughout, the tongue moist and not very white at first, afterwards drier, but rarely black. An universal petechial effloresence not unlike the measles paints the whole surface of the body, limbs, and sometimes the very face; in some few appear interspersed eruptions exactly like thepustulae miliares, filled with a limpid serum. The earlier these petechiae appear, the fresher in colour, and the longer they continue out, the better (p. 5). The fixed pain in the head increasing, ends commonly in a coma or stupor, or in a delirium with some. Some few have had haemorrhage at the nose, a severe cough, and sore throat. In some he had observed a great tendency to sweats, even from the beginning: these are colliquative and symptomatic, not to be encouraged. In but few there have appeared purple and livid spots, as in haemorrhagic smallpox: some as large as a vetch, others not bigger than a middling pin’s head, thick set all over the breast, back and sometimes the limbs, the pulse in these cases being much below normal. The extremities cold from the 6th or 7th day, delirium constant, tongue dry and black, urine limpid and crude, oppression greater, and difficulty of breathing more. It is a slow nervous fever (p. 18).

Rogers believed that mere atmospheric changes could not be the cause of these epidemics: “they may favour, encourage and propagate such diseases when once begun; but for the productive cause of them we must have recourse to such morbid effluvia as above described [particles of all kinds detached from the animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms]; or resolve all into the θεῖον τί so often appealed to by Hippocrates[429].”

But, as regards Cork itself, special interest attaches to the following “four concurring causes:”

“1st, the great quantities of filth, ordure and animal offals that crowd our streets, and particularly the close confined alleys and lanes, at the very season that our endemial epidemics rage amongst us.2nd, the great number of slaughter-houses, both in the north and south suburbs, especially on the north ridge of hills, where are vast pits for containing the putrefying blood and ordure, which discharge by the declivities of those hills, upon great rains, their fetid contents into the river.3rd, the unwholesome, foul, I had almost said corrupted water that great numbers of the inhabitants are necessitated to use during the dry months of the summer.4th, the vast quantities of animal offals used by the meaner sort, during the slaughtering seasons: which occasion still more mischief by the quick and sudden transition from a diet of another kind.”

2nd, the great number of slaughter-houses, both in the north and south suburbs, especially on the north ridge of hills, where are vast pits for containing the putrefying blood and ordure, which discharge by the declivities of those hills, upon great rains, their fetid contents into the river.

3rd, the unwholesome, foul, I had almost said corrupted water that great numbers of the inhabitants are necessitated to use during the dry months of the summer.

4th, the vast quantities of animal offals used by the meaner sort, during the slaughtering seasons: which occasion still more mischief by the quick and sudden transition from a diet of another kind.”

In farther explanation of the fourth concurring cause, he says that in no part of the earth is a greater quantity of flesh meat consumed than in Cork by all sorts of people during the slaughtering season—one of the chief industries of the place being the export of barrelled beef for the navy and mercantile marine. The meat, he says, is plentiful and cheap, and tempts the poorer sort “to riot in this luxurious diet,” the sudden change from a meagre diet, with the want of bread and of fermented liquors, being injurious to them[430].

Thus far Rogers, for the city of Cork in the three epidemic periods, 1708-10, 1718-21, and 1728-30, two of which, if not all three, were periods of dysentery as well as of typhus. But it was usual in Ireland for the country districts and small towns to suffer equally with the cities. The circumstances of the Irish peasantry in the very severe winter of 1708-9 are not particularly known; if there was famine with famine-fever, it was not such as to have become historical. But for the next fever-period, 1718-20, we have some particulars. Bishop Nicholson, of Derry, writes: “Never did I behold even in Picardy, Westphalia or Scotland, such dismal marks of hunger and want as appearedhe countenances of most of the poor creatures I met with on the road.” One of the bishop’s carriage horses having been accidentally killed, it was at once surrounded by fifty or sixty famished cottagers struggling desperately to obtain a morsel of flesh for themselves and their children[431].

This was a time when the population was increasing, but agriculture, so far from increasing in proportion to the number of mouths to feed, was positively declining, unless it were the culture of the potato. In a pamphlet of about 1724, on promoting agriculture and employing the poor, the complaint is of beef and mutton everywhere, and an insufficiency of corn. “Such a want of policy,” says one, “is there, in Dublin especially, on the most important affair of bread, without a plenty of which the poor must starve.” Another, a Protestant, has the following threat for the clergymen of the Established Church: “I’ll immediately stock one part of my land with bullocks, and the other with potatoes—so farewell tithes[432]!” From this it is to be inferred that potatoes were not made tithable until a later period, pasture being exempted to the last. For whatever reason, grazing, and not corn-growing, was then more general in Ireland than in the generations immediately preceding, much land having gone out of tillage. The culture of the potato was driven out of the fertile lowlands to the hill-sides, so as to leave the ground clear for ranges of pasture. Rack-renting was the rule, doubtless owing to the same reason as afterwards, the competition for farms. While the Protestants emigrated in thousands, the Catholics multiplied at home in beggary. A pamphleteer of 1727 says: “Where the plough has no work, one family can do the business of fifty, and you may send away the other forty-nine.” Thus we find the pasturing of cattle preferred to agriculture long after the barbaric or uncivilized period had passed, preferred indeed by English landlords or farmers[433].

There were three bad harvests in succession, 1726, 1727 and 1728, culminating in a famine in the latter year. Boulter, archbishop of Armagh, who then ruled Ireland, was able to buy oats or oatmeal in the south and west so as to sell it belowthe market price to the starving Protestants of Ulster, an interference with the distribution of food which led to serious rioting in Cork, Limerick, Clonmel and Waterford in the first months of 1728[434]. No full accounts of the epidemic fever of that famine remain. Rutty, of Dublin, says it was “mild and deceitful in its first attack, attended with a depressed pulse, and frequently with petechiae[435];” while, according to Rogers and O’Connell[436], the epidemic fever of Munster was the same. Of the famine itself we have a glimpse or two. Primate Boulter writes to the Duke of Newcastle on 7 March, 1727:

“Last year the dearness of corn was such that thousands of families quitted their habitations to seek bread elsewhere, and many hundreds perished; this year the poor had consumed their potatoes, which is their winter subsistence, near two months sooner than ordinary, and are already, through the dearness of corn, in that want that in some places they begin already to quit their habitations[437].”

Quitting their habitations to beg was a regular thing at a later time of the year. It was in the course of these bad years, in 1729, that Swift wrote his ‘Modest Proposal for preventing the Children of Poor People in Ireland from being a Burden to their Parents or Country.’ The scheme to use the tender babes as delicate morsels of food for the rich, was a somewhat extreme flight of irony, not so finished as in Swift’s other satires, but the circumstances out of which the proposal grew were more real than usual.

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