Chapter II

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.” 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 they became, 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,” 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. 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). 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 the acute, and that seldom”—the word acuta being the original of “the ague,” or, as in another translation of the passage, “the sharp axes.” 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.

About a generation after we come to the earliest medical account of the sicknesses of Ireland, by Gerard Boate, compiled during the Cromwellian occupation. 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 Ireland endemii 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.

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.”

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.”

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. 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.