PAUSODYNE.

Observer, Volume 5, Issue 120, 30 December 1882, Page 248

PAUSODYNE.

THE GKREAT CHEMICAL DISCOVERY.

The Stoby op a Man Who Lived 150 Yeaes

Walking along the Strand one evening last year towards Pall Mall I was accosted near Charing Cross Station by a strange-lookmg, middle-aged man in a poor suit of clothes, who surprised and startled me by asking if I could tell him from what inn the coach usually started for York. 'Dear me !' I said, a little puzzled. 'I didn't know there was a coach to York. Indeed, I'm almost certain there isn't one.' The man looked puzzled and surprised in turn. • No coach to York ?' he muttered to himself, half inarticulately. 'No coach to York ? How things have changed ! I wonder whether nobody ever goes to York nowadays !' ' Pardon me,' I said, anxious to discover what could be his meaning ; ' many people go to York every day, but of course they go by rail.' ' Ah, yes,' he answered softly, ' I see. Yes, of course, they go by rail. They go by rail, no doubt. How veiy stupid of me !' And he turned on his heel as if to get away from me as quickly as possible. I can't exactly say why, but I felt inotinctively ■ that this curious stranger was trying to conceal from me his ignorance of what a railway really ■was. I was quite certain from the way in which he spoke that he had not th& slighest conception what I meant, and that he was doing his best to ''. hide his confusion by pretending to understand me. Here was indeed a strange mystery. In the latter end of this nineteenth century, in the metropolis of industrial England, within a stones-throw of Charing Cross terminus, I had met an adult Englishman who apparently did not know of the existence of railways. My curiousity was too much piqued to let the matter rest there-. I must find out what he meant by it. I walked after him hastily, as he tried to disappear atnong the crowd, and laid my hand upon his " shoulder, to his evident chagrin. 'Excuse me,' I said, drawing him aside down the corner of Craven Street ; ' you did not understand what I meant when I said people went to York by rail?' J He looked in my face steadily, and then, instead of replying to my remark, he said alowly, ' Your name is Spottiswood, I believe ?' Again I gave a start of Surprise. *It is,* I answered j ' but I never remember to have seen you before.' ' No,' he replied dreamily ; ' no, we have never met till now, no doubt ; but I knew your father, I'm sure ; or perhaps it may have been your grandfather.' • Not my grandfather, certainly,' said I, ' for he was killed at Waterloo.' 'At Waterloo ! Indeed ! How long since, pray ?' i I could not refrain from laughing outright. , 'Why, of course,' I answered, 'in 1815. There has been nothing particular to kill off any large number of Englishmen at Waterloo since the ■ year of the battle, I suppose.' ! ' True,' he muttered, ' quite true ; so I should have fancied.' But I saw again from the cloud of doubt and bewilderment which came over his intelligent face that the name of Waterloo conveyed no idea whatsoever to his mind. Never in my life had I felt so utterly confused and astonished. In spite of his poor dress, I could easily see from the clear-cut face and the refined accent of my strange acquaintance that he was an educated gentleman — a man accustomed to mix in cultivated society. Yet he clearly knew nothing whatsoever about railways, and was ignorant of the most sahent facts in English history, Had I suddenly come across some Caspar Hauser, immured for years in a private prison, -and just let loose upon the world by his gaolers ? or was my mysterious stanger one of the Seven Sleepers or Ephesus, turned out unexpectedly in modern costume on the streets of London ? I don't suppose there exists on earth a man more utterly free than I am from any tinge of super- , station, any lingering touch of a love for the miraculous ; but I confess for a moment I felt half inclined to suppose that the man before me must have drunk the elixir of life, or must have dropped suddenly upon earth from some distant planet. The impulse to fathom this mystery was irresistible. I drew .my arm through his. 'If you knew my father,' I said, ' you will not object to come into my chambers and take a glass of wine with me.' ' Thank you,' he answered, half auspiciously ; ' thank you very much. I think you look like a man who can be trusted, and I will go with you.' We walked along the Embankment to Adelphi Terrace, where I took him up to my rooms, and seated him in my easy-chair near the . window. Here I tried to put him at his ease, and gradually drew him into? a conversation. To my astonishment he evinced the profoundest ignorance of modern institutions and inventions. He seemed to be a monomaniac upon chemical subjects, but used such terms and language as were quite obsolete, and' hardly intelligible to the present generation. He entered into a very lengthy and learned disquisition on the subject of fixed air, and then, noticing my puzzled look, asked me if I understood his meaning. ' Perfectly/ I answered with* a smile,' though your terminology is now a little out of date. Fixed air was, I believe, the old-fashioned name, for carbonic acid. gas.' > \. Ah,' he cried vehemently,' ' that accursed word again! Carbonic acid has undone me, clearly. Yes, if you will have it so, that seems to be what they call it in this extraordinary century ; but fixed air was the name we used to give it in our time, and fixed air is what I must call it, of course, in telling you my story. Well, I was deeply interested in this curious question, and also in some of the results which I obtained from , working with fixed - air in combination with a . substance I had produced from the essential oil ■ of a weed known to us u\ England as lady's mantle, but which the learned Mr Carl Linnaeus describes in his system as Alchemilla vulgaris. From that weed I obtained an oil which I com* bined with a certain decoction of jfixed air into a remarkable compound; and to this compound, from. : its singular properties, I proposed to give the name of f ausodyne. For some yearc I was

almost wholly engaged in investigating the conduct of this remarkable agent ; and lest I should weary you by entering into too much detail, I may as Veil say at once that it possessed the singular power of entirely suspending animation in men or animals for several hours together. It is a highly volatile oil, like ammonia in smell, but much thicker in gravity : and when held to the nose of an animal, it causes immediate ■ stoppage of the heart's action, making the body seem quite dead for long periods at a time. But the moment a mixture of the pausodyne with oil of vitriol -and gum resin is presented to the nostrils, the animal instantaneously revives exactly as before, showing no evil effects whatsoever from its temporary simulation of death. To the reviving mixture I have given the appropriate name of Anegeiric. ' Of course you will instantly see the valuable medical" applications which may be made of such an agent. I used it at first for experimenting upon the amputation of limbs and other surgical operations. It succeeded admirably. I found that a dog under the influence of pausodyne suffered his leg, which had been broken in a street accident, to be set and spliced without the slightest symptom of feeling or discomfort. A cat, shot with, a pistol by a cruel boy, had the bullet extracted without moving a muscle. My assistant, having allowed his little finger to mortify from neglect of a burn, permitted me to try the effect of my discovery upon himself; and I removed the injured joints while he remained in a state of complete insensibility, so that he could hardly believe afterwards in the actual truth of their removal, I felt certain that I had invented a medical process of the very highest and greatest utility. . ' All this took place an or before the year 1781. How long ago that may be accorded to your modern reckoning I cannot say ; but to me it seems hardly more than a few months since. Perhaps you would not mind telling me the date of the current year. I have never been able to ascertain it.' ' This is 1881,' I said, growing every moment more interested in his tale. ' Thank you. I gathered that we must now be somewhere near the close of the nineteenth century, though I could not learn the exact date with certainty. Well, I should tell you, my dear sir, that I had contracted an engagement about the year 1779 with a young lady of most remarkable beauty and attractive mental gifts, a Miss Amelia Spragg, daughter of the well-known General Sir Thomas Spragg, with whose achievements you are doubtless familiar. Pardon me, my friend of another age, pardon me, I beg of you, if I cannot allude to this Bubject without emotion after a lapse of time which to you doubtless seems liko a century, but is to me a , matter of some few months only at the utmost. 1 1 feel towards her as towards one whom I have but recently lost, though I now find that she has been dead for more than eighty years.' As he spoke, the tears came into his eyes profusely ; and I could see that under the external calmness and quaintness of his eighteenth century language and demeanour his whole nature was profoundly stirred at the thought of his lost love. * Look here,' he continued, taking from his breast a large old-fashioned gold locket containing a minature ; ' that is her portrait, by Mr Walker, and a very truthful likeness indeed. They left me that when they took away my clothes at the Asylum, for I would not consent to part with it, and the physician in attendance observed that to deprive me of it might only increase the frequency and violence of my paroxysms. For I will not conceal from you the fact that I have just escaped from a pauper lunatic establishment/

I took the miniature which he handed me, and looked at it closely. It was the picture of a young and beaujaful g|rl, with the features and costume of a Sir Troshua. I recognised the face at once as that of a lady whose portrait by Q-ains-borough hangs on the walls of my uncle's diningroom at Whittingham Abbey. It was strange indeed to hear a living man speak of himself as the former lover of this, to me, historic personage. ' Sir Thomas, however,' he went on, ' was mucli opposed to our union, on the ground of some real or fancied social disparity in our positions ; but I at last obtained his conditional consent, if only I could succeed in obtaining the Fellowship of the Royal Society, which might, he thought, be accepted as a passport into that fashionable circle of which he was a member. Spurred on by this ambition, and by the encouragement of my Ajnelia, I worked day and night at the perfectioning of my great discovery, which I was assured would bring not only honour and dignity to myself, but also the alleviation and assuagement of pain to countless thousands of my fellowcreatures. I concealed the nature of my '.experiments, however, lest any rival investigator should enter the field prematurely, and share the credit to which I alone was really entitled. For some months I was successful in my efforts st concealment; but in March of this year — I mistake ; of the year 1781, I should say — an unfortunate circumstance caused me to take special and exceptional precaution against intrusion. 'I was then conducting my experiments on living animals, and especially upon the extirpation of certain painful internal diseases to which they are subject. I had a number of suffering cats in my laboratory, which I had treated with pausodyne, and stretched out on boardt, for the purpose of removing the tumours with which they were afflicted. I had no doubt that in this manner, while directly benefiting the animal creation, I should indirectly obtain the necessary skill to operate successfully upon human beings in similar circumstances. Already I had completely cured several cats without any pain whatsoever, and I was anxious to proceed to the human subject. Walking one morning iv. the Strand, I found a beggar woman outside a gin-shop, quite drunk, with a small ill-clad child by her side, Buffering the most excruciating torments from a perfectly remediable cause. I induced the mother to accompany me to my laboratory, and there I treated the poor little creature with pausodyne, and began to operate upon her with perfect confidence of success.

'Unhappily, my laboratory had excited the suspicion of many ill-disposed persons among the low mob of the neighbourhood. It was whispered abroad that I was what they called a vmsectionist ;

and theße people, who would willingly have attended a bull- baiting or a prize fight, found themselves of a sudden wonderous humane when scientific procedure was under consideration. Besides, I had made myself unpopular by receiving visits from my friend Dr Priestley, whose, religious opinions were not 'satisfactory to the orthodoxy of St GKle's. I was rumoured to be a philosopher, a torturer of live animals, and an atheist. Whether the former accusation was true or not, let others dedide ; the two latter, heavert be my witness, were wholly unfounded. However, when the neighbouring rabble saw a drunken woman with a little girl entering my I door, a report got abroad at once that I. was going to vivisect a Christian child. The mob soon collected in force, and broke into the laboratory. At that moment I was engaged, with my assistant, in operating upon the girl, while several cats, all completely ansestheticised, were bound down on boards around, awaiting the healing of their wounds after the removal of tumours. At the sight of such apparent tortures the people grew wild with rage, and happening in their transports to fling down a large bottle of the anergeric, or reviving mixture, the child and the animals all at once recovered consciousness and began of course to writhe and scream with acute pain. I need not describe to you the scene that ensued. My laboratory was wrecked, my assistant severely injured, and I myself barely escaped with my life. . ' After this contretemps I determined to be more cautious. 1 took the lease of a new house ' kt Hampstead; and in the garden I determined to build myself a subterranean laboratory where I might be absolutely free from intrusion. I hired some labourers from Bath for this purpose, and 1 explained to them the nature of my wishes, and the absolute necessity of secrecy. A high wall surrounded the garden, and here the workman worked securely and unseen. I concealed my design even from my dear brother — whose grandson or great-grandson I suppose you must be — and when the building was finished, I sent my men back to Bath, with strict injunctions never to mention the matter to anyone. A trap-door in the cellar, artfully concealed, gave access to the passage; a large oak portal, bound with iron, shut me securely in ; and my air supply was obtained by pipes communicating through blank spaces in the brick wall of the gr rden with the outer atmosphere. Every arrangement for concealment was perfect ; and I resolved in future, till my results were perfectly established, that I would dispense with the aid of an assistant.

' I was in high spirits when I went to visit my Amelia that: evening, and I told, her confidently that before the end of the year I expected to gain the gold medal of the Eoyal Society. The dear girl was pleased at my glowing prospects, and gave me every assurance of the delight with which she hailed the probability of our approaching union. ' Next day I began my experiments afresh in my new quarters. I bolted myself into the laboratory, and set to work with renewed vigour. I was experimenting upon an injured dog, and I placed a large bottle of pausodyne beside me as I administered the drug to his nostrels. The rising fumes seemed to affect my head more than usual in that confined space, and I tottered a little as I woi'ked. My arm grew weaker, and at last fell powerless to my side. As it fell it knocked down the large bottle of pausodyne, and I saw the liquid spread over the floor. That was almost the last thing that I knew. I staggered towards the door, but did not reach it ; and then I remember nothing more for a considerable period.' He wiped his forehead with his sleeve — he had no handkerchief — and then proceeded.

' When I woke up again the effects of the pausodjne had worn themselves out, and I felt that I must have remained unconscious for at least a week or a fortnight. My candle had gone out, and I could not find my tinder-box. I rose slowly, and with difficulty, for the air of the room was close and filled with fumes, and made my way in the dark towards the door. To my surprise, the bolt was so stiff with rust that it would hardly move. I opened it after # struggle, and found myself in the passage. G-roping my way towards the trap-door of the cellar, I felt it was obstructed by some heavy body. With an immense effort, for my strength seemed but feeble, I pushed it up, and discovered that a heap of sea coals lay on top of it. I extricated myself into the cellar, and there a fresh surprise awaited me. A new entrance had been made into the front, 60 that I walked out at once upon the open road, instead of up the stairs into the kitchen. Looking up at the exterior of my house, my brain reeled with bewilderment when I saw that it had dissappeared almost entirely, and that a different porch and wholly unfamiliar windows occupied its facade. I must have slept far longer than I at first imagined — perhaps a whole year or more. A vague terror prevented me from walking up the steps of my own home. Possibly my brother, thinking me dead, might have sold the lease ; possibly some stranger might resent my intrusion into the house that was now his own. At any rate, I thought it safer to walk into the road. I would go towards London, to my brother's house in St. Mary le Bone. I turned into the ffampstead Koad, and directed my steps thitherward. 'Again another surprise began to affect me with a horrible and ill-defined sense of awe. "Not a single object that I saw was really familiar to me. I recognised that I was in Hampstead Eoad, but it was not the Hampstead Eoad which I used to know before my fatal experiments. The houses were far more numerous, the trees were bigger and older. A year, nay, even a few years would not have sufficed for such a change. I began to fear that I had slept away a whole decade. 'It was early morning, and few people were yet abroad. But the costume of those whom I met seemed strange and fantastic to me. Moreover, I noticed that they, .all turned and looked after me with evident surprise, as thongh my dress caused them quite as much astonishment as theirs caused me, I was quietly attired in my snuff-coloured suit of small-clothes, with silk . stockings and simple buckle shoes, and I had of ' course no hat ; but I gathered that my -appearance caused universal amazement and concern, far more than could be justified by fche mere ; accidental absence of head-gear. A dread began to oppress me that I might actually have slept out my whole age and generation. Was my

Amelia alive ? and, if so, would she be still tie same Amelia I had known a week or two before ? Should I find her an aged woman, still cherishing a reminiscence of her former love ; or might she herself perhaps be dead and forgotten, while I remained, alone and solitary, in a world which knew me not ? 'I walked along unmolested, but with a reeling brain, through streets more and more unfamiliar till I came near St. Marj le Bone Eoad. There' as I hesitated a little, and staggered at the cross' ing, a man in a curious suit of dark-blue clothes with a grotesque felt helmet on his head, whom! afterwards found to be. a constable, came up and / i touched me on the shoulder. " I 1 " Look here," he said to me in a rough voice, ( ',' what are you a-doin' in this 'ere fancy-dress at " this hour in the mornin' ? You've lost your way home, I take it.'" ' ... ' " I was going," I answered, "to the St. Mary le Bone Eoad." ~ J '"Why, you image," says he rudely, "if you mean Marribon, why don't you say Marribon? What house are you a-lookin' for, eh ?" ' " My brother lives," I replied, "at the ' Lamb,' near St. Mary's Church, and I was going to his residence." ' " The ' Lamb !' " says he, with a rude laugh ;. " there ain't no public of the name in the road. Id's my belief ," he goes on after a moment, "that yotfre drunk, or mad, or- else you've stolen them clothes. Any way, you've got to go along with ■ me to the station, so walk it, will you." ' Pardon me,' I said, ' I suppose you are an Officer of the law, and I would not attemp to resist your authority ' — ' You'd better not,' says he, half to himself — ' but I should like to go to my brother's house, where I could show you that I am a respetable person.' : 'Well,' says my fellow, insolently, Til go along with you if you lice, and if it's all right, I suppose you won't mind standing a bob.' ' ' A what ?' said I. ' A bob,' says he, laughin ; ' a shillin', you know.' ' To get rid of his insolence for a while, I pulled out my purse and handed him a shilling. It wag a Q-eorge 11. with milled edges, not like the things I see you use now. He held it up and looked at it, and then he said again, ' Look here, you know, this isn't good. You'd better come along with me straight to the station, and not make a fusa about it. There's three charges against'you, that's all. One is, that you're drunk. The second is, that you're mad. And the third is, that you've been trying to utter false coin. Any one. of 'em's quite enough to justify me in takin' you into custody.' I 'I saw it was no use to resist, and I went along with him. ' ' I won't trouble you with the whole of the details, but the upshot of it all was, they took me before a magistrate. By this time I had begun to realise the full terror of the situation, and I saw clearly that the real danger lay in the inevitable suspicion of madness under which I must labour. When I got into the court I told the magistrate my story very shortly and simply, as I have told it to you now- He listened to me , without a word, and at the end he turned round to his clerk and said, ' This is clearly a case for Dr Pitz-Jenkins, I think." ' Sir,' I said, ' before you send me to a madhouse, which I suppose is what you mean by ' these words, I trust you will at least examine the evidences of my story. Look at my clothing, look at these coins, look at everything about me.' And I handed him my purse to see for himself. (To he concluded/ in our next.)