Thoreau at Devil's Perch (7 page)

Monday evening, August 10th

 

C
ompleted my afternoon patient calls and drove out to Capt. Peck's. Noticed right off that he has spoilt a perfectly fine old farmhouse, the inheritance of which brought him to Plumford in the first place, by embellishing it as tastelessly as some women ornament their bonnets. The old chestnut siding has been ripped off and replaced with board-and-batten strips, and the simple squares of clear glass in the windows are now diamond-shaped and many-hued. The hipped roof has been dressed up with superfluous gables, and there is enough Gothic fretwork all around to make your head spin. White pilasters run up the two stories of the front, and the rest is painted a yellow bright as dandelion blossoms. All this needless renovation must be very costly, but I am told that spending money is one of the captain's favorite pastimes, along with gambling at the tavern and making himself agreeable to the ladies.

Prepared myself for another encounter with Rufus Badger as I rapped the polished knocker composed of enough brass to forge a small cannon. It rather reminded me of Badger's hard head. But it was not Peck's brutish minion who answered the door. Instead it was the captain himself, his smooth face wreathed in a welcoming smile.

“Why, it is Dr. Walker come to call,” said he, sounding as if there could be nothing more delightful than my unexpected presence at his doorstep. “Do come in, sir! No, better yet, let us walk out to the belvedere that I have had built across the field yonder. It commands a fine view of the river, and we can converse in privacy. My housekeeper is a quite a busybody. Come.”

As he spoke I observed how pale his complexion was in contrast to his thick black hair. Usually his hair was meticulously brushed and pomaded, with its dashing streak of white artfully arranged along his brow, but today it was dull and disheveled. I noted a small bare patch at the back of the crown, the appearance of which must have brought this vain man some distress. As we began walking through the meadow I became aware that he was having trouble keeping up and slowed to a snail's pace to accommodate him.

“I heard you stopped up a hole the size of a Spanish gold piece in the head of a heathen the other day, Doctor,” he said.

“Why do you assume he is a heathen, Captain?”

“Because your hired girl told me he's an Indian.”

“You know Molly Munger?”

“Slightly,” Peck said. “My housekeeper had the girl here to help with the spring cleaning. Come to think of it, I am not even sure she was the one who told me. There is much talk everywhere in town about him. People are always so curious about Indians, are they not? They are of little interest to me, however. I had my fill of them eight years ago when I took part in the Cherokee removal.”

“Down in Georgia?” I said.

“That's right.” Peck gave me a sidelong look. “Some think relocating them was unjust.”

“And I am one of them,” I said. “But I have not come to discuss the illegality of the U.S. Army's removal of peaceful Indian tribes from their southern homelands.”

“Good, for such discussions with Northerners weary me mightily, doctor. So why have you come?”

“I wish to make a most serious complaint against Rufus Badger.”

“What has that devil been up to now?” Posing the question, Peck seemed ready to be amused.

“He has terrified the young ward of my grandmother with violent and unwanted attention earlier today. I shall have him arrested and charged with assault should he ever come near her again.”

“Now doctor, calm yourself. Did Rufus do her harm?”

“Mental harm most certainly. He near frightened the life out of her. And if I had not arrived in time to put a stop to it, he would have harmed her physically too.”

“Are you sure of it? Rufus may be a bit rough in his courting ways, but many a female prefers that.” He winked. “We all know how a girl will act up a bit if she wants to heighten our ardor to a fever pitch.”

Barely containing an impulse to strike him, I stared at the man, thinking him mad or perverted to the core. “This girl is innocent and not yet fifteen, Captain. She was clearly terrified and just as clearly found Badger's attentions repugnant.”

“And you say you put a stop to his amorous pursuit?”

I described how Badger came at me and how I had to bring a piece of cordwood down on his head to cool him off.

Peck looked me up and down. “So you got the better of him, did you? Well, I can only say congratulations, for not many men can make such a boast in regard to Sergeant Badger. He went out on a weekend blow, and I wager he was still drunk as a skunk this morning.”

“That does not excuse his behavior.”

“No, but it gives reason for his being humbled at your hands.”

He seemed to utterly fail to grasp the gravity of the situation. I told him he was missing the point. Badger had been caught in the midst of attacking the girl with the intention of brutally raping her.

“Well, the last part is pure conjecture on your behalf,” he said, “since you stopped him well short of that.You know, we go way back, Sergeant Badger and I. He served most loyally and ably under me in the Army, and he serves me most loyally still. I allow he is not entirely trustworthy when he has been drinking. Why, just last week he let me down considerably because of this weakness. It was a far more serious matter than his recent tomfoolery, I assure you. But I forgave him for it.” He smiled. “Let bygones be bygones, right, Doctor?”

“Try to hear me, Captain Peck,” I said. “I consider what Badger did a most grave offence. And if that brute does not steer clear of Tuttle Farm and my grandmother's ward, I will see to it he ends up in prison. In addition, I take your questioning of the girl's virtue as an insult to her and to me.”

Peck stopped in his tracks and gave me a wary look, his smarmy smirk fading away. “Yes, yes, now I understand. You have persuaded me that Sergeant Badger behaved abominably, Doctor. I apologize for his actions and will speak to him directly, although I doubt he will even remember the incident if he was drunk. Even so, you may assure the girl of her future safety from his attention.”

This was as good as I could expect from him, and when he offered his hand to seal his promise, I shook it and bade him Good Day.

“Please don't go yet,” he said. “There is another matter I would like to discuss with you of a medical nature. Let us continue to the belvedere.”

I agreed, and we did not converse again until we reached the octagonal, open-sided wooden structure he referred to as a belvedere. It was located in a secluded spot well hidden from the house by trees, but he still looked about him before speaking. He kept his voice low.

“Your visit today was providential, Doctor Walker. It made me realize that the time has come for me to seek help concerning a growing infirmity. If you can cure me, I will pay any price you ask and follow any treatment you suggest.”

I told him to relate his symptoms and that we would proceed from there. I have observed that expressing a long-held fear brings great relief to a person suspecting some dread illness in himself. Often as not, the fear is groundless, and the patient is as pleased with you as though you had just snatched him from the very jaws of death.

“Doctor,” he began, “my bones ache, and every night I am awakened by shooting pains in my limbs, like someone is stabbing needles into me. I moan out loud in pain.”

I told him I had noticed his limp at the ball game.

“It has gotten worse since, and I fear I am losing control over my legs.” He pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “And another thing. I see double sometimes.”

I inquired after his digestion and eating habits.

“I eat the same as always, after which I vomit up the most awful bile. I have become disgusting to myself.”

I sat him down beside me on a bench inside the belvedere and observed that the pupils of his eyes were small and fixed. I used my knuckles to sharply tap below his kneecap. No reaction. That his reflex system was not normal did not surprise me, for by this time I had surmised what was wrong.

“Do you have difficulty passing water?” I asked him.

His face contorted as though he was about to sob, but he controlled himself. “These last few nights, when I arise to piss, I can barely stay upright. When I finally manage to arrange myself before my chamber pot, I have to wait and wait, and when at last I do piss, there is such pain I cry out. I tell you, my life is a horror. What is happening to me?”

I stood up and motioned for him to rise. “Let me examine your body.”

He complied at the cost of some effort in removing his clothes. As I expected, there were telltale lesions clustered on the backs of his legs, along with an ulcer on his left arm.

“When did these lesions appear?” I said.

“Some time ago. But I paid them no mind for they were not like those I had before.”

“Describe to me what you had before.”

“Well, I had the pox once—a round sore on my manhood and some time later a rash on the bottom of my feet. All went away.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Ten years, at least. I underwent the mercury cure. I was out in the field on patrol, hence the treatment was erratic, but the rash and sore went away anyway. So I was healed, was I not?” He looked at me with a pleading expression.

“Mercury is an uncertain treatment for syphilis,” I said. “And it is generally agreed that for it to be most effective it must be continued for life.”

He groaned. “It was vile to swallow down for even a short time. I sweated profusely, my heart raced, and I could not sleep a wink. My tongue swelled, my saliva was thick and stringy, and my breath stank. I knew a man who lost all his teeth after being treated with mercury, yet if that is the only way for me to be cured, I will faithfully undergo this harsh treatment for the rest of my days. By Beelzebub, I swear I will!” For a moment the fear in his eyes receded and was replaced by hope.

I was obligated to dash that hope with the truth. “There are three stages to this disease, Captain, and you are in the last one. The second stage was quiescence, when your symptoms went away. Some never experience symptoms again, and others, like you, have them reappear years later.”

“Will they not just disappear again?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“No. The disease has returned in strength and is destroying your nervous system and organs with apparent speed. That is why your motor skills are deteriorating and every body function is deleteriously affected. You are far beyond the help of mercury now.”

Peck sat down in a slump, naked as God made him, and stared dully ahead. “What will happen next? Do not spare me, Doctor.”

I told him there would be a continued deterioration until he was completely incapacitated, without control of any body function, and blindness, total paralysis, and insanity might occur.

“How long will this torture go on?”

“That cannot be predicted with any accuracy.”

“Come, Doctor. Tell me your prognosis. How long before I die?”

He had a right to know the worst and seemed man enough to hear it. “Six or eight weeks, perhaps less. The symptoms could temporarily fade and give you some days of normal existence, but the disease will return with greater strength after each respite. I would venture you have but a good month before you are incapacitated. After that you will require complete and constant care until death.”

“Let death come quickly if I am to be bereft of all dignity and peace of mind.”

“If you desire peace of mind,” I told him, “you should inform every person you have had sexual congress with since your symptoms returned.”

Peck shook his head. “If the women I have lain with have caught the pox from me, what good would it do to torment them now? They are as doomed as I am.”

“They are not doomed if they receive treatment early enough. They must be alerted, Captain, so they can be more attentive to symptoms that may appear and avoid infecting others. Knowing you have done the right thing will surely make the remainder of your life more peaceful.”

“But the remainder of my life is so short. And hell is everlasting ! God will surely send me there for all my sins.” He burst into tears. After a moment, he swiped his hand across his face and regained a modicum of composure. “I was raised to fear eternal damnation, Doctor. But I was also taught that God forgives those who are repentant of their sins. How can I show God that I am repentant?” He looked at me as if I would know the answer to that.

And I believe I did. “Confess to those women you might have infected.”

“Will that save me from burning in hell?”

“It very well might,” I replied without a qualm. Be there a hell or not, I know for sure it is the only right thing for him to do.

He began to shiver. I helped him dress and walked him back to his house. Before taking my leave I urged him once again to inform his past lovers. He assured me he would do so forthwith.

 

T
his forenoon the Indian's eyes suddenly opened. His dark irises appeared to be flecked with fire as he gazed at me most fiercely. Although I had been waiting for this moment for three days, I could only stare back at him, dumbfounded. I am grateful Henry Thoreau was present.

“You are among friends,” he told the Indian in a soothing voice. “You have been injured. Take care not to move too quickly.”

If the Indian understood English, he gave no sign of it. His black eyes darted about the room like frantic flies looking for escape. He attempted to lift his bandaged head from the pillow but groaned from the effort and lay back again. He closed his eyes, and I confess I felt relieved that the wildness I had seen in them was once again shielded from view.

Leaving Henry to deal with our Lazarus, I ran off to fetch Adam at the schoolhouse. There are signs of an epidemic commencing in Massachusetts, and he had gone there to inoculate the children against small pox. That duty done, he was thrumming his guitar for the youngsters as a reward for enduring the needle pricks. Everyone was singing “Turkey in the Straw
.”
I alerted Adam that his patient had awakened, and he immediately took his leave. The students looked most disappointed (as did the young schoolmistress).

When we returned to the office, I was astonished to see our patient propped up with pillows and conversing with Henry. His revival, of course, delighted Adam, who hurried to the bedside to take his pulse. The Indian yanked back his hand.

“This is Dr. Walker,” Henry told him. “The very man I was just telling you about. The one who saved your life after the bull gored you.”

“I thank you,” the Indian told Adam and allowed him to take hold of his wrist again.

“And this young lady is my cousin Julia,” Adam said. “She assisted me during your operation.”

“Then I thank you too, miss,” he said but would not look at me directly.

“What is your name, pray?” I asked him.

“I am called Trump.”

“Surely you were not always called Trump,” Henry said.

“No, a riverboat gambler gave me the name after fishing me out of the Big Muddy when I was a boy.”

“What was your name before that?” Henry said.

“No matter. Trump suits me just fine.”

“But you are an Indian, are you not?” Henry persisted.

“I was born a Cherokee.” His voice was flat, his countenance devoid of expression. “But that was far away from here a long, long time ago.”

“It could not have been that long ago,” Adam said. “You look to be no more than twenty.”

“Thereabouts, I reckon. How long I been here anyway?”

“Three days,” Adam said. “You were brought here in an unconscious state Saturday last. Today is Tuesday.”

“I sure didn't plan on such a lengthy stay as that.”

“What brought you to Plumford?” Henry said.

“I come lookin' for a fellow name of Caleb. He is near as tall as I am and black as the ace of spades. Sports fine shiny boots and checkered breeches. Have you seen the likes of him hereabouts?”

We were all too stunned to say anything until Henry asked Trump a question in return. “What reason would Caleb have to come here?”

“To do Effie's bidding,” Trump said. “That's all he would tell me afore he set off. I would have made Effie tell me more afore I left Boston, but she has gone missin' too.”

“Who is Effie?” Adam said.

“A comely mulatto Caleb professes to love even though she works for Mrs. Scudder.”

“And who is Mrs. Scudder?” said I.

“I reckon she is someone you will never have occasion to meet, miss. She runs a bawdy house.”

“A boarding house?”

“No, miss. A
bawdy
house. Where whores ply their trade,” he explained to me most patiently.

“Perhaps you should step out of the room, Julia,” Adam said.

I ignored his suggestion and held my ground. But I desisted from asking Trump further questions, for in truth I was out of my element.

Henry took up the inquiry. “When was the last time you saw Caleb, Trump?”

“Over a week ago. That's why I come looking for him.” Trump regarded him with narrowed eyes. “When was the last time
you
seen him mister? You must have else you would not be vexing me with questions concerning him.”

“I am very sorry to tell you this, Trump,” Henry said, “but eight days ago I came upon the dead body of a young Negro meeting Caleb's description. He was lying on the rocks beneath a cliff.”

“Caleb got hisself kilt falling off a cliff?”

“That was the verdict of the Coroner's Jury, but Dr. Walker and I believe he was murdered. Was he a close friend of yours?”

“The only one I got. We stowed away on a boat sailing from New Orleans to Boston last winter and have stuck it out through thick and thin ever since. Who would want to murder such a fine fellow as Caleb? Are you sure it was him?”

“The dead Negro was wearing clothes such as you described, but he had no identification upon his person.”

“I better take a look at him then.”

“He has been buried for over a week now, Trump.”

“Then dig him up. That is the only way to be sure it is Caleb.”

“You are right,” Adam said. “We will exhume the body when you are up to viewing it, Trump.”

“I am up to it now.”

Adam studied his patient for a moment. “We will go to the burial ground tomorrow,” he said.

“We” did not include
me
of course. Adam declared my female sensibilities too delicate to view a corpse. I cannot believe he still thinks me some fragile nincompoop after the staunch way I comported myself during Trump's operation. But in truth I have no desire to see the dead body of that poor young man and did not insist on accompanying them.