THE ELDER’S CURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3774, 13 July 1926, Page 81

THE ELDER’S CURE.

By Tom Ross.

“ Take the elder’s cure! ” That was a household word for many years, and is still frequently referred to throughout a wide district in the Highlands. More than 70 years have gone since the smallpox epidemic rased from coast to coast. In rural Scotland, especially in the northern counties, we know that the inhabitants had to contend with stalking starvation, as well as to combat prim death. The few who escaped the disease went from house to house rendering voluntary aid. The women folk tended the sick, and too often the men were to be seen carrying away the dead. Every day—at some time or other—a little group of black-coated men could be seen carrying a black coffin shoulder-high down the winding road that led to the churchyard near the river. Although the harvest season was far on crops lay ungathered in the fields. Unattended

cattle roamed whither they willed, damaging more than they ate; like looters they were, when law vanishes from a doomed city. The elder was a familiar figure at interments. He supervised like an undertaker; kept check for friends who could not pay funeral expenses at the time. The joiner, who made crude though serviceable coffins, could not spare time to attend personally. He worked most of the night as well as all the long day. But one morning came when the elder failed to turn up for his usual round of voluntary work. Misgivings were whispered among the men who were associated with him for so many weeks. “ We’ll have to call,” said one, “on our way home from the burying ground.” They arrived at the elder’s near evendown. All was quiet; no sign of living people about, but the door was wide open. The leading man knocked several times with his stick, and asked, “ Are you there ? ” without getting an answer. Then he looked, with grave features, towards the four men standing behind. “ Better look in, Jimmy,” said one, while the others showed their approval by nodding their heads. “Aye, I’ll go in,” said Jimmy, “but come you in too; there’s no saying but it’s a corpse we’ll find here.” The • house was the usual crofter’s dwelling, which can be seen in the Highlands to-day. The doorway is in the centre of the building, and on either side a small window is placed. When you enter a partition is directly in front, and a door at each end of the passage; the one on your right generally leads to the kitchen (east), the west end being the “ room ” or parlour. What we term the room is only used for smart occasions, such as New Year’s celebrations, weddings, and, of course, funerals. Everything is on an elaborate scale; the rafters are hidden by pink coloured paper; and there is a wooden floor. East, in the kitchen, the black rafters can be seen, and the clay floor is uneven. The white-wash brush only touches the height of the shelves. The fireplace is on the floor in the kitchen; the chimney is wide enough for a big man to creep througfi. A big chain hung from the chimney; it had several hooks attached, a kettle was swinging from one; the fire had not yet died out. The men all looked at the closet door, which w r as shut. That is the third room, a little bedroom leading from the kitchen, and snugly sandwiched between the two, and behind the partition, with a small window to the back of the house. The man named Jimmy went over to the closet door, and after giving it a rattle, said, “ Are you in ? ” A groan sounded from the elder; they knew he was lying in bed, so tv 7 o went in, and the others stood near the door. At the first glance they knew the elder was seriously ill with smallpox. He scarcely looked to see who w r ere his questioners. “Where is Maggie?” they asked. It was the name of his sister who kept house for him. “ How do I know where she is; and what do I care,” said the elder turning his back to them, so that he faced the wall. “ He’s bad! ” they said. “ Ay, he’s bad, bad! We may be next. Any one o’ us’ll maybe next; and where will we find folk to carry us?” Conversing in this fashion, they left the house, going down the cart-track, between the whin bushes, till they reached the main road. A little beyond the gravel hole they met the elder’s sister. “We were up,” they said. “He’s awful bad!” “Oh, he is bad; he is past being bad!” said the sister. “And what’s more,” she added, shaking her head, “the doctor can’t come to-night,' and maybe not to-morrow. His horse fell dead yesterday. That’s the third horse he lost since the smallpox broke out. No wonder; he’s never off the road! His wife was saying ‘the doctor was nearly done, and will follow the fate of the horses, unless help can be found soon.’ “Ach, acli!” said Jimmy. “It’s a bad business, and all the crops oot too.” Word went round that evening, telling about the elder’s change for the worse. “He was in great danger,” Jimmy told everybody. "He took a change for the worse.” People were not afraid when help wa's asked for in those far-off days; so Smuggling Dan’s wife came to watch over the elder during the night. In the morning she left the sick man, to all appearances, unconscious. On reaching her home she told her husband that the elder would probably be dead by dinner time, adding, “If you’re going to give ‘a drop of stuff’ for the funeral, you'd better go along wi’ it now.” Smuggling Dan was distiller to all the parish folk. He supplied whisky for their funerals as readily as for their weddings. Most people paid him willingly; but many gallons are still unpaid. Grumbling to his wife about the scarcity of barley, owing to his lost crops, he went west into the birchwood behind his croft, soon to emerge, carrying a twogallon jar, full of whisky, on his back. “Keep a hod o* the filler here!!” he commanded the wife. She held the filler in the mouth of a half-gallon measure, into which the husband poured the colourless spirit. “Put that in a wee jar, if you beve one. If not, put it in bottles.” “I heve a wee jar!” she answered.

“Take it to them yourself, then,” he said. “I’ll go to the wake at night instead. So Dan’s wife hurried to the elder’s house with the little jar of whisky. The sister was sitting in the closet watching her brother; so Dan’s wife carried the spirits thither, and set it down on a trunk near the foot of the bed. For some time the women sat, only exchanging glances and shaking their heads, as the sick man gave a groan or a sigh. Then the smuggler’s wife rose to come away; and, as is usual, the other woman went, as companion, a short distance. Meantime, the elder woke up. He cried on his sister to bring a drink; but as no answer was forthcoming, he began to look around to see if anything was within reach. He beheld nothing on the chair besides the head of the bed; but he stared for some time at the jar standing on the trunk. He did not know it was whisky for his funeral. The thirst was nearly choking him, and this jar looked promising, so he scrambled out of bed, and by going on his knees, was able to clasp it between his hands. As lie knelt beside the trunk he withdrew the cork with his teeth, and there being no glass about, he drank direct from the jar. The great thirst which was cracking the elder’s being, made all sense of taste vanish. He was oblivious to what he drank. It might have been beer, or water, until after the third big helping he felt a whirl in the head. Putting the cork in its place somehow, he contrived successfully to put the jar where it was set by Dan’s wife. The bed seemed to be making rings round him, but despite that he managed to crawl into the place he came out of, and to pull the blankets over his body. For 24 hours everything was a complete blank to the elder. In due course the sister returned, and, to all appearances she found everything as she had left it. Presently loud snoring issued from the bed-closet. Louder and louder snored the elder. The alarmed sister peeped at him from the doorway, observing, with apprehension, that the vigorous snoring made the bed shake. She’d seen people die in a like fashion; at least she anticipated death in this case so much that it appeared the same. Running with all speed to the nearest house she put her head inside the doorway, shouting with suppressed emotion: “The breath is going out o* my brother! Tell them that can come! ” That was all she said, and then she hurried home. The elder was taking in a 8 much breath as he put out, and continued to snore. People began to drop in now 7 ; at first it was only women, but the men folk came when darkness lowered. The busy joiner arrived; he had his rule to measure the body. Smuggling Dan came in; he was a tall thin man; he did not let his whiskers grow, neither did he shave. He trimmed his features with a stubble all round; and the hair was thick and strong like a well-trimmed hedge. “ He’s no’ a dying man what snores like that! It’s no’ a death rattle the elder heve, but a werry live one. Did any of you bright ones feel his feet?” That was the way Dan greeted them in the kitchen. He soon brushed them aside, and entered the closet to examine the sick man. “ Don’t be so callous, Dan! There’s little use feeling his feet when he hasn’t opened an eye since yesterday evening,” interjected Jimmy, the little square man with the flowing sandy-coloured beard. “ Old wives’ havers,” was Dan’s retort, by way of leaving them something to wrestle with while he was inspecting the patient. The smuggler cared not for anything or anybody; not eveji the possibility of catching the dreaded smallpox. His first action was to feel the soles of the elder’s feet; next he put his hands on the sick man’s knees. He then felt and counted the heart beats, and finally turned up an eyelid with the gesture of a professional. He did these things despite the frowns of those who watched from near the door. “Ach errail, errail! ” he ejaculated; “ach, boys, you think he’s dying? Well, he’s not! He’s just in gran’ order! He’s making an easy recovery! Splendid condition is what I say he’s in; and what’s more he’ll take himself oot o’ that; before long too.” At first his hearers were sceptical; but as the hours moved on and the snoring continued converts were added to the smuggler’s theory. When the clock chimed 10 times some rose to go. “ I’ll stay,” suggested Dan, “in case what happens.” To this they were all agreeable, the women smoothing down their aprons while the men lit their pipes, before going their several ways. Dan sat smoking on the opposite side of the fire from the elder’s sister. He was thoughtful for a time. At last he looked up and asked: “Did you give him a drop o’ what the wife took west ? ” “No, not a drop! The jar is sitting where she set it down.” “Imphm! It’s werry strange. He looks like one who heve more 'hard stuff* in his inside than water.” “ Is it misdoubting my word you are?” asked the woman, giving way a little to sarcasm. “ A’m only saying it’s werry strange,” said Dan hitting the ashes from his pipe. “I’ll get it for you if it’ll satisfy you,” said the woman rising and going into the closet.

“There it is, juat as it came,” she •aid, plaeing the jar at his feet

Dan gave it a shake, then he withdrew the cork and glacced once or twice down at the contents. “ This was full when the wife left me,” said Dan, “and now there’s a good pint oot o’ it, whatever.” “How can that be?” asked the elder’s sister, looking alarmed. “I don’t know how it can be; but my wife is sober and the elder’s drunk, and I’m thinking the truth is that he helped himself. If he’ll waken before this time to-morrow he’ll live, and be clear o’ the smallpox too. For, look you, there’s strength enough in this jar to blow the house up. Look what a droppie’ll do!” At this point the smuggler put a quantity in a glass, and demonstrated the strength of the liquor by throwing it on the glowing embers. Instantly there was a blue flash, followed by a rumbling sound like distant thdnder, as the flame leapt up the chimney and penetrated the darkness. “Oh [ Oh!” exclaimed the alarmed woman. “Don’t set the house on fire! Don’t do it again!” “I’m no going to! I’m only letting you see the kind o’ stuff I make for funerals.” “It’s far too strong,” said the woman. “No wonder the men come home drunk from the church yard.” Night made way for a new day, and the morning passed to noon, but still the elder snored. At four o’clock some people looked in, and asked in low whispers—“ls he still alive?” Dan’s wife came over to ask. She had a clean white apron on; she was dressed when she put a white apron on. She gave a look into the closet; the door made a noise as she pulled it to in backing out. The sound must have roused the elder from his long sleep, for it was at that moment he opened his eyes. He looked at the ceiling, wondering whether it was morning or evening; then he heard quiet speaking in the kitchen. Feeling the pangs of hunger, and no signs of smallpox in his system, he rose, and, only waiting to put his trousers on, walked into the kitchen, demanding to be served with his breakfast at once. For a moment they were all too stnpified to make any remarks; they thought he had gone crazy. “Where’s my breakfast?” %e said, thumping the table, and looking impatiently towards his sister. “My goodness!” said the sister. “Your breakfast! Do you know you’ve been asleep for nearly two days and a night?” “I don’t care although I’ve slept since the Flood. I’m needing food.” “You’ll get food, if you can eat it,” said the woman, setting to prepare a meal for him. “Eat it!” he growled, taking a chunk of cheese in one hand and a bannock of oatcake in the other. “Eat it! I’m starving wi’ want o’ food. I’m like I could eat an elephant between two mattresses !”“ He disposed of a big plate of porridge, also half a pound of salt bacon and much bread. “I feel more like myself now!” he said; “but I hope we’ll save the crops, for I wouldn’t like to think anyone went hungry for two days and a night!” People were astonished to see the elder next morning organising squads to save the harvest. “He’s a wonder!” they said. “He took his fill o’ strong whisky, and got better.” Smuggling Dan was very proud when he was relating the qualities of his medicine to anyone. “Take the elder’s cure, is my advice to you all,” he would say. “Just put the jar to your heads and drink till you’ll feel the place whirling round and round like a top; then make into bed quick. If you'll waaen you’re cured—ay, cured—and fit for many a day.”—Weekly Scotsman.