Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(31)
“Good night, sir!”
“Good night to you, Colonel, and I’ll be sure and tell Elizabeth you stopped by to see her.”
The candle in the second-floor window went suddenly dark.
13
There Is No Inoculation Against Love
Continental Army Headquarters
Morristown, New Jersey
February 1780
“Well, Eliza, my dear,” Dr. Cochran noted the next morning, “you seem remarkably rejuvenated.”
Her symptoms did not indicate the onset of a cold, and after a second day in bed, Eliza was pronounced fit to resume her daily activities.
An elated Eliza asked if she could assist her aunt in administering smallpox inoculations to the soldiers in camp.
“That would be a fine thing, indeed,” agreed the doctor. Aunt Gertrude would appreciate her lovely niece’s enthusiasm. She had four hundred soldiers waiting to be inoculated and she could certainly use a second pair of hands.
“You know, dear, most of the troops are quite suspicious of this newfangled hoop-de-doodle and since you’ve already been inoculated and lived to tell the tale, you’re living proof that the treatment works!”
It was true. Eliza had been inoculated three years ago when General Washington ordered that all American troops should receive the treatment. Eliza recalled that when General Schuyler found out his troops were nervous about the procedure, he had taken it first, stepping up to demonstrate its safety. When doubts still prevailed among the men, he made a great show of instructing Dr. Cochran to administer it to the entire Schuyler clan.
Eliza had never seen such a battle of wills between her parents. Tough-minded Catherine Schuyler had squabbled with her husband over using their children as guinea pigs because of doubts of her own. After all, they had lost so many friends and family to the scourge of pox. But when the general convinced her that the treatment made it all but impossible that their beloved children would fall ill, not only had Catherine Schuyler consented, she volunteered to sit for the procedure, surrounded by all of her children. Eliza and her siblings were nervous, but they were more frightened of crossing their mother than contracting a disease. There was no choice but to grin and bear it for the sake of the troops.
Eliza was surprised to find the treatment was simple enough: The family received a scratch on the wrist and then the administration of the poultice. A rash and a light fever followed. Within a week the rash had flaked away and General Schuyler declared them all immune. Although it seemed to Eliza a remarkable scheme, she took her father’s words on faith.
Eliza actually found it to be a fascinating business, shrouded in a magical aura. The treatment materials were stored in a heavy wooden box fastened with an iron lock. Aunt Gertrude kept the key in a tiny velvet drawstring purse pinned at her side. The wooden box held a dozen tightly sealed glass bottles, each one filled with an innocuous off-white powder, coarser than flour but less granular than cornmeal. There were odd tools: a mortar and pestle fashioned from locust wood that had been cured into a rich brown finish; a spatula that looked a little like a fish knife; and the most fascinating of all, a good-sized silver fork, whose tines were bent at ninety degrees to the handle, so that it looked like a miniature rake.
Eliza took note of every step of the process. She watched Aunt Gertrude remove one bottle at a time, then immediately lock the box. She mixed a dram of powder with an equal amount of water and whirled it into a paste in the mortar, which was then scraped onto a bandage with the spatula.
Next came the application. Aunt Gertrude looked up at Eliza. “Now, here’s where you will come in most handy, so pay close attention. We begin first thing tomorrow, dear, so be sure to wear your layers. The enlisted men’s medical tent can get awfully drafty!”
“WHO’S NEXT?”
Aunt Gertrude nodded toward the long line snaking out of the tent. The men stood by with their shoulders slumped, smoking and telling jokes to ward off the creeping doubt they had about the mysterious goings-on.
“Bring along the next fellow, Eliza.”
Eliza treated all of the soldiers with the exact same can-do spirit. It amused her to see each soldier’s face switch from suspicion to surprise upon being greeted by a warm smile in the cold setting. As her aunt had predicted, Eliza’s presence made the procedure go much more smoothly.
“Take a seat, if you will, sir. Remove your jacket,” Eliza said over and over, “and roll up your sleeve.”
“Happy to, miss.” “Whatever you say, miss.” “Anything else, miss?” Each one of them seemed eager to oblige. Then it was time for Aunt Gertrude to go to work.
Once the soldier had his sleeve up, Aunt Gertrude took firm hold of his arm with one hand and drew the rake across his wrist with the other. She dragged it heavily, scoring sharp red welts in the skin, sometimes drawing blood before finally announcing, “This one’s ready for you now, Eliza. You may apply the poultice.”
At first, this was the only task Aunt Gertrude allowed her niece to handle. Somehow Eliza managed it with a gentleness that moved each one of the soldiers in her care. She folded the poultice over the wound and wrapped it in place, finishing it off with a soft squeeze before the soldier was sent on his way. Every man left the tent with a smile on his face instead of the worried look he’d stepped in with, believing that gentle squeeze was only for him.