CHAPTER I.

THE ARMY SURGEON.

I. YOUTH.

Birth at Ealing -- Motherless childhood -- Feeble health -- Irregular schooling -- Medical education -- Student days in Paris -- Wax-modelling -- Admission to College of Surgeons -- House Surgeon at Westminster Hospital.

Born in the same year as Mr Gladstone, May 1809, John Rutherford Alcock[1] predeceased that statesman by only six months. His birthplace was Ealing, and he died in Westminster, after a residence there in retirement of twenty-seven years. Being a delicate infant, he was baptised in Ealing church when one day old. His childhood was deprived of its sunshine by the loss of his mother, and it does not appear that his father, a medical man of some note, and an artist to boot, was equal to filling the void in the young life. Consequently boyhood had for him none of the halo of a golden age, but was, on the contrary, a grey and cheerless memory, furnishing tests of hardihood rather than those glowing aspirations which generally kindle young ambitions.

His early life was passed with relatives in the north of England, and he went to school at Hexham, where he had for companions Sir John Swinburne and Mr Dawson Lambton.

Of his school-days there is little to remark. Indeed his early education seems to have been most irregular, having been subject to long and frequent interruptions on account of ill-health, which necessitated sea-voyages and other changes of air. Nevertheless the diligence which was part of his nature compensated for these drawbacks of his youth, and set its seal on his whole after-career.

On returning to his father's house at the age of fifteen, the boy began his medical education, being, according to the fashion of the day, apprenticed to his father, and at the same time entered as a student at the Westminster Hospital and the Royal Westminster Ophthalmic Hospital under that distinguished surgeon, G. J. Guthrie. His passion for art had already asserted itself, and he was enabled to indulge it by constant visits to Chantrey's studio, where, "amid the musical sounds of the chisel on the marble, with snatches of airs from the workmen, where all breathed a calm and happy repose, he passed delightful hours." His half-holidays were spent at Chantrey's in modelling.

In the following year he visited Paris, and seems ever after to have looked back on the gay city as a kind of paradise, for there the world first really opened to the young man of sixteen. Then began that life of work and enjoyment, so blended as to be inseparable, which continued without intermission for more than seventy years. In the stimulating atmosphere of Paris, and its free and independent life, the boy's faculties rapidly developed. He seemed, indeed, to expand suddenly into full manhood. Destined for the medical profession, he worked hard at anatomy, chemistry, and natural history, while taking also a keen interest in artistic and literary subjects; mastered French and Italian; and, in short, turned his twelve or eighteen months' sojourn to highly practical account.

From a small pocket-book containing notes of the journey to France, and part of his work in Paris, we give some extracts illustrative of the boy's character and powers of observation.

It was on the 17th of August 1825 that the party embarked at the Custom-House Stairs for Calais, the voyage occupying fourteen hours. On landing the lad "amused himself by observing the effects in the sky and the sea, and by picking up shells, bones of birds and animals, which having remained in the sea until perfectly clean, looked beautiful and white as ivory." Simple things interested him, and after dinner at the Hôtel Meurice in Paris he "listened with much pleasure to a man playing airs on what he called an American flute"--which he goes on to describe: "The tones were mellow in the extreme, and the airs he played I think were much superior in sweetness to any I have ever heard from an instrument so clear," and so on. Obviously a subjective impression; it is his own emancipation that beautifies the simplest things and inspires the simplest sounds. Like the convalescent in Gray--

"The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening Paradise."

On his first Sunday in Paris he was "much struck with the beauty of the paintings and a great number of pieces sculptured in _bas-relief_." Then he walked in the gardens of the Tuileries, "which in extent, in statues and in fountains, in the appearance of it taking it altogether, far exceeded anything my imagination had conceived concerning it."

At Versailles he was "highly delighted with many of the paintings. The gardens are extremely extensive and the fountains very numerous; ... but it is all extremely artificial, and therefore soon fatigues the eye." In these slight observations are perceptible the artistic instinct and sense of fitness, faculties which served him so admirably in his future work, and might have won him distinction in other fields than those in which his lot was ultimately cast.

He was in Paris for a serious purpose, the study of medicine and surgery, and seriously he followed it. At the same time he mixed freely in the artistic and literary society of the French capital, and left none of his talents uncultivated. A characteristic incident in his educational career was his mastering the art of modelling in wax and in plaster. Following up his experiments in Chantrey's studio, he took regular lessons in Paris, and attained such proficiency that, young as he was, he was able to maintain himself while in that city by the sale of his anatomical models. For one of these he mentions receiving fifty guineas, and a few years after "for two arms and two legs the size of life" he notes receiving 140 guineas. These also won for him distinctions at home, for in the year 1825 he was awarded the "Gold Isis Medal" of the Society of Arts, and in the following year the "large gold medal" of that society, for original models in coloured wax. And it may be mentioned as characteristic that although in later years an active member of that society, Sir H. T. Wood, the secretary, who knew him well, was unaware of Sir Rutherford Alcock's having so early in life received the society's medals. "The fact is an interesting one," he says, "and I am glad to have had my attention drawn to it." Some of these works were preserved in the Museum of the College of Surgeons, while others, prepared in special wax, were bought by Government for the use of the Indian medical schools.

From the small pocket-book to which we have already referred, and which contains concise notes of his course of instruction in modelling under a M. Dupont, we extract the note of his first lesson. It shows thoroughness of mind, keenness of observation, and the instinct for accuracy which enabled him so soon to attain to excellence in the art, and led to success in all the other pursuits of his life:--

_Sept. 1._--To-day my first lesson in modelling began. I saw M. Dupont work upon a mask of a little boy's face in wax. He opened the eyes, but did not in my opinion make them quite correct. The only thing I observed in particular was his using oil very freely with his tool. I afterwards saw three moulds of a thigh near the hip after amputation, cast in wax. One was soaked in water, another was rubbed with soft-soap, and a third was well oiled. The one that was oiled produced the most perfect cast, but I should have thought both water, soap, and oil were used much too freely. They were all cast in wax of a deep red colour, and one of them was placed in the stump of one of the thighs of the model on which M. Dupont was engaged. It was not quite large enough for the thigh in some places, and too large in others. This he altered without scruple, so that when the stump was finished, though it looked extremely natural, it was by no means accurate.

Before quitting the life in Paris the following sample of its popular amusements as they presented themselves to the young student may be interesting to readers, and it is unfortunately the last entry in the pocket-book, and almost the last assistance we shall get from journals during the seventy years of crowded life which followed:--

I went yesterday [Sunday, September 10, 1826] to the Swiss Mountain, very extensive gardens on the Boulevards, where the most respectable part of the pleasure-seeking Parisians assemble on Sunday: you pay ten sous admittance. Here there is a large establishment for dinners where you may dine as at the restaurateurs, in a public room, or there are a long suite of apartments for parties of four, six, or twelve each, looking out into the gardens, and immediately before the windows was the space enclosed by trees, which form a canopy over it, and which is allotted to dancing. On one side is the orchestra; and when I heard it there was a very excellent band of musicians in it. It was rather unfavourable weather, as there were in the course of the day several very heavy showers, yet there seemed to be a very great number of elegantly dressed females and respectable-looking men; and some even highly-dressed, which is a wonder, I think, for the gentlemen in Paris seem to dress as much inferior to us as the French ladies dress better than the English. Indeed it is quite delightful to see the great taste with which they dress and the elegance of contour in all their figures. I don't know how it happens, but I never recollect seeing a French woman that was at all above the lowest class of society that was a slovenly or slattern figure, and very few that were not really elegant, though their faces are, generally speaking, plain.

After having dined I went to see the Swiss Mountain, which had made a noise whilst I was at dinner that very much resembled distant thunder. I had no idea what it was; my surprise may therefore be conceived when, on coming suddenly in sight of it, I saw a man, apparently sitting on a chair, whirl past me with a velocity more resembling the speed of lightning than anything I had before seen,--so much so, that though from the top to the bottom where they drop might be about 200 feet, I had merely time to perceive that there was a man seated on some sort of vehicle like a chair.

The mountain consisted of boards raised at an angle of about from 60° to 70° with the ground, and gradually becoming level. The distance from where they set off to where they stop I have before stated, I think, to be about 200 feet.

This platform is sufficiently broad to allow three of the vehicles to go down and one to return up at the same time--that is to say, there are four iron grooves accurately fitted to the small wheels on which the vehicles move. There are horses as well as chairs for both ladies and gentlemen. I saw several gentlemen on horseback and one lady. The horses appear to me to be real horses' hides, perhaps covering a wooden horse. They are accoutred with saddle, stirrups, and bridle. One person who came down on one of these horses rose and fell in his stirrups as though riding a real horse; it created much laughter, and the people surrounding immediately called out "Un Anglais! un Anglais!" I believe he was an Englishman. It had a ridiculous effect to observe the anxiety depicted on the countenances of the heroes, and compare them, with the knowledge of their perfect safety, with the laughing groups that surrounded them. Sometimes a veteran hero would mount one of the horses and come down with triumph in his countenance; the effect then became still more ridiculous, for he seemed like a great baby mounted on a hobby-horse proportionately large. But so it is through life, I think; one sees people capable of being elated as much by actions little in themselves, but enlarged for the instant by circumstances, as, for instance, in this case--the rapidity of motion, the gay crowd, and the distant music--as they would have been by an action really great in itself but unembroidered by outward show.

Hearing the music and wishing to see the dancing I had heard so much of, I approached the dancers. We read that the French enjoy dancing with great zest; certes, to see them dance a quadrille, one would not say so: 'tis true it is a dance in which custom has forbidden much exertion, still the entire listlessness they show induced me to think it was a task rather than a pleasure. But when a lively waltz struck up and the waltzing began, I....

Here the notes break off.

Of the student's life of four years from 1828 to 1832 there is little which can or need be said. For two years and a half out of the four he was house surgeon at the Westminster Hospital and the Ophthalmic Hospital, having received, at the age of twenty-one, the diploma from the Royal College to practise surgery. During this period he continued modelling, and took pupils in that art. Writing for periodicals also occupied some of his leisure time.

No sooner was his student career ended than an opening presented itself which determined the future course of his life, but in a way very different from what could possibly have been anticipated.

II. THE PENINSULA, 1832-1837.

Dynastic quarrel in Portugal -- Foreign legion -- Mr Alcock enters the service, 1832 -- Character of the force and its leaders -- Colonel Shaw -- Incidents of the campaign -- Important medical services of Mr Alcock -- Joins the Spanish Foreign Legion, 1836 -- Termination of the campaign.

There were troubles in Portugal. The usurper Dom Miguel was on the throne. It was proposed to seat the rightful sovereign, Donna Maria, there--her father, Dom Pedro, ex-Emperor of Brazil, who assumed the title of Duke of Braganza, heading the movement.

Sympathy was excited in France and England, in both of which countries irregular forces were levied to co-operate with the constitutional party in Portugal led by his imperial majesty. It was a kind of service which tempted alike young bloods and old soldiers who had been languishing in peace and idleness since 1815, and a small army of "Liberators" was got together in England, with a corresponding naval force.

It has been mentioned that young Alcock had studied under the eminent army surgeon Guthrie. Feelings of regard had sprung up between the two which extended far beyond the professional sphere. Not only had the boy been a favourite pupil whose aptitude reflected credit on his teacher, but it is quite evident that a personal affection which lasted their respective lifetimes was rekindled during the years they subsequently spent together in Westminster. When, therefore, Mr Guthrie was applied to by Mr O'Meara, who had been in attendance on Napoleon at St Helena, to recommend a surgeon for the British-Portuguese force, Guthrie sent at once for Alcock and discussed with him his professional prospects. The upshot was that as, considering his youth,--he was then only twenty-two,--it was useless for him to think of beginning practice in London, a few years might be most advantageously passed in military service abroad. The young man was only too eager to close with the offer then made to him, which not only afforded the prospect of active professional work, but seemed to open the way for adventures such as the soul of a young man loveth. Within twenty-four hours of accepting the offer Alcock was on the way to Portsmouth and the Azores. For some time after his arrival there he did duty on board ship. His ambition being cramped by this restricted service, however, he was anxious to be transferred to the military force. He accordingly applied to Colonel Hodges, who commanded the marine battalion, to be taken on his staff. The colonel looked at him with some hesitation owing to his extremely youthful appearance, but on hearing that he had been specially recommended by Guthrie, said, "Oh, that is a different matter; come along."

Of the Peninsular expeditions of 1832-37 the interest for the present generation lies less in their origin, aims, and results, than in their conduct and incidents. They were episodes which have left no marks on the general course of history visible to the ordinary observer, and are memorable chiefly for their dramatic effects, the play of character, the exhibitions of personal courage, capacity, and devotion; of jealousy, intrigue, and incapacity; of love and hate; and of the lights and shadows that flit across the theatre of human life. Interferences in other people's quarrels naturally bring to the surface all the incongruities. The auxiliaries are sure to be thought arrogant whether they are really so or not, and the _protégés_ are no less certain to be deemed ungrateful. Each party is apt to underestimate the exploits of the other and to exaggerate his own. They take widely different views of the conditions under which their respective services are rendered; they misconstrue each other's motives, assessing them at their lowest apparent value. Each side looks for certain sentimental acknowledgments from the other, while daily frictions and inevitable misunderstandings continually embitter the disappointment felt at their absence. And there are not two parties, but many. There are wheels within wheels; sections playing on each other tricks which savour of treachery on the one side, while on the other side there may be sulks which are constructive mutiny. The question of pay is naturally a constant source of bitterness, for countries that need foreign assistance are impecunious and dilatory. Few of them would be entitled to the certificate which Dugald Dalgetty gave to his excellent paymasters, the Dutch. Yet in spite of drawbacks, there is a kind of method in the whole business, a movement towards a goal, though at a maximum of cost, with the greatest waste and the most poignant regrets over mismanagement.

But what in these irregular campaigns is so remarkable as to be almost repugnant to common reason is the devotion of the mercenary soldier. This inspiriting sentiment, which springs up spontaneously like a wild-flower in desert places, seems to put patriotism in the shade as a motive for sacrifice. The hired soldier, though an alien, is often indeed more faithful than the son of the soil, perhaps for the reason that his allegiance is of a simpler nature, more categorical and explicit. The direct personal character of such alien allegiance and its transferability are exemplified in the lives of soldiers of fortune in general: never better, perhaps, than in the wild and dangerous career of Alexander Gardner, colonel of artillery in the service of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, whose Memoirs have been recently edited by Major Hugh Pearse. Is it the fighting instinct, hereditary heroism, or military discipline that makes the soldier? Is it the cause that inspires him, or is it only devotion to his immediate leader? Explain it how we may, the British Legion both in Portugal and in Spain maintained the character of their race for pluck and tenacity as well as if they had been fighting for their own king and country. And this is rendered still more remarkable when the promiscuous manner of their muster is considered. Clandestine engagements in the slums of Soho, under the guise of labour or emigrant contracts, in evasion of the Foreign Enlistment Acts; surreptitious journeys, as "hop-pickers," to Gravesend; secret embarkations under cover of night; and the disciplining of a mob composed of the dregs of the streets, afford subject of some graphic and humorous descriptions on the part of the officers concerned in raising the squad and licking them into shape. It must have required a very sanguine faith in the radical qualities of the stock for any officer of repute to consent to "march through Coventry" with such a herd of scalliwags.

The officer who seems to have had a principal share in collecting these raw levies, and distinguished himself in both campaigns in the Peninsula, in which he bore a leading part, has left us some racy descriptions of the force and its experiences in the field. Sir Charles Shaw was himself a typical soldier by nature and by practice. Circumstances alone would determine whether it should be as a soldier of fortune, a patriot defending hearths and homes, or as an Ishmaelite adventurer, that his sword would be unsheathed. The sporting and adventurous instinct scents danger afar, like the war-horse in the book of Job which laughs at the spears. The manner in which he came to embrace the profession of arms was itself so characteristic as to deserve mention.

As a youth he was passionately devoted to sport, and when that momentous question the choice of a profession came up for consideration, sport decided it in favour of law, for the somewhat original reason that the young gentleman had observed that lawyers seemed to enjoy the longest holidays! He had begun his studies, and was on his way to St Andrews to enter on a new course when an incident occurred which diverted the current of his thoughts. He met a batch of French prisoners of war being removed from one garrison to another, whose misery affected him so much that he was instantly seized with the idea of becoming a soldier. The particular form in which the inspiration took him was that he put himself in the position of one of these prisoners and imagined himself the hero of his own and his comrades' deliverance.

His studies at St Andrews, perturbed by the new passion, made indifferent progress. The historic golf-links afforded some relief, acting as a kind of neutral soothing medium between antagonistic aspirations. But the final solution of his troubles came from a famous piece of water which is there, called the Witches' Pond. The virtue of this water was great in the barbaric age when the curse of witchcraft lay heavy on the land. The suspected person was thrown into the water. If she floated, her guilt was proven and she was incontinently burned; if she sank, it proved the high specific gravity of flesh and bone. Happy thought! The young man would subject his life's destiny to this convenient ordeal. He would jump into the pond, and either sink as a lawyer or emerge as a soldier!

After this original form of baptism, initiation into the mysteries soon followed, and the young soldier saw much active service during the Napoleonic wars in the Peninsula and in the Low Countries. He missed Waterloo through being on other duty, and in the piping times of peace which followed that decisive battle an idyllic life at Richmond seemed to bound the horizon of his unsatisfied ambition for some fifteen years. From a totally unexpected quarter the call to arms reached him in his retreat, and suddenly roused all his sleeping energies. The offer of a commission in the service of the young Queen of Portugal met with an eager response, and Shaw entered heart and soul into the service of Donna Maria.

As well as being an active soldier, Major Shaw was a lively correspondent, and it is from his letters to his family that we get the most brilliant flash-lights on the incidents of his military career generally, and more particularly on that exciting portion of it which most concerns the subject of these volumes. These letters were edited and published by himself at the close of the operations in Spain.

Colonel Hodges, who commanded the foreign brigade in Portugal, and seems to have left the queen's service in a huff, also published a narrative of the campaign, of which, however, the historical value is not enhanced by its apologetic and explanatory motive.

From the contemporary notes of these two officers we get generous and emphatic testimony to the manner in which Mr Alcock acquitted himself under the ordeal of severe military service. Indeed his comrades and commanding officers, first in Portugal and afterwards in Spain, seem to have vied with each other in spontaneous eulogy of the conduct of the young surgeon, none of them more flattering than General De Lacy Evans, who commanded in Spain. It is the record of a hero and a philanthropist, of high military ardour subordinated to still higher duty both to the cause he was serving and to the comrades whose lives were under his care. The valour of a non-combatant makes no less a demand on the virile stamina than the valour of the soldier,--oftentimes indeed more, since he lacks the stimulus of active conflict and confronts danger passive and unarmed. A few extracts from these really remarkable testimonials may still be read with pleasure after the lapse of sixty years.

Shaw writes to his family:--

A peasant led the way (they wear no shoes and their feet are like hands). I took off my shoes, and after getting down about fifty yards, I looked up and saw a favourite soldier of mine close above me, and an intimate friend of Ramus, the assistant-surgeon Alcock (a nice young fellow), following. I ordered the soldier to halt; but his answer of, "I'll follow your honour to death, captain," made me silent. I tried military authority with young Alcock, as I saw he was much excited; but no, his professional services were, he thought, required, and follow he would. Every moment expecting he would roll down, I clasped my toes and fingers close to the precipice, that he might fall without sweeping me with him: such is selfish nature! Two or three times I determined to return, but the soldier's speech forced me on. We reached the bottom in about half an hour, and, believe me, I returned thanks.

I proceeded along the rocky beach, and there found poor Ramus lying on a rock, in a sleeping position, with all his clothes torn, and a dreadful gash in his head; his body all broken; but with an expression of countenance indicating he had suffered no pain. I was astonished to see him without his shoes; but in ascending a sharp rock I found them, with the marks where his heels had caught as he tumbled backwards head foremost. Finding that our descent had been useless, I told those who had come down that I would not allow them to risk their lives in ascending, and sent off a peasant to get a boat; but he failed both in this and in getting ropes to pull us up. Self again stepped in, and as senior I led the way--one great reason being that no one could tumble back on me! I reached the top--hands torn and feet bruised; and to my joy young Alcock made his appearance, but so faint that I was obliged to supply him liberally with my brandy.

The duty which now had to be performed by the medical men was of the most arduous character. The surgeon of the British battalion, Souper, carried away by the military spirit instilled into him by being an actor in the "Three Days of July," resigned his commission as surgeon, and on this day commenced and finished his military career, being killed at Hodges' side while carrying orders to the French battalion. His place was filled up by Mr Rutherford Alcock, who had the same love for "fire," but for a different object--that of being close at hand to give prompt assistance to any one who was wounded. Although young, Alcock was old in knowledge and experience: he was highly respected by all who knew him, and beloved by those who entered into action, as they felt assured that he thought not of his own safety when his services could be of benefit to them. In the most exposed situations I saw him this day, dressing officers and men with the same coolness as if he were in a London hospital; and I cannot refrain from expressing envy at the gratified feeling he must ever possess when he thinks of the number of human beings he has saved by his knowledge, experience, bravery, and activity, both at Oporto, Vittoria, and St Sebastian. But his trials after the fight of the 29th of September were great.

Owing to the fights of Pennafiel, Ponte Fereira, and the different affairs on the Lugar das Antas, the wards allotted to the British in the general hospitals were full; therefore, one may form some idea of the misery of the British when scattered among the different hospitals, speaking a language which was not understood. Measures were taken by Hodges and Alcock to gather the wounded foreigners together, but the Minister of War threw every impediment in the way of this; almost making one suspect, that now that the soldier had done his work and was useless, the sooner he died the better.

Truth compels me to state a fact I should wish to avoid, but it is right that those who are to be soldiers should know the value that is sometimes put upon their services. The words were made use of by Dom Pedro, but from what I have seen of him, I think others must have at the moment prompted him. The medical man was mentioning that it would be necessary to amputate the legs and arms of some of the British. "No, no," said Dom Pedro, "you British are fond of amputations, because your men are to have pensions, and that is expensive."

No application from myself as commanding the battalion; from Alcock, as senior medical officer; nor from Hodges, as the representative of the foreigners, had any effect on Augustinho José Freire: thus the poor fellows, crowded together, without beds, without nurses, without clothes, and even without medicines, died in numbers.

The references to Alcock's services are so frequent in these letters, so unconventional and spontaneous, as to prove the deep and lasting impression the young surgeon had made on his companions in arms. "I am glad for all your sakes to tell you that my wounds have healed in an extraordinary manner.... I consider myself greatly indebted to Alcock both for his skill and attention." And at the close of the Portuguese campaign: "I wonder if Alcock knows that he has got the decoration of the Tower and Sword? No man in the service deserves it more, both for bravery and kindness to the wounded." "The scarcity of medicines was dreadful; but with the active and willing assistance of Alcock, and the Portuguese medical gentlemen, it is quite wonderful what has been accomplished."

The bad condition of the hospitals at Oporto is the burden of many references in both Shaw's letters and Hodges' more formal narrative; and as the only records of the campaign from Alcock's own pen happen to be in official documents connected with the medical service, we give _in extenso_ one of his despatches, showing in an inexperienced boy of twenty-three a maturity of judgment and a broad grasp of duty, with, what is perhaps more important, a mastery of work, that would not discredit a veteran.

OPORTO, _Sept. 20, 1832_.

SIR,--The danger to which the patients were found to be exposed by the fire of the enemy caused their removal to a place of greater safety, where they might at least have nothing to fear from the enemy's shells. This change in the arrangements, however, has been in other respects extremely disadvantageous to the sick and wounded men. They are now crowded from the higher parts of the building into the corridors and ground-floors--a situation well known to be unfavourable to the recovery of sick men, from the air being so much less pure. Our own men, including the English sailors, have been placed in one ward, which, though of tolerably large dimensions, is very far from affording the necessary space and quantum of air required for forty-eight or fifty patients, which for some time has been the average--an average which we may rather expect to see increased than diminished during the approaching wet season. Moreover, from peculiar localities, it is quite impossible efficiently to ventilate the room, or to ensure a free circulation of air, which is as essential as any other means employed for the recovery of health.

It is under these circumstances that I feel not only authorised, but bound in duty, to draw your attention to the subject; assured that in any measures proposed for the benefit or wellbeing of the men under your command it is only necessary to show they are really required to meet your cordial support. Many difficulties, and many disadvantageous arrangements, have always attended the treatment of the patients in the present establishment; but these last compulsory changes, when added to the former state, place my patients in too dangerous a position to allow me to be silent or inactive. Situated as we are, I cannot promise the speedy recovery of any of the gunshot wounds, nor indeed of the sick generally, and their liability to any of the epidemics unfortunately so common in crowded hospitals renders me exceedingly anxious to have some steps taken to place them in a more favourable position.

The means I have to submit for your consideration and approval are, I believe and hope, extremely feasible. I desire to have some large dwelling-house appropriated for the reception of all English and French sick and wounded, by which means the General Hospital would be relieved of nearly a hundred patients, and of those, moreover, who, from the difference of language, are a fruitful and constant source of trouble and inconvenience--nay, more, of irregularity as prejudicial to the patients as it is discreditable to a military establishment of such importance. Many houses well adapted for this purpose might easily be mentioned, already at the disposal of the Government by the flight of the owners. One I could point out at this moment which, from a superficial inspection, I believe might be advantageously appropriated--a corner house in the Praça de St Ildefonso, adjoining the church.

The advantages which would accrue from this arrangement cannot for a moment be counterbalanced by the trouble or difficulty of first organising the separate establishment. The patients could then be classed and placed in different rooms, and not, as now, promiscuously crowded together--surgical and medical, fevers and amputations; by which arrangement their liability to any epidemic would be exceedingly diminished, while the patients would be more immediately under the eye and control of the medical attendants. Both surgeon and patient would thus be placed under more favourable circumstances, and the general service much facilitated by the removal of foreign troops from an establishment entirely Portuguese.

In glancing at the advantages, I should omit one of very great importance if I did not submit to you the facility it would afford for the good treatment of wounded and sick officers. Instead of being attended at their own quarters, often just within the first line, to their own great risk and the inconvenience of the surgeon, they would be removed to a place of safety, and where, moreover, from being entirely under medical command, their rank would procure them none of those injurious indulgences in the way of diet, &c., which even the wisest of us are apt to risk the enjoyment of when in our power. They might easily enjoy every necessary comfort, while they would be carefully guarded from all imprudent excess.

The chief difficulties I foresee, and which I have no doubt will immediately present themselves to your mind, appear to me very far from insurmountable. I require the assistance of no Portuguese officer whatever, except a commissary or purveyor, on whom I can _fully depend_, for the due and regular supply of fuel, meat, wine, fowls, and such other articles as are required for the good treatment of the patients, and which are daily supplied to the General Hospital. This is of the greatest importance, as any irregularity in this branch of the service would not only cripple my efforts, but be of serious injury to all under my care. In addition to this I should require one Portuguese domestic to every fifteen cases, for the purpose of cooking, washing the linen, keeping the wards clean, and such other menial duties as are independent of those appertaining to the orderlies. The expense of a separate establishment ought to be, and would be, of the most trifling kind. The same beds, trussels, and utensils, now exclusively appropriated to us, would be equally serviceable in any other hospital. Two or three boilers, and a few cooking utensils, with a slipper bath, are really the chief and most expensive things required. I may safely leave it to you, sir, to decide if this can cause any grievous outlay.

Should it be any convenience, or be deemed by you, sir, advantageous to the service, to the English and French might be added the wounded Portuguese soldiers of your brigade. I have little more to add, but should you require further detail, I beg to refer to a letter addressed to Major Shaw on this subject. I am fully conscious and aware of the labour I am entailing on myself, and that which is still more irksome, the heavy responsibility, but I have a duty to perform. I neither court the labour nor desire the responsibility; but if they come as a consequence of my efforts to do that duty I can look steadfastly on them, and I trust I have energy and perseverance enough to do all that depends upon me in spite of them. My most ardent wish is to prove myself worthy of the confidence you have honoured me with, and the trust conferred upon me.--I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient humble servant,

RUTHERFORD ALCOCK.

To Colonel HODGES, commanding Foreign Brigade, &c., &c.

As the campaign in defence of the Queen of Portugal closed, that in defence of the Queen Christina of Spain opened, and their rough experiences in the former did not deter either Colonel Shaw or Surgeon Alcock from accepting service in the Spanish Legion organised and commanded by De Lacy Evans. "On my arrival in London," writes Shaw in 1836, "you may suppose how delighted I was to find my friend Alcock at the head of the medical department, as his experiences in difficulties made him decidedly the most proper man." As it is no part of our plan to trace the operations, we give one characteristic letter from Colonel Shaw. It is dated San Sebastian, 2 o'clock, May 6, 1836:--

MY DEAR MOTHER.--The steamer is detained, so I write to you once more. I and my brigade are so fatigued and cut up that we have been allowed to return here for the night. We had a terrible morning's work of it, the brigade having lost, in killed and wounded, about 400 men and 27 officers; others not so much. How I escaped I know not; kind Providence was my protector. My watch is smashed, the ball having cut through cloak, coat, trousers, drawers, and shirt, and only bruised me. A spent ball hit me on the chest, and my gaiter was cut across by another. We had dreadful lines to force: very steep, vomiting fire; and the clay up to our ankles made us so slow that they picked as they chose. The enemy not only behaved well behind their lines, but charged out, and twice or thrice put us for a moment in confusion. Alcock is slightly wounded.

And as an agreeable pendant to the severe strictures on the state of the Portuguese hospitals, the following may fitly close our extracts from these racy records of arduous military adventure:--

BAYONNE, _September, 1836_.

When you land, introduce yourself to my friend Alcock, and beg him to take you through the hospitals. You will, or I am greatly mistaken, be agreeably surprised by the prevailing cleanliness and regularity, as also the care and attendance bestowed on the sick and wounded. Alcock has had a most difficult card to play. He knows well that there are many disabled poor fellows who, if they were in the British service, would be sent to England, certain of receiving their pensions; but he is also aware that a poor fellow sent to England from the service of Queen Christina, instead of receiving his pension, is generally left to starve. It is therefore from a praiseworthy charity that he keeps many in hospital, under his own eye, in order that they may in this manner get as much as will keep body and soul together.

Mr Alcock retired from military service in 1837 with the rank of Deputy-Inspector of Hospitals, having received the Order of the Tower and Sword together with the war medal of the three years' service in Portugal, and the Cross of the Order of Charles III. and Commander's Cross of Isabella the Catholic, with medals for the two principal actions against the Carlists.

The six years of Peninsular experiences he declared to have been "the most stirring and attractive of his life," and in some portions of that period he had "more complete personal gratification and material happiness than could be safely anticipated in the future." He was now to have six years of quite a different experience, which led up to the turning-point in his life.

III. ENGLAND, 1838-1844.

Returns to England, 1838 -- Alcock resumes professional work -- Prize essays and publications -- Sir James Paget's testimonial -- A Commissioner for adjusting Peninsular claims -- Appointed Inspector of Anatomy, 1842 -- Imperfections of the Anatomy Act -- Marriage to Miss Bacon, 1841 -- His enforced abandonment of a surgical career.

On his return to England in 1838 Alcock at once resumed the work of his profession. In that year he published in a small 8vo volume 'Notes on the Medical History and Statistics of the British Legion of Spain'; and in 1839, and again in 1841, he carried off the Jacksonian prizes of the Royal College of Surgeons awarded for the best essays on subjects selected by the Council. The first of these was "On Concussion or Commotion of the Brain"; the second, "On Injuries of the Thorax and Operations on its Parietes"; and naturally the value of the papers lay in the extent to which the author was able to draw on his own observation and experience of gunshot wounds during his seven years of Peninsular service.

Of these contributions to medical literature Sir James Paget remarks that "they may make one regret that he was ever induced to give up the study of surgery. For they show an immense power of accurately observing and recording facts, and of testing his own and others' opinions by the help of all the knowledge of the facts possessed by others at that time.... I doubt whether in the first half of this century better essays on gunshot wounds of the head and of the thorax had been written."

And the small volume dealing with hospital experiences in Spain has drawn from the same eminent authority the comment that "it tells in a most graphic and clear manner the difficulties which, sixty years ago, beset the practice of surgery and the care of troops during war. These difficulties may have been greater at that time in Spain than in any other country in Western Europe, and may be thought now impossible, but they may be read with great interest, and one cannot doubt that Sir Rutherford Alcock's true account of them helped to remedy them, ... contributed to the improvement of the medical department of the army in this country."

Mr Alcock joined the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society in 1839, and was appointed Lecturer in Surgery at Sydenham College, where he delivered a series of lectures on complicated injuries, amputations, &c.

His professional labours were soon diversified by an employment which could scarcely have been consistent with a large practice, though in the beginning of his surgical career it might not seem to involve much sacrifice except of time. But it was arduous, onerous, and absolutely gratuitous. Great trouble had arisen between the Spanish Government and the Foreign Legion in regard to pay. No settlement could be obtained, and eventually a commission was appointed to examine and adjudicate the numerous claims, to which commission Mr Alcock was appointed by express and unanimous request of the general and the field officers of the corps. His qualifications for such an office were quite exceptional, for to first-rate business capacity, which had been shown in the campaign, he added a knowledge of the language and the country which was not common, and a character which commanded universal confidence. His work on this commission extended over two years, and was brought to a satisfactory termination in 1839.

No sooner were the labours of the Spanish commission concluded than Mr Alcock was, in 1840, appointed by the Foreign Office to a similar duty in an Anglo-Portuguese commission constituted by the two Governments to adjust the claims of British subjects who had served in the Miguelite war of 1832-35. The work of that commission also was satisfactorily accomplished in 1844, and, as in the Spanish commission, Mr Alcock's labours were given without remuneration, in order, as he said, that his judgment might be unbiassed.[2]

During the course of the Spanish commission Mr Alcock was, in 1842, appointed, on the strong recommendation of Sir Benjamin Brodie, to a post under the Home Office, that of Inspector of Anatomy. It would be distasteful and of no utility to rake up the circumstances which set on foot an agitation culminating in the passing of an Act of Parliament in 1832 known as "The Anatomy Act." Like many other Acts of legislature in this country, it was a compromise by which difficulties were sought to be evaded by cunningly devised phrases whereby the thing that was meant was so disguised as to appear to be something else. "The Act failed in two most important points; it failed in honesty, and was wanting in the extent of the powers conferred." In short, after ten years' trial the Act was becoming unworkable, and a reform in its administration was imperatively demanded. It was at that critical moment that Mr Alcock was nominated as one of the two inspectors under the Act, and he entered on his duties with his well-proved practical energy. Before the end of the first year a long and interesting report was sent in by the inspectors, and we may judge by the sample of the Hospital Report in Oporto how thoroughly they exposed the difficulties and how practically they proposed to overcome them. A second report followed in 1843. But Government is a lumbering machine, always waiting for some stronger compulsion than a mere demonstration of what ought to be; and we are not surprised, therefore, to find fifteen years later, and fourteen after his connection with the Home Department had ceased, Mr Alcock still writing the most lucid and matter-of-fact memoranda on the conditions under which competent inspectors might be induced "to work a very imperfect Act of Parliament."

It was during the period under review that the most interesting episode in a young man's life occurred. On the 17th of May 1841, when he had just completed his thirty-second year, he was married to Miss Bacon, daughter of the sculptor of that name. The ceremony took place at St Margaret's, Westminster, Dean Milman, then a Canon of Westminster, officiating. His domestic bliss was unruffled, the couple being profoundly congenial.

But now "a change came o'er the spirit of his dream." The career which opened before the young surgeon was full of promise. So far as the personal factor was concerned, no man could have started with a better equipment. There were efficiency, thoroughness, enthusiasm, courage, and common-sense; there were, as we have seen in the student days, manual dexterity and exactness and artistic power of no contemptible order; there was, in short, every attribute of an accomplished surgeon, who must in the course of nature rise to eminence. A chair of military surgery was ready for him at King's College, and an assistant-surgeonship at Westminster Hospital. All that, however, had to be sacrificed and a new departure taken, in consequence of an illness which left its mark in the form of paralysis of hands and arms, and thus put an end to "all dreams of surgical practice."

This malady was a legacy from the Peninsula. Like Cæsar, "he had a fever when he was in Spain," a rheumatic fever of a particularly severe type contracted at the siege of San Sebastian. This entailed indescribable pain and misery during many months, and, in spite of partial recoveries, seems to have left its after-effects seven years later in what he calls the "mysterious" affection in his hands. It was indeed considered remarkable that he should have survived an attack of so formidable a character. He never recovered the use of his thumbs, which marred the legibility of his writing to the end of his life.

His professional career being thus rudely closed, it might well have appeared to a man of thirty-five that his life was shipwrecked ere the voyage was well begun. It would have been in accord with the short-sighted judgment which men usually form of their own fortunes. But

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will;"--

and Alcock learned, what many before and since have learned, that prosperity and adversity oft visit men in disguise, and are liable to be mistaken the one for the other. Providence employs for its favourites an alchemy whereby the very ashes of their misery may be transmuted into pure gold; and what looks like disaster is but the rending of the veil which concealed a world of richer promise than that which they abandon with regret.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] He dropped the "John" so early in life that he was never known by it.

[2] The only valuable consideration he received for these labours was bestowed some years later, when his entry into the service of the Foreign Office was ante-dated to 1840, so as to include the period of the Peninsular commissions.