My next case was a Tahitian sailor.He was a small man, in a state of collapse from long days and nights of jumping toothache.Ilanced the gums first.I didn't know how to lance them, but Ilanced them just the same.It was a long pull and a strong pull.
The man was a hero.He groaned and moaned, and I thought he was going to faint.But he kept his mouth open and let me pull.And then it came.
After that I was ready to meet all comers--just the proper state of mind for a Waterloo.And it came.Its name was Tomi.He was a strapping giant of a heathen with a bad reputation.He was addicted to deeds of violence.Among other things he had beaten two of his wives to death with his fists.His father and mother had been naked cannibals.When he sat down and I put the forceps into his mouth, he was nearly as tall as I was standing up.Big men, prone to violence, very often have a streak of fat in their make-up, so I was doubtful of him.Charmian grabbed one arm and Warren grabbed the other.Then the tug of war began.The instant the forceps closed down on the tooth, his jaws closed down on the forceps.Also, both his hands flew up and gripped my pulling hand.I held on, and he held on.Charmian and Warren held on.We wrestled all about the shop.
It was three against one, and my hold on an aching tooth was certainly a foul one; but in spite of the handicap he got away with us.The forceps slipped off, banging and grinding along against his upper teeth with a nerve-scraping sound.Out of his month flew the forceps, and he rose up in the air with a blood-curdling yell.The three of us fell back.We expected to be massacred.But that howling savage of sanguinary reputation sank back in the chair.He held his head in both his hands, and groaned and groaned and groaned.Nor would he listen to reason.I was a quack.My painless tooth-extraction was a delusion and a snare and a low advertising dodge.I was so anxious to get that tooth that I was almost ready to bribe him.But that went against my professional pride and I let him depart with the tooth still intact, the only case on record up to date of failure on my part when once I had got a grip.Since then I have never let a tooth go by me.Only the other day I volunteered to beat up three days to windward to pull a woman missionary's tooth.I expect, before the voyage of the Snark is finished, to be doing bridge work and putting on gold crowns.
I don't know whether they are yaws or not--a physician in Fiji told me they were, and a missionary in the Solomons told me they were not; but at any rate I can vouch for the fact that they are most uncomfortable.It was my luck to ship in Tahiti a French-sailor, who, when we got to sea, proved to be afflicted with a vile skin disease.The Snark was too small and too much of a family party to permit retaining him on board; but perforce, until we could reach land and discharge him, it was up to me to doctor him.I read up the books and proceeded to treat him, taking care afterwards always to use a thorough antiseptic wash.When we reached Tutuila, far from getting rid of him, the port doctor declared a quarantine against him and refused to allow him ashore.But at Apia, Samoa, Imanaged to ship him off on a steamer to New Zealand.Here at Apia my ankles were badly bitten by mosquitoes, and I confess to having scratched the bites--as I had a thousand times before.By the time I reached the island of Savaii, a small sore had developed on the hollow of my instep.I thought it was due to chafe and to acid fumes from the hot lava over which I tramped.An application of salve would cure it--so I thought.The salve did heal it over, whereupon an astonishing inflammation set in, the new skin came off, and a larger sore was exposed.This was repeated many times.Each time new skin formed, an inflammation followed, and the circumference of the sore increased.I was puzzled and frightened.
All my life my skin had been famous for its healing powers, yet here was something that would not heal.Instead, it was daily eating up more skin, while it had eaten down clear through the skin and was eating up the muscle itself.
By this time the Snark was at sea on her way to Fiji.I remembered the French sailor, and for the first time became seriously alarmed.
Four other similar sores had appeared--or ulcers, rather, and the pain of them kept me awake at night.All my plans were made to lay up the Snark in Fiji and get away on the first steamer to Australia and professional M.D.'s.In the meantime, in my amateur M.D.way, Idid my best.I read through all the medical works on board.Not a line nor a word could I find descriptive of my affliction.Ibrought common horse-sense to bear on the problem.Here were malignant and excessively active ulcers that were eating me up.
There was an organic and corroding poison at work.Two things Iconcluded must be done.First, some agent must be found to destroy the poison.Secondly, the ulcers could not possibly heal from the outside in; they must heal from the inside out.I decided to fight the poison with corrosive sublimate.The very name of it struck me as vicious.Talk of fighting fire with fire! I was being consumed by a corrosive poison, and it appealed to my fancy to fight it with another corrosive poison.After several days I alternated dressings of corrosive sublimate with dressings of peroxide of hydrogen.And behold, by the time we reached Fiji four of the five ulcers were healed, while the remaining one was no bigger than a pea.
