Excerpt Thursday: MAIDEN BEHIND THE MASK by Tara Chevrestt

This week, we’re welcoming author Tara Chevrestt whose title MAIDEN BEHIND THE MASK occurs in the 19th century, with the strong heroine Catalina as a crusader for justice. Join us Sunday, when Tara will be here to talk about the novel and offer a copy of the book to a lucky winner. Here's the blurb:

When Catalina Rodriguez is attacked by a would-be rapist and rescued by the dashing Ricardo Garcia, she not only becomes more aware of the handsome man, but also vows that she’ll never be a damsel in distress again. Using the timeless method of blackmail, she convinces her uncle to teach her to fight and becomes a masked crusader in the night, saving other damsels from robbers and rough handling.

However, scandalous rumors and dwindling funds force Ricardo and Catalina to marry. Not immune to each other’s charms, their marriage starts fiery, but when one of Catalina’s nightly escapades results in dire consequences, she is forced to spurn her husband’s amorous advances…or reveal a secret that could turn him away from her forever.

Ricardo’s not a man to be cuckolded or left in the dark. Is his wife having an affair with El Capitan, the masked savior? If so…they will both pay.

**An Excerpt from MAIDEN BEHIND THE MASK**

She tore her gaze away from the mare and said firmly. “Cinco pesos. And only because this yegua has fire, not because of your terms. Selena, pay him.”

Selena’s hand shook, but the pesos were transferred to the dirty palm. The man laughed with glee, the crowd dispersed, and Catalina was left with a dirty, starving horse.

“We shall get you fed and cleaned up.” She patted the mare’s neck. A cloud of dirt rose in the air, and Catalina struggled not to cough. “I shall call you La Reina, because once in my establo, I shall treat you like a queen. Your body may be beaten, but your spirit is not broken.”

“Catalina?” Her maid’s voice was tentative as it interrupted her quiet chattering. “Whatever possessed you—”

“Fetch me a mozo,” Catalina interrupted her. “Take the remaining pesos and fetch me a groom. La Reina is going to her castle.” She wasn’t offering more explanation than that. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation. She’d done what was right.

As her maid turned to comply, heading toward the livery, a loud pffffht rent the air. Catalina stared at her new acquisition in surprise.

Selena froze and swung around to admonish her charge. “Señorita! Your behavior has been questionable enough this day. Mind yourself.” She shook her head and her finger both before turning back to the task at hand.

Catalina heard her muttering as she sashayed away. She was too surprised and too tired to defend herself, but the breeze picked up, and a waft of foul air assaulted her. Catalina immediately tugged a delicate, lace handkerchief from her sleeve and placed it over her nose as she glared at the horse.

La Reina snorted and pawed the ground. Catalina could swear the mare was laughing at her. She merely shook her head. “Dios mío, and you let me take the blame for that?”

Pffffhht. Pfffht.

La Reina whinnied and bared her teeth as though she were smiling.

Tara Chevrestt is a deaf woman, former aviation mechanic, writer, and an editor. She is most passionate about planes, motorcycles, dogs, and above all, reading. That led to her love of writing. Between her writing and her editing, which allows her to be home with her little canine kids, she believes she has the greatest job in the world. She is very happily married.

Tara also writes as Sonia Hightower. Sonia writes the racy stuff and argues that she was here first. She just wasn't allowed to be unleashed until the last year.

While Tara and Sonia continue to fight over the laptop and debate who writes the next book, you can find buy links, blurbs, and other fun bits on their website or their Facebook page.

Medicine: Medieval Childbirth

By Kim Rendfeld

How risky was childbirth in the Middle Ages? Risky enough that expectant mothers were encouraged to confess their sins before they went into labor. Risky enough that midwives were the only laypeople permitted to baptize newborns if the baby was likely to die.

In fact, more than one of every three adult women died during their child-bearing years. With that kind of statistic, it’s easy to imagine that everyone knew someone who died in childbirth or from its complications.

Children were born at home. If they were peasants, babies would be delivered in a one or two room house. The aristocracy, however, had special lying-in chambers, to which the mother would retreat when her time was close. The low-ceilinged room would have fresh rushes or strewing herbs on the floor to make the place smell nice, and the best coverlets were used. Wealth was on display, and candied nuts and fruits were set out for guests.

In a society where girls married as young as age 12, many of the mothers were teenagers. For instance, Charlemagne’s third wife, Hildegard, might have been 14 when she gave birth to her first child. After eight more children, she died in her mid-20s.

A 16th century illustration of a woman
using a birthing chair to deliver a child
(public domain image from
Wikimedia Commons)

When the mother went into labor, the entrance to the lying-in chamber was shut, and the windows were sealed to block out light. With the mother were a midwife, who had learned her craft from her own mother, and five or six female friends and relatives.

No men were allowed, not the father, not even a doctor. Medieval folk considered childbirth a part of life not related to medicine. Considering that medieval medicine was based on the ancient philosophy of humors, it might have been for the best.

The midwife’s duty was to ease the mother through childbirth. She would rub an ointment on the mother’s belly to speed up the delivery. If the labor was difficult, the mother’s hair would be loosened and all pins removed. Doors and cupboard drawers were open; knots were untied. The midwife might have used charms such as jasper or the right foot of a crane. She might have whispered magic words into her patient’s ear.  Cesareans were done only as a last resort.

As the time to deliver drew near, the mother might sit on a birthing chair, whose seat is shaped like a horseshoe. When the baby was born, the midwife would tie the umbilical cord and tie it at four fingers’ length. She bathed the child, rubbed them with salt, and used honey on their palettes and gums to stimulate their appetite. Then the infant would be wrapped in swaddling, which would be changed every three hours.

After the birth, the mother would remain in her lying-in chamber for a month, during which her only visitors were the midwife and her female companions.

An impending birth in the Middle Ages often was greeted with great joy, especially if it meant a longed-for heir. Yet it likely also carried an almost equal share of anxiety.

Sources:

Daily Life in Medieval Times by Frances and Joseph Gies

Europe after Rome: A New Cultural History 500-1000 by Julia M.H. Smith

“Capturing the Wandering Womb” by Kate Phillips, The Haverford Journal, April 2007

Kim Rendfeld is the author of The Cross and the Dragon, whose heroine, Alda, is frustrated that her lying-in chamber remains unused. Her yet-to-be-published second novel, The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar, has two scenes in a lying-in chamber, one that goes well and one that goes horribly wrong. For more about Kim and her fiction, visit www.kimrendfeld.com.

Medicine: Rabelais, the Physician

By Kathryn A.Kopple

It is possible to say without hyperbole that Francois Rabelais (circa 1480-1553) is one of the most enigmatic figures of the Renaissance.  He led a peripatetic life. He was monk, scholar, translator, physician, and father.  His written output was impressive:  he lectured on Hippocrates and Galen; he worked on academic treatises; he compiled almanacs (albeit humorous); he authored  Pantagruel, Pantagrueline Prognostication, Gargantua, and  five additional books under the title Pantagruel.   Rabelais’ command of classical languages, along with his devotion to intellectual pursuits, distinguished him as a man of learning, but he scarcely fit the stereotype of a dry scholar.  Earthy, fanciful, nonsensical and, playfully obscene, Rabelais enjoyed poking fun at any number of human failings:  ignorance, hypocrisy, and superstition.  For his efforts, he incurred the displeasure of the authorities on more than one occasion.  He further risked life and limb by performing a public autopsy.  To this day, we cannot separate Rabelais the physician from his comedic writings, for without understanding his enthusiasm for pleasure and merriment, we can’t hope to comprehend that the man who wrote Gargantua never deviated from the position that laughter—even in the face of disease and death—was the best medicine.

Donald M. Frame, in his study Francois Rabelais, provides a fine introduction to the times in which Rabelais lived.  New World “discoveries” exposed Europeans to a world richer and more diverse than previously imagined; the conquest of the Indies (as the Americas were known) changed people’s lives in dramatic ways.  The Atlantic “abyss,” deemed navigable, offered Westerners new trade routes and means of colonization.  Nonetheless, devices for telling time remained scarce.  Knowledge of arithmetic, algebra, and science were nebulous.  During Rabelais’s lifetime, the French had yet to adopt to any great extent Arab numerals.  What we refer to as medicine was then seen as a branch of philosophy—or “humanism” as it was then called.   God, miracles, the supernatural all held sway in human affairs.   The Renaissance, in particular the Incarnation, was meant as a celebration of the divine; it was not to be diminished by discoveries that contradicted religious belief—at least, not if one expected to remain out of trouble.   Rabelais, given his genius and temperament, often seemed determined to court trouble.  As the saying goes, and most obviously if we consider his writings, he was not one to suffer fools—and did so only with the greatest possible glee imaginable. 

In 1530, Rabelais, then a Benedictine monk, left the order to become a secular priest.  His desire to become a physician appears to have been the motivation, although it is not out of the realm of possibility that monastic discipline didn’t appeal to him.  Medicine, at the time, was based primarily in the study of Greek texts.  After years of book learning, it took Rabelais a mere six weeks to become a doctor.  His lectures gained him considerable recognition.  His aim, however, was to practice medicine, and in 1532, he was appointed physician at a large hospital in Lyons.  There Rabelais, under difficult circumstances, tended to the poor and ailing the best he could.  The Hippocratic School, based in the theory of humors (the idea that disease is caused by an imbalance of the four elements:  air, fire, water, and earth), also popularized by Galen, had become an object of dispute by figures such as Paracelsus; he was an advocate of alchemy, one of the earliest forms of chemistry, and took a dim view of Hippocrates.  Neither alchemist nor apothecary, Rabelais was ill-prepared to treat his patients.  Laudanum, credited to Paracelsus, was used for alleviating pain.  Rabelais no doubt had access to other medicines.  He may also have had a basic knowledge of cauterization, but the barber surgeon had to be called in for most operations.   In an era in which drugs--requiring specialized knowledge of chemistry--were beginning to replace herbal remedies, Rabelais made an attempt to study alchemy and botanical treatments. He made no memorable contributions.  In 1534, exhausted perhaps by the miserable conditions at the public hospital and the poor pay, he gave up his post at Lyons to become personal physician to Du Bellay, the bishop of Paris.  He later returned to the hospital at Lyons.

If Rabelais’s practical contributions to medical science were scant, his philosophical and linguistic contributions were, to use his own phrase “gargantuan.”  It is one of many words he coined to enrich the French language (for Rabelais wrote his farcical works in his native tongue).  Derived from the Spanish for “gullet,” Gargantua’s adventures are recounted in the book that bears his name.  He also is the father of Pantagruel (meaning “to thirst”).   The names alone demonstrate Rabelais fascination with the body and its functions.   The reader can expect lessons on biology, zoology, anatomy, alchemy, natural law—the list goes on.  In the preface to “Pantagruel,” Rabelais writes:  “I was not born under planet as to lie or assert anything which was not true…  And so, to bring this prologue to a conclusion: I give myself—body and soul, tripe and innards—to a hundred thousand punnets [a form of measurement] of fair devils if I tell you one single word of a lie in this whole story.”  With all of the references to innards, guts, and genitals, readers should expect many of Rabelais’s characters to have the stuffing beaten out of them; crude, he was, but neither did he shy away from cruel jokes.  At a time when Renaissance painters were busily depicting cherubs, angels, the infant Jesus, and all manner of art devoted to the splendors of the Incarnation, Rabelais’s tastes couldn’t have been more different.  The ideal held little appeal for him; he was a great chronicler of the grotesque.  The grotesque too, he seems to tell us, has its truth, its place in the God-given world—and its own kind of beauty.  The wonders of  the unseemly and obscene become in Rabelais’s work a continuous source of laughter.  For Rabelais, and his admiring readers, there is no healthier sound than a good belly laugh, even in the direst circumstances—and, if we be lucky, that laughter will be accompanied by hefty quantities of wine.

Sources

“Experimental Therapeutics in the Renaissance,” editor Stata Norton, http://jpet.aspetjournals.org/content/304/2/489.full.pdf+html  (consulted on 11/16/2012)

Frame, Donald M., Francois Rabelais, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, NYC 1977.

Rabelais, Francois, Gargantua and Pantagruel, , trans. and notes M.A. Screech, Penguin Books, New York 2006.

The Rabelais Encyclopedia, editor Elizabeth Chesney Zegura, Greenwood Press, Conn., 2004

Kathryn Kopple is the author of Little Velasquez, a novel of fifteenth century Spain.

Guest Blog: Christina Courtenay

This week, we’re welcoming author Christina Courtenay whose title THE SCARLET KIMONO  takes readers to 17th century Japan in the time of the shoguns. Christina is here to talk about the novel and offer a paperback copy to a lucky winner. Here's the blurb:

Abducted by a Samurai warlord in 17th-century Japan – what happens when fear turns to love?

England, 1611, and young Hannah Marston envies her brother’s adventurous life. But when she stows away on his merchant ship, her powers of endurance are stretched to their limit. Then they reach Japan and all her suffering seems worthwhile – until she is abducted by Taro Kumashiro’s warriors.

In the far north of the country, warlord Kumashiro is waiting to see the girl who he has been warned about by a seer. When at last they meet, it’s a clash of cultures and wills, but they’re also fighting an instant attraction to each other. 

With her brother desperate to find her and the jealous Lady Reiko equally desperate to kill her, Hannah faces the greatest adventure of her life. And Kumashiro has to choose between love and honour …

**Q&A with Christina Courtenay**

The Scarlet Kimono is set partly in Japan – what made you choose that as a location for your novel?

I lived in Japan for three years when I was a teenager and I fell in love with everything about that country – it’s an amazing place!  So I felt I just had to set a story there one way or another, and having my heroine stow away on a ship bound for what they called “the Japans” or “the Japonish nation” in 1611 seemed like a good idea.

Was there any aspect of Japan or its history that inspired you in particular?

Yes, I was very interested in the Japanese people’s reaction to the foreign traders and missionaries who arrived in the 16^th and 17^th centuries, but I was disappointed to find that the foreigners were all men.  It made me wonder what would have happened if a European woman had gone there - what would have been the reaction of the Japanese to a pretty female ‘gai-jin’?  Perhaps they would have viewed her differently to the somewhat coarse men who had come to their shores?

It’s not very likely that a woman would have travelled so far at that time though, is it?

No, women weren’t allowed to have any fun in the seventeenth century, or so it seemed to me  J  But I figured there had to be at least a few who were more rebellious and wanted to have some adventures, so I allowed my imagination free rein.  In order to travel, however, my heroine does pretend to be a boy since she knows a woman would never survive unmolested on a ship.  And being small and slim, she gets away with it (with a little help from a friend).

What research did you do for this book?

I read a lot of factual accounts and also visited the places I wrote about.  For instance, I went to Plymouth, on the coast of Devon, to see the layout of the town and its harbour.  I also went back to Japan and while there, I visited the castle of Himeji, which turned out to be almost exactly the way I’d imagined my hero’s castle in many respects.  There were lots of other fascinating details which I was able to incorporate into my story too.  Just being in Japan, observing the people, culture, countryside and so on helped as well.  I already loved Japanese food, so it was no hardship to taste the various dishes, and I brought back lots of Japanese things, like kimonos, fans and lacquer ware, which helped me describe them.

Your stories are told both from the hero and heroine’s point of view.  Do you find it hard to write about male characters?

No, I’ve always incorporated the male point of view in my writing and it seemed like serendipity when I found out that it’s what my publisher, Choc Lit, wanted.  I was a bit of a tomboy as a child, so have always had lots of male friends – perhaps that influenced me?  I’m not sure.  But I do enjoy seeing part of the story through the hero’s eyes.  I think it makes it more balanced somehow.

Christina Courtenay lives in Herefordshire in the UK and is married with two children. Although born in England she has a Swedish mother and was brought up in Sweden. In her teens, the family moved to Japan where she had the opportunity to travel extensively in the Far East.

Christina is vice chairman of the UK's Romantic Novelists' Association (RNA). She won their Elizabeth Goudge Trophy for a historical short story in 2001 and the Katie Fforde Bursary for a promising new writer in 2006.

In 2011, Christina's first novel Trade Winds (September 2010) was short listed for the RNA's Award for Best Historical Fiction. Her second novel, The Scarlet Kimono, won the Big Red Reads Best Historical Fiction Award. In 2012, Highland Storms won the Best Historical Romantic Novel of the year award (RoNA). As well as her novels, Christina has had four Regency novellas published, all available in Large Print and soon to be released on Kindle.

When she's not writing, she spends her time tracking down elusive ancestors for her family tree, and her other hobbies include archaeology (the armchair variety), listening to loud rock music and collecting things.

Follow Christina on Twitter  

The Scarlet Kimono is published by Choc Lit on 1^st March, (ISBN 978-1-906931-29-2).  For more details see www.choc-lit.co.uk or www.christinacourtenay.com. The Scarlet Kimono is available at Amazon UK, Amazon US and Goodreads.

THE ANATOMIST'S WIFE Winner!

We have a winner of Anna Lee Huber's THE ANATOMIST'S WIFE. The lucky winner is: 

Heather Domin!

Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

Excerpt Thursday: The Scarlet Kimono by Christina Courtenay

This week, we’re welcoming author Christina Courtenay whose title THE SCARLET KIMONO  takes readers to 17th century Japan in the time of the shoguns. Join us Sunday, when Christina will be here to talk about the novel and offer a paperback copy to a lucky winner. Here's the blurb:

Abducted by a Samurai warlord in 17th-century Japan – what happens when fear turns to love?

England, 1611, and young Hannah Marston envies her brother’s adventurous life. But when she stows away on his merchant ship, her powers of endurance are stretched to their limit. Then they reach Japan and all her suffering seems worthwhile – until she is abducted by Taro Kumashiro’s warriors.

In the far north of the country, warlord Kumashiro is waiting to see the girl who he has been warned about by a seer. When at last they meet, it’s a clash of cultures and wills, but they’re also fighting an instant attraction to each other. 

With her brother desperate to find her and the jealous Lady Reiko equally desperate to kill her, Hannah faces the greatest adventure of her life. And Kumashiro has to choose between love and honour …

**An Excerpt from The Scarlet Kimono**

The shadows in the room lengthened. Hannah had almost started to believe she’d been forgotten, when suddenly she found herself looking up at a man who had come into the room on silent feet. She shot up and stared at him, struck dumb at first. Her eyes widened as she looked into a face she knew.

‘Lord Kuma!’ The shock of seeing him, of all people, reverberated through her and almost made her legs give way again.

He inclined his head in greeting, but didn’t reply. Instead he stared at her as if he was reacquainting himself with her features. His very calmness and nonchalance infuriated her and her pent-up fear and frustration suddenly boiled over.

‘How dare you? Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded to know. ‘We’ve been travelling for ages and no one would tell me why. You can’t just abduct people at will like that. I’m under the protection of the Englishman you called Anjin-san, and he’s high in favour with the Shogun. You’ll regret this.’

She ran out of breath and glared at him, but he was still busy studying her. He moved slowly towards her, then circled her, looking her up and down. She wondered what game he was playing. Was he trying to intimidate her? Well, he’d catch cold at that.

‘Possibly,’ he conceded at last, presumably referring to her threat that Will Adams would avenge her somehow, but the prospect didn’t appear to worry him unduly.

Hannah willed herself not to swivel her head around to see what he was doing. Above all she mustn’t show fear. She gritted her teeth. I’ll show him that English women are not to be so easily cowed.

When he had completed his inspection he gave her a measuring stare.  ‘Haven’t you been told that here no one speaks to me unless I have spoken to them first?’ he asked calmly.

She frowned, but relieved that he was talking to her and not just staring, she replied with spirit. ‘No, I don’t think so and I don’t even know where here is. Perhaps you would care to tell me? Or is it a secret?’

He smiled, showing the dimples on either side of his mouth which had so attracted her the first time she’d seen them. His face, so harsh a moment ago, seemed instantly more gentle. Hannah drew in a shuddering breath, hoping this signified some sort of turning point. Perhaps now they could clear up what was obviously a misunderstanding. Surely he hadn’t meant to abduct her?

‘Very well, I will forgive you this once since you are a gai-jin and not used to our ways,’ he said. ‘In Hirado I tolerated your ignorance since you had only just arrived, but this place is my home, Shiroi Castle, and here it’s a different matter. I am Kumashiro Taro, daimyo of this province,’ he announced in a grand tone, ‘And in this house my word is law, don’t ever forget that,’ he added sternly.

Christina Courtenay lives in Herefordshire in the UK and is married with two children. Although born in England she has a Swedish mother and was brought up in Sweden. In her teens, the family moved to Japan where she had the opportunity to travel extensively in the Far East.

Christina is vice chairman of the UK's Romantic Novelists' Association (RNA). She won their Elizabeth Goudge Trophy for a historical short story in 2001 and the Katie Fforde Bursary for a promising new writer in 2006.

In 2011, Christina's first novel Trade Winds (September 2010) was short listed for the RNA's Award for Best Historical Fiction. Her second novel, The Scarlet Kimono, won the Big Red Reads Best Historical Fiction Award. In 2012, Highland Storms won the Best Historical Romantic Novel of the year award (RoNA). As well as her novels, Christina has had four Regency novellas published, all available in Large Print and soon to be released on Kindle.

When she's not writing, she spends her time tracking down elusive ancestors for her family tree, and her other hobbies include archaeology (the armchair variety), listening to loud rock music and collecting things.

Follow Christina on Twitter  

The Scarlet Kimono is published by Choc Lit on 1^st March, (ISBN 978-1-906931-29-2).  For more details see www.choc-lit.co.uk or www.christinacourtenay.com. The Scarlet Kimono is available at Amazon UK, Amazon US and Goodreads.

Medicine: How Eighteenth Century Medicine Killed George Washington

By Sandy Frykholm

When I get a sore throat, I stay at home, gargle warm salt water, and choose some of the various potions in my home ‘medicine chest’ for pain relief, fever, and decongestion. If there’s no improvement within a few days, I visit my doctor, and sometimes get antibiotics to treat a bacterial infection. End of story.

In December of 1799, at age 67, George Washington got a sore throat. It developed in just the circumstances that mothers still warn their children about today: He spent five hours outdoors in sleet and cold rain. He was riding around checking on his five farms near Mount Vernon on horseback, and returned home for the mid-day meal damp to the skin, and chilled.

The next day, though he was hoarse and congested, he hiked down the slope from Mount Vernon toward the Potomac River and marked out the location for a gravel walk and fishpond he planned to install. Tobias Lear, who had been Washington’s personal secretary for the previous fifteen years, urged him to take some medicine, but Washington told him, “You know I never take anything for a cold.” He stayed up late writing letters that evening.

He woke during the night with his throat inflamed, having difficulty breathing. His slaves built up the fire and tried to make him comfortable, but turned down Martha’s entreaties to send for a doctor. Lear was awakened at dawn, and wrote this account:  

“I found the General breathing with difficulty, and hardly able to utter a word intelligibly. He desired that Mr Rawlins (One of the overseers) might be sent for to bleed him before the Doctors could arrive. I dispatched a Servant immediately for Rawlins, and another for Dr. Craik, and returned again to the General's Chambr, where I found him in the same situation as I had left him -A mixture of Molasses, vinegar & butter was prepared to try its effects in the throat; but he could not swallow a drop; whenever he attempted it he appeared to be distressed, convulsed and almost suffocated. Rawlins came in soon after Sunrise, and prepared to bleed him. When the Arm was ready the General observing that Rawlins appeared to be agitated said, as well as he could speak

"Don't be afraid." And after the incision was made, he observed "The Orifice is not large enough. However the blood ran pretty freely. Mrs. Washington not knowing whether bleeding was proper or not in the General's situation, begged that not much be taken from him lest it should be injurious, and desired me to stop it; but when I was about to untie the string, the General put up his hand to prevent it, and as soon as he could speak, said "more, more." Mrs. Washington being still very uneasy lest too much blood should be taken, it was stopt after about half a pint. Finding that no relief was obtained from bleeding, and that nothing would go down the throat, I proposed bathing it externally, with salve latola, which was done; and in the operation, which was done with hand, in the gentlest manner, he observed, " 'tis very sore." A piece of flannel dip'd in salve-latola was put around his neck, and his feet bathed in warm waters; but without affording any relief.

In the meantime, before Dr. Craik arrived, Mrs. Washington desired of me to send for Dr. Brown of Port Tobacco whom Dr. Craik had recommended to be called if any case should occur that was seriously alarming. I dispatched a messenger (Cyrus) immediately for Dr. Brown (between 8 and 9 o'clock). Dr. Craik came in soon after, upon examining the General, he put a blister of Cantharides, [Cantharides, in case you didn’t know, is derived from a beetle, has been used to treat warts, and is used as an aphrodisiac, a.k.a. Spanish fly. I’m not sure what Dr. Craik’s goal was in this instance] on the throat, took some more blood from him and some Vinegar and hot water for him to inhale the steam, which he did, but in attempting to use this gargle he almost suffocated. When the gargle came from the throat some phlegm followed it, and he attempted to cough, which the Doctor encourage him to do as much as possible; but he could only attempt it. About 11 o'clock Dr. Craik requested that Dr. Dick might be sent for, as he feared Dr. Brown might not come in time. A messenger was accordingly dispatched for him. About this time the General was bled again. No effect, however, was produced by it. A Blister was administered about 12 o'clock, which produced an evacuation....

Doctor Dick came in about 3 o'clock, and Dr. Brown arrived soon after. Upon Dr. Dick's seeing and consulting a few minutes with Dr. Craik, he was bled again. The blood came very slow, was thick and did not produce any symptoms of fainting. Dr. Brown came into the Chamber soon after; and upon feeling the General's pulse, the physicians went out together. Dr. Craik returned soon after. The General could now swallow a little. Calomel [mercury chloride, a laxative] and tartar em [antimony potassium tartrate, a poison, used at one time to induce vomiting] were administered....”

By late afternoon, Washington had resigned himself to his imminent death, and in his usual pragmatic way, set about finalizing his affairs. He saw that an older version of his will was destroyed to establish clearly his final wishes, and gave instructions about his burial. At 10:10 p.m. George Washington breathed his last.

“Blood-letting is a remedy which, when judiciously employed, it is hardly possible to estimate too highly,” according to Dr. Henry Clutterbuck, writing in 1838. However, it is possible that Drs. Craik, Dick, and Brown did estimate too highly the value of bloodletting. According to Dr. Vibal Vadakan, a pediatric oncologist and hematologist from Los Angeles, the former president was relieved of more than half his blood in the twelve hours or so before his death, in addition to the various toxic purgatives used on him.

Dr. Vadakan is not the first to question the value of the treatments given George Washington. Just six weeks after Washington’s death, Dr. James Brickell wrote an article—which remained unpublished until 1903—critical of the procedures. Vadakan quotes the following from Brickell:

“... I think it my duty to point out what appears to me a most fatal error in their plan ... old people can not bear bleeding as well as the young ... we see ... that they drew from a man in the 69th year of his age the enormous quantity of 82 ounces, or above two quarts and a half of blood in about 13 hours.

Very few of the most robust young men in the world could survive such a loss of blood; but the body of an aged person must be so exhausted, and all his power so weakened by it as to make his death speedy and inevitable.”

From firsthand accounts, Dr. Vadakan estimates: “The total quantity of blood taken amounted to 124-126 ounces or 3.75 liters, drawn over a period of nine to ten hours on Saturday, December 14, 1799.

General Washington was a physically impressive man measuring 6 feet 3 inches in height and weighing 230 pounds. Because adult blood volume is 70 ml/kg, one can estimate the blood volume of President Washington at seven liters. The extraction of more than half of his blood volume within a short period of time inevitably led to preterminal anemia, hypovolemia, and hypotension. The fact that General Washington stopped struggling and appeared physically calm shortly before his death may have been due to profound hypotension and shock.”

While it is easy to criticize the physicians of the 18^th century, they were following the best medical practices of their time, and all had the former President’s best interests at heart. I can only say, I’m glad that any illness I suffer is taking place in the 21^st century, when, though not every attempted cure is successful, at least I am not likely to be bled to death by my doctor. 

Medicine: The Roman Army

The Ancient Romans based their medical knowledge on that of the Greeks, enhancing it over time with their own folklore and innovations. Like other cultures, their pharmacology was based on herbalism; and while it contained a hefty dose of woo-woo, many staples of the Roman first aid kit were scientifically sound. A great example is Pliny the Elder's Naturalis Historiae, a massive encyclopedia of facts, hearsay, myth, and superstition. Pliny was an officer in the Roman army during his youth, so it's not a stretch to speculate this collection of "remedies" was influenced by what he learned in the field; from his writings (and those of physicians like Galen of Pergamon), and from the records and artifacts left by the legions, we can put together a pretty good picture of how Roman army doctors dealt with the aftermath of battle.

Roman surgical tools from Pompeii

Legion medics employed a variety of surgical tools including scalpels, forceps, clamps, tweezers, and saws. What made this hardware slightly less terrifying was how it was treated; Roman doctors kept their own personal kits, and took pride in keeping their collection clean, up to date, and in good condition. They were skilled in setting bones, correcting dislocations, and sewing lacerations, and they knew enough about the circulatory and muscular systems to repair pretty hardcore damage — so except for the most catastrophic wounds, legionaries were not automatically doomed to bleed out or face amputation. As for pain management, they had nothing to rival today's anesthesia, but strong opiates did a lot to dull the senses — you would be awake for your surgery, but hopefully so strung out that you wouldn't care.

But after bones were splinted and stitches tied off, the real trick was preventing infection. Luckily the Romans practiced excellent hygiene, and the army was no exception. Surgeons knew dirty tools caused festering, and they boiled everything before each use; they also boiled the cloth used for bandages and the twine used for sutures. They knew the benefits of rinsing wounds with alcohol or vinegar, and of keeping hands and clothing relatively clean. As for post-triage care, their use of herbalism proved to be less woo-woo and more science, as modern medicine has since discovered. The following five ingredients were some of the most important in Roman field medicine, and while they don't exactly replace soap and penicillin, all five have been proven at least moderately effective.

HONEY
Honey was often used as the base for poultices and dressings, both for its consistency and because it was known to ward off infection and speed up healing. Honey inhibits the growth of bacteria: when applied to a wound, it creates a slow release of hydrogen peroxide, keeping the area clean.

Calendula arvensis, the pot marigold

GARLIC
Crushed garlic was used in poultices or for scrubbing down sick-rooms; as you can imagine, the result was rather fragrant. If the patient could bear it, they would indeed benefit from garlic’s antibiotic properties. It was used as an antiseptic as recently as WWII.

WILLOW
The bark of the willow tree is high in salicylic acid, the main component of aspirin. It was prized by many cultures as an antiseptic, analgesic, and anti-inflammatory, and could be administered in several forms: infused in wine, steeped as a tea, or ground for poultices.

CALENDULA
Calendula — the garden marigold — was a mainstay of the Roman medicine cabinet. The flowers were used in poultices and taken as tea to prevent and break fevers. Calendula is mildly anti-biotic and high in flavonols and saponins. It is widely used today in lotions and skin products.

Achillea millefolium, common yarrow

YARROW
The Romans called yarrow achillea in honor of Achilles, who was said to have required his soldiers to carry yarrow on their person at all times. Its main function was to arrest bleeding; it could also be used to dull pain and break fevers. Yarrow is high in salicylic acid and anti-inflammatory compounds.

The Roman battlefield was as much a scene of horror and agony as any other throughout time; wounds were just as ghastly, risk of infection just as dangerous. But with hygienic practices like cremation of the dead, latrines to prevent dysentery, and sound medical techniques to prevent and treat infection, the Roman legions maintained a state of health and sanitation not found in other military forces. In the ancient world, that advantage alone could make all the difference.

---

Heather Domin is the author of The Soldier of Raetia, set in Augustan Rome; and Allegiance, set in 1922 Dublin. She is currently working on the The Heir of Fortune, sequel to The Soldier of Raetia, and in the meantime enjoys puttering around with her herb garden, which may or may not contain woo-woo elements.

Medicine: A Brief History of Dentistry (Don't Let Your Cowhand Get a Toothache)

by Jacquie Rogers and Dr. Kenneth J. Hamada

A few months ago, one of my molars broke off below the gumline and abscessed. Boy-howdy, did it ever hurt! But not to worry, I made an appointment with my favorite dentist and four hours later, I felt better than I had in a week. For us, this is not uncommon and we take dentistry for granted. Yes, most of us aren't exactly thrilled with dental appointments, but we're not writhing in agony for months on end, either.

Not too many years ago, the infection in my molar could have killed me, and many did die of conditions caused by dental issues. Anyone who has had a severe toothache knows how happy you can be to see your friendly local dentist. Granted, my dentist is top-drawer, but dentistry in general is such an improvement over the available technology in the Old West that anyone, anywhere today can be relieved of pain.

I know very little about the history of dentistry, so I asked my aforesaid favorite dentist to write an article about it.  Here it is, a short overview of the history of dentistry. Be happy you live in 2012!



Dr. Kenneth J. Hamada, DDS

History of Dentistry:
A Brief Overview
by Dr. Kenneth J. Hamada, DDS

Dental treatments have been done for as long as toothaches occurred. They ranged from prayer or incantation, advancing to many dubious treatments such as bleedings, leeches or acupuncture. There were a plethora materials packed into the tooth to stop tooth aches such as wood, ivory, gold leaf, bees wax, gum and arsenic, to name just a few.

Pelican

Arsenic was used in the first root canal treatment in 1930s.  Of course it is not known if it killed or cured. The most common procedure was the extraction of the tooth with a primitive instrument from the 14th Century, made by a blacksmith, called a Pelican (much like a pick or lever) to dig the tooth out, most likely leaving much of the tooth or breaking the jaw or causing other numerous jaw problems. The extraction forceps weren’t developed until the 1800s.

The dental treatments were performed by medicine men, barbers, barber-physicians and of course most commonly, the charlatans. In the late 1700s England, anyone could become a dentist without training, or pay as much as a $1,000 to learn the art. There were an estimated 2000 “dentists.”

Pelicans, Forceps, and Toothkey

Anesthetics came around with the discovery of laughing gas (nitrous oxide), ether, and chloroform that were used in dentistry in the mid-1800s. Cocaine was used in the late 1800s as an anesthetic, later Novocain was developed in the 1900s because it wasn’t so addictive.

One of the most famous dentists of the Old West was John Henry “Doc” Holliday, who graduated in Philadelphia 1872.  He practiced only a couple of years when he was diagnosed with “consumption” or tuberculosis and given only a couple of years to live. He went out west to extend his life in a drier climate and found gambling to be much more lucrative than dentistry, although it was known that he did on occasion practice dentistry.

Cocaine Toothache Drops for children

All of the modern niceties of dentistry were found mainly east of the Mississippi but not in the Wild Frontiers. It was only when cities became large; such as San Francisco and destination cities on the main routes of intercontinental travel, that dental services became more available. The Wild West did not have most of the niceties and had to revert to the more primitive forms of treatment, since there were no drugs, tools or dentists. Can you imagine the use of gun powder to cauterize a toothache; or trying to remove a tooth with anything available? Many people died from abscess or dental treatment, as they did in the early days of history.

It must be remembered that the high speed air driven drills, sharp one-use needles, good dental materials known today, weren’t being used consistently until the 1950s. People born in these later years can still remember the old belt-driven electric motors and big bore dull needles that were used over and over. Anesthetics are not always used in many of the Third World nations to this day, unless you have the finances to have such luxuries.

Thank you Dr. Hamada!

Jacquie Rogers again: I'm glad to live in an age where we can be free of chronic dental pain.  Of course, western historical romance novels rarely address dental problems, or eczema, or athlete's foot, or other such maladies that have plagued humans since the dawn of history, but it's still good to understand what people endured on a daily basis.

Even so, wouldn't it be grand to spend a week or two in the Old West?  Maybe experience a stagecoach ride through Wyoming's Wind River Canyon, a high-stakes poker game in San Francisco, a night in a bawdy house (ahem, just to see who's there), a visit to a mining boomtown, or a day or two on a cattle drive.  But please, not with a toothache!

Check out my ♥ Hearts of Owyhee ♥ series:

Much Ado About Marshals

Much Ado About Madams

Much Ado About Mavericks

Website * Twitter * Facebook * Romancing The West * Blog

RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR Winner!

We have a winner of Blythe Gifford's RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR.  The lucky winner is: 

Eli Yanti!

Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

Medicine: Dr. Herff, Medicine Man – Or Ferdinand and Hermann’s Excellent Frontier Adventure.

By Celia Hayes

The practice of medicine in these United States for most of the 19^th century was a pretty hit or miss proposition. Such was the truly dreadful state of affairs generally when it came to medicine in most places and in all but the last quarter of the 19^th century – patients may have been better off having a go with the D-I-Y approach. Doctors trained as apprentices to a doctor with a current practice, or read some books and hung out a shingle. Successful surgeons possessed two basic skill sets; speed and a couple of strong assistants to hold the patient down, until he was done cutting and stitching.

But in South Texas from 1850 on, there was doctor-surgeon who became a legend, for his skill, advanced ideas, and willingness to go to any patient, anywhere and operate under any conditions – and most usually with a great deal of success. Doctor Ferdinand Ludwig von Herff, who dropped the aristocratic ‘von’ almost immediately upon arriving in Texas, was also an idealist, and prepared to live in accordance with his publically espoused principles. He came to Texas in 1847 as part of a circle of young men called the “Forty”, who had a plan to establish a utopian commune along ideas fashionable at the time.

Like the 1960 variety of idealists, most of Ferdinand Herff’s companions were students of various German universities. Originally they were going to establish their community in Wisconsin, but the Mainzer Adelsverein – the Society of Noblemen of Mainz, who had taken up what they thought would be a promising entrepreneur grant in Texas – offered funding and support if they come to Texas instead. In mid-summer of 1847 the Forty arrived in Texas, led by Herff, his friend Hermann Spiess and Gustav Schleicher, a trained engineer who would eventually oversee building of the rail system throughout Texas. They had brought along a huge train of baggage, supplies and equipment, including seeds and grapevines, mill machinery, a small cannon, many dogs, one woman -  a cook/housekeeper named Julie Herf (no relation to the doctor), Doctor Herff’s complete collection of surgical impedimenta … and a good few barrels of whiskey. By late fall, they had moved all this and a herd of cattle to a site near present-day Castell. They set up tents, built a long building to use as a sort of barracks and common-room, planted crops and named their little town Bettina, after Bettina von Arnim – a leading star-intellectual of the day. They settled in to live their dream of communal living, close to the land.

It didn’t last beyond a year, of course. The Forty were long on ideals, enthusiasm and funds, but short on relish for back-breaking agricultural labor. The community foundered on the rocks of human nature and self-interest, but not before Doctor Herff performed a single amazing feat of surgery.

This took place within weeks of his and the Forty’s arrival, during that halcyon period when an Adelsverein-negotiated peace treaty with the Comanche held between the two peoples – the German settlers brought over by the Adelsverein, and the Southern or Penateka Comanche. A Comanche warrior with an advanced case of cataracts appeared at Bettina, asking to be healed. Dr. Herff had already been treating various Indians who presented themselves, and would eventually become fluent in Comanche and Apache dialects… but this was a tall order and a touchy situation. They did not dare turn the Comanche away. Amazingly enough, Dr. Herff had brought the latest in ophthalmologic instruments with him and had performed cataract surgery – in Germany.

There were other challenges to be met; they would have to use ether to anesthetize the patient, and Doctor Herff would have to have sufficient light to operate. Ether being flammable, there was no way to light the surgical site with the usual sorts of lamps and candles with reflectors. Dr. Herff would have to operate outdoors, as would often be the case in his subsequent medical career on the frontier. Being a fastidiously tidy sort of man, he insisted on it being a clear, dust-free, windless and insect-free day, and that only boiled and cooled water be used to irrigate the eyes of his patient. A dozen commune members stood by, armed with palm-leaf fans to keep flies away… and Dr. Herff set to work, probably knowing that this was an operation that could not be botched.

Fortunately the surgery was wildly successful. The patient was ecstatic at being able to see well again, and as he departed, he promised the doctor the most generous reward at his command – a woman. One can imagine a great deal of jollity at Dr. Herff’s expense over the next three months from the other young men of the  Forty – but at the end of the time, the Comanche appeared again, with a young Mexican girl in tow, and handed her over to Dr. Herff. Dr. Herff promptly handed her over to the care of the only other woman in Bettina, the housekeeper/cook, Julie Herf. The girl’s name was Lena, or Lina; she had been a captive for a long time and was never able to recall enough about her original family to return to them. Eventually, she married Hermann Spiess.

Dr. Herff practiced medicine tirelessly for most of the next sixty years, establishing San Antonio’s first hospital, several medical associations and serving on the Texas Board of Medical Examiners. Generally, if there is a surgical “first” anywhere in Texas during the last half of the 19^th century, he was the surgeon responsible for it. There is a historical marker on San Antonio’s Riverwalk marking the site of one of his homes, and another on a hill outside the little town of Boerne, where Dr. Herff and his family later spent the summers.

(The story of the German settlers in mid-19^th century Texas is told in my Adelsverein Trilogy – and Dr. Herff himself also appears very briefly as a character in Book Two – The Sowing. He will also appear again in my next book, The Quivera Trail, which will be released late next year.)

Celia Hayes is the author of Daughter of Texas & The Adelsverein Trilogy. A writer and memoirist, dreamer and adventurer, storyteller and gardener,   mother and military veteran, Celia Hayes lives in San Antonio, Texas. She writes of the past as a means of exploring who we are, of honoring our unknown heroes and heroines, in order that we may appreciate the present which they built for us... and that we may use their lives as a guide for our own future.