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Page 32
In short, there was but a single doctor among them all, who would grant
the poor minister so much as a patient hearing. This was Doctor Zabdiel
Boylston. He looked into the matter like a man of sense, and finding,
beyond a doubt, that inoculation had rescued many from death, he
resolved to try the experiment in his own family.
And so he did. But, when the other physicians heard of it, they arose in
great fury, and began a war of words, written, printed, and spoken,
against Cotton Mather and Doctor Boylston. To hear them talk, you would
have supposed that these two harmless and benevolent men had plotted the
ruin of the country.
The people, also, took the alarm. Many, who thought themselves more
pious than their neighbors, contended, that, if Providence had ordained
them to die of the small pox, it was sinful to aim at preventing it.
The strangest reports were in circulation. Some said, that Doctor
Boylston had contrived a method for conveying the gout, rheumatism, sick
headache, asthma, and all other diseases, from one person to another,
and diffusing them through the whole community. Others flatly affirmed
that the Evil One had got possession of Cotton Mather, and was at the
bottom of the whole business.
You must observe, children, that Cotton Mather's fellow citizens were
generally inclined to doubt the wisdom of any measure, which he might
propose to them. They recollected how he had led them astray in the old
witchcraft delusion; and now, if he thought and acted ever so wisely, it
was difficult for him to get the credit of it.
The people's wrath grew so hot at his attempt to guard them from the
small pox, that he could not walk the streets in peace. Whenever the
venerable form of the old minister, meagre and haggard with fasts and
vigils, was seen approaching, hisses were heard, and shouts of derision,
and scornful and bitter laughter. The women snatched away their children
from his path, lest he should do them a mischief. Still, however,
bending his head meekly, and perhaps stretching out his hands to bless
those who reviled him, he pursued his way. But the tears came into his
eyes, to think how blindly the people rejected the means of safety, that
were offered them.
Indeed, there were melancholy sights enough in the streets of Boston, to
draw forth the tears of a compassionate man. Over the door of almost
every dwelling, a red flag was fluttering in the air. This was the
signal that the small pox had entered the house, and attacked some
member of the family; or perhaps the whole family, old and young, were
struggling at once with the pestilence. Friends and relatives, when they
met one another in the streets, would hurry onward without a grasp of
the hand, or scarcely a word of greeting, lest they should catch or
communicate the contagion. And, often a coffin was borne hastily along.
"Alas, alas!" said Cotton Mather to himself. "What shall be done for
this poor, misguided people? Oh, that Providence would open their eyes,
and enable them to discern good from evil!"
So furious, however, were the people, that they threatened vengeance
against any person who should dare to practise inoculation, though it
were only in his own family. This was a hard case for Cotton Mather, who
saw no other way to rescue his poor child Samuel from the disease. But
he resolved to save him, even if his house should be burnt over his
head.
"I will not be turned aside," said he. "My townsmen shall see that I
have faith in this thing, when I make the experiment on my beloved son,
whose life is dearer to me than my own. And when I have saved Samuel,
peradventure they will be persuaded to save themselves."
Accordingly, Samuel was inoculated; and so was Mr. Walter, a son-in-law
of Cotton Mather. Doctor Boylston, likewise, inoculated many persons;
and while hundreds died, who had caught the contagion from the garments
of the sick, almost all were preserved, who followed the wise
physician's advice.
But the people were not yet convinced of their mistake. One night, a
destructive little instrument, called a hand-grenade, was thrown into
Cotton Mather's window, and rolled under Grandfather's chair. It was
supposed to be filled with gunpowder, the explosion of which would have
blown the poor minister to atoms. But the best-informed historians are
of opinion, that the grenade contained only brimstone and assafoetida,
and was meant to plague Cotton Mather with a very evil perfume.
This is no strange thing in human experience. Men, who attempt to do the
world more good, than the world is able entirely to comprehend, are
almost invariably held in bad odor. But yet, if the wise and good man
can wait awhile, either the present generation or posterity, will do him
justice. So it proved, in the case which we have been speaking of. In
after years, when inoculation was universally practised, and thousands
were saved from death by it, the people remembered old Cotton Mather,
then sleeping in his grave. They acknowledged that the very thing, for
which they had so reviled and persecuted him, was the best and wisest
thing he ever did.
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