July 19, an Æsculapian

July 19—The life below these cold waters is quite extraordinarily plentiful and is providing continual delight for Goodsir who, though an Æsculapian by trade and lately curator of the Edinburgh College of Surgeons, is only truly happy in the presence of some unusual or hitherto unknown denizen of the natural world. He is a splendidly entertaining fellow and has the useful facility of being able to impart his enthusiasm to any idle hands he comes across and to make them uncomplainingly aid him in his explorations. He is what I believe is called ‘canny.’ His upper lip projects beyond his lower and his lower begins his chin thus producing a gradation, but a whisker comes down beyond the chin so you imagine there is more of the chin than meets the eye. He is long and straight (like a can of pump water) and walks upright—on his toes, with his hands tucked up in his jacket pockets. He is perfectly good humoured, very well informed on general points, in natural history learned, appears to be about twenty-eight years of age, laughs delightfully, cannot be in a passion, is enthusiastic about all ’ologies, draws the insides of microscopic animals with an imaginary-pointed pencil, catches phenomena in a bucket, looks at the thermometer and every other meter, is a pleasant companion—in all an acquisition to the mess. So much for the appearance of Mister Goodsir.

This evening he held us all in thrall with tales of his attic domicile in Lothian Street, Edinburgh which he termed ‘The Barracks.’ “It was rented,” he said, “for the princely sum of £17 per annum. As I recall, I shared it with my two brothers, two fellow doctors, a monkey, tortoise, dog, cat, eagle, king crab, chameleon, and various assorted guinea pigs, birds, fish and amphibians, not all of whom helped with the rental, and some of whom were a considerable surprise to the other residents of the house. 

“When one of our non-human guests passed on as nature intended, we would, in the name of science, dissect and study it. Naturally an assortment of skins could always be found hanging to dry in all manner of corners.

“It was the ideal setting for the free expression of opinions in the numerous and sometimes heated debates we undertook on scientific, political and moral matters. On occasion, we drew outsiders into our discussions. Once even that famous man of science Louis Agassiz. The discussion that night was warm enough to melt even the great sheets of ice which our learned visitor believes once covered all of Europe.” 

We were no less entertained by Goodsir’s descriptions of some of the more eccentric professors at the college including the eminent man Harald Redvers who was in the habit of continually eating cranberry tarts throughout his lectures and of stopping in mid-expostulation and staring out the window for periods of several minutes while his students sat with pens poised and struggled to prevent their eyelids from drooping too far.

Goodsir is very much in favour of new ideas in science and, in this way, occasionally comes into minor conflict with Stanley who is more of the old school. The other day, the pair became quite heated in a discussion of the propagation of that scourge of our cities—cholera.

“Impure air—” said Stanley, expressing the traditional view, “there can be no doubt that during an epidemic, a ‘cholera cloud’ hangs over an infected city. Inhalation of the miasma affects the lungs, turns the blood the characteristic black colour one often observes, and the patient is killed by asphyxiation. The purging and vomiting which accompany the progress of the disease are but secondary symptoms.”

This was all presented in almost biblical tones and brooked no dispute. However, Goodsir disagreed.

“Well,” he said after a pause for thought, “an increasing amount of scientific study suggests that the disorders of the bowels in cholera are primary. This would indicate that the bowel is the site of initial infection. If so, then the cholera must be passed through something ingested, impure water perhaps.”

Stanley only grunted, and the discussion remained somewhat academic until Goodsir, perhaps injudiciously, said, “The worst thing is the harm done by old-fashioned treatments. Warm baths, bleeding and the administration of brandy, calomel, and opium are less than useless and only worsen the patient’s condition. A far more logical approach would be the replacement of the lost bodily fluids through the injection of a salt solution to the bloodstream.”

“Rubbish!” Stanley scoffed. “Unsupported, modern nonsense. Contaminated water is bad enough, but to suggest injections when the patient is in an extreme condition borders on the lunatic.” 

I am not qualified to judge, but, as Goodsir put it, his ideas appeared to warrant more attention. In any case, it is only Stanley who grumbles at Goodsir. To the rest of us he remains a delight.

Today we pulled up enough codfish for a good feed or two for all hands, and we bring up more starfish, shells and other curiosities than even Goodsir can accommodate. This evening I sat up trying to read a watch by the light of certain blubbers which are remarkably jelly-like and which emit a bright phosphorescent light when shaken in a basin. As a practical method of illumination they will never supplant the gas light, but as a novel sample of the varied wonders of the natural world, they more than suffice. 

Of the larger life, we commonly see whales and porpoises dancing about the ship. The most unusual are the ‘bottle noses,’ a species of whale, about twenty-eight feet long; their heads are very peculiar, and unless they are so close as to see their beak under water, one fancies their foreheads are snouts poking above the water. Walruses are also very common at times. Sometimes we see shoals of several hundred, tumbling over one another, diving and splashing with their fins and tails, and looking at us with their grim, solemn-looking countenances and small heads all bewhiskered and betusked. They look so serious that Goodsir suggested, jokingly I trust (but then again he did once make a pet of a seal which he fed on milk) that we capture one of these beasts and set it up on deck as some kind of local dignitary which we could consult on matters pertaining to our voyage, much as the Greeks attended their oracles when they wished the future to be made clear. I told Goodsir I had no wish to know the future, that it would take care of itself in good time and that, in any case, to my understanding the Greek oracles were notorious for leading their questioners false. 

Sometimes I feel we are all just inquisitive schoolboys who have climbed the wall of the local manor and are at play in some vast garden all unawares.