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J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

A BIOGRAPHY

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J.WILLIAM WHITE, M.D

A BIOGIL\PHY

By AGXES REPPLIER

With Portraits

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTOX MIFFLIX COMP-\XY

^■Cbc iiitrtsiDc press CambnOge

1919

COPYRIGHT, I9I9, BY AGNES REPPLIER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

*A surgeon should be tender to the sick,
honourable to his fellow surgeons, wise in
his predictions, chaste, sober, jritifid, not
covetous or extortionate. Rather should he
take his wages in moderation, according to
his work, and the wealth of his patient, and
the issue of the disease, and his own worth."

GUY DE CHAULIAC

Grand Chirurgie, 1363

CONTENTS

I. Early Years 1

II. The Voyage of the Hassler .... 9

III. Blockley and the Penitentiary ... 29

IV. Surgeon and Trooper 35

V. Milestones 47

VI. The Years that Count 64

VII. Last Years of Surgery 90

VIII. A Crisis Past 139

IX. Four Busy Years 160

X. Freedom 192

XI. The Great War 226

XII. The End 254

Index 277

ILLUSTRATIONS

J. William White Frontispiece

From a photograph {inscribed by the artist) of ike portrait by
John S. Sargent

Dr. Agnew at his Clinic: Dr. White Assisting . 40

From the painting by Thomas Eakins. Reproduced by the
courtesy of the University of Pennsylvania from a copyright
photograph by the Chappel Studio, Philadelphia

J. William White 160

From a photograph

J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

CHAPTER I
EARLY YEARS

JAMES WILLIAM WHITE was born in Phila-
delphia on the 2d of November, 1850. He was
of English ancestry, the family dating back to one
Henry White, who in 1649 left England, and came
to Virginia. Four generations of Henry White's de-
scendants lived in, or near, Albemarle, North Caro-
lina. One of the fifth generation, James White, moved
to Burlington, New Jersey. His son, William Rose
White, married Mary Stockton, a descendant of
Richard Stockton, signer of the Declaration of In-
dependence. Their son, James William White, senior,
practised medicine for many years in Philadelphia.
He was a keen diagnostician, much sought in con-
sultations, and he was also an able man of affairs,
first president of the S. S. White Dental Manufactur-
ing Company, whose products had as wide a market
in Europe as in the United States. His strong and
advanced opinions brought him both friends and
foes. A firm abolitionist, he fought a lifelong and un-
yielding battle against slavery. A broad-minded phi-
lanthropist, he helped to found the Maternity Hos-

2 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D

pital at a time when, as has been well observed,
"the existence of such an institution was considered
an endorsement and encouragement of vice." His
wife, Mary Ann McClaranan, was of New England
parentage, and ably seconded a line of conduct more
in accord with the prevailing sentiments of Massa-
chusetts than of Pennsylvania. From both parents
their distinguished son inherited those sharply defined
and unyielding traits of character, which, buttressed
with energy, ability, and resolution, made him so
valuable a colleague and so dauntless an opponent.

The boy was educated in the public schools of
Philadelphia. He was a quick-tempered, warm-
hearted, rough, impetuous child, as devoted to play
as if the alphabet had never been invented, and to
reading as if hockey and base-ball were unknown.
The four beloved books which he read and re-read
with ever renewed delight were the "Arabian Nights,"
"Pilgrim's Progress," "Don Quixote," and "Robin-
son Crusoe," a heroic selection, but a natural one in
those happy days, before a flood of inane juvenile
stories had become the blight of the nursery and
school-room. Certain chapters in these books gave
the boy such intense pleasure that he confesses he
approached them at each fresh perusal "with secret
and exhilarating excitement." This seems to me one
of the most illuminating statements I have ever
heard upon the much discussed subject of children's

EARLY YEARS 3

reading. There is no doubt that only the book which
is read many times, and which is read many times
because it is worth many readings, has any place in a
child's intellectual or emotional life; and no child who
has ever responded to the stirring appeal of a great
masterpiece has failed to experience the "secret and
exhilarating excitement" with which he returns,
step by step, cautious yet unafraid, to the Valley of
Diamonds, or the Castle of Giant Despair, or the
shining sands marked with the impress of a savage
foot.

When I was young, all well-brought-up little girls,
and doubtless all well-brought-up little boys, who
were permitted to visit their playmates, were cau-
tioned by careful mothers that they must on no
account open a book. To sit in a corner and read,
instead of joining decorously in games, was held to
be unpardonably rude. If Mrs. White gave this part-
ing counsel to her son, it was of no avail. The temp-
tation was too strong to be resisted. Little Bill would
even improvise a game of hide-and-seek in order that
he might slip away from his small cousins and com-
panions, and, hidden behind a curtain, or on the
back stairs, or in a closet, snatch a brief, uneasy
joy from some hitherto unread story, which he was
destined never to finish. The quickness of his obser-
vation was marred by his extreme near-sightedness.
If Mrs. Barbauld's old-fashioned tale, "Eyes and No

4 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Eyes," ever came his way, he must have sympathized
with the little boy who passed by all the wonderful
things which his comrade saw and commented upon.
When he stumbled and blundered about, it was put
down to the natural awkwardness of boyhood. It was
only after he went to school that his fashion of hold-
ing his book betrayed his imperfect vision. Once
fitted with glasses, his strong eyes bore heavy and
continuous strain until he died.

In one regard the boy's life was a stormy one. A
tendency to quarrel, and a still more fatal readiness
to uphold his dispute by force, tried the patience of
his teachers beyond endurance. He delighted in war-
fare, and paid scant heed to causes or to consequences.
Again and again they asked why such a little fire-
eater should be retained in the ranks, and again and
again the child's truthfulness, integrity, and stead-
fast application to his studies pleaded for pardon. If,
on a Monday morning, Mrs. White was seen accom-
panying her abashed son to school, the neighbours
said, "There goes Bill White's mother to make peace
with his teachers. She has her hands full anyway."

At thirteen the boy was ready for the High School,
but was held to be too young, and obliged to wait a
year for admittance. He was always a close student,
partly because his quick intelligence detected some
interest even in the routine of class-work, and partly
because all studies were to him an obstacle to be

EARLY YEARS 5

overcome, a barrier at which he rode hard like a
steeple-chaser. Why and how his high-school themes,
or, as they were then humbly called, compositions,
were preserved from the scrap-basket, it is impossi-
ble to say. Perhaps his parents kept them, as little
Tom Macaulay's parents kept their precious in-
fant's hymns, and epics, and "Epitome of Univer-
sal History." Perhaps Dr. White's noticeable and in-
explicable distaste for destroying any scrap of paper
dated from his boyhood, and he himself cherished
these unloved and laborious productions.

Be this as it may, the compositions were found in-
tact among more important documents, very neatly
copied, and as correct in spelling as in sentiment.
They are like the compositions of school-boys all the
world over, save that they do not suggest the hope-
less boredom, the slurring haste, common to such
tasks, and that they have a refreshing tendency to
abandon the abstract for the concrete. The lad starts
out to write about "Peace," and having expressed
some stainlessly virtuous sentiments regarding its
blessings and benefits, he branches joyously off to
occasions which imperatively demand war. He inti-
mates his disapproval of the Quaker attitude, and
says in redundant school-boy language what Mr.
Roosevelt has said in a few vigorous words, — that
"a class of professional non-combatants is, in the
long run, as hurtful to a community as a class of

6 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

professional wrong-doers." In another paper he com-
ments with regret upon the preponderance of study
over athletics in the education of boys (which shows
how long ago he went to school), and prophesies that
a reign of dyspepsia will result from this mistaken
attitude of teachers. Most characteristic of all is a
composition on "Justice," in which he sweeps aside
generalities to dwell feelingly on the case of a con-
temporary murderer — a murderer long forgotten
by the world — who killed eight people, and real-
ized only eighteen dollars by the job. This man was
hanged, which is duly pointed out as a triumph of
justice (the boy entertained no sentimental theories
on the subject of capital punishment); but what
really absorbs his youthful mind is the disproportion
between the means and the end. Eight murders, and
eighteen dollars! He is stunned by this unpractical
aspect of crime.

When young WTiite left the High School, his father
sought to make his clever son a chemist; but this the
lad opposed with all the determination of his char-
acter. He took a year's course in chemistry with
Hance Brothers and White; but a chemist he reso-
lutely declined to be. His heart was set on medicine,
and on surgery, as his chosen field of medicine. In
vain the arguments — old as civilization — of slow
progress and crowded professions were urged upon
him. Peter the Great doubtless considered that the

EARLY YEARS 7

two lawyers whom he permitted to practise in his
empire overcrowded it, and so hanged one of them.
To his father's cautious counsels, the son had but
one reply: "There is plenty of room where I intend
to be." Inevitably he carried his point, and entered
the Medical School of the University of Pennsyl-
vania, a school then situated at Ninth and Chestnut
Streets. Here, working con amore and with all his
might, he spent three vigorous years, and spent them
to such good effect that in 1871 he received the two
degrees of Ph.D. and M.D., obtaining a full vote for
both, and standing at the head of his class after a
competitive examination.

All this time his interest in athletics had kept pace
with his interest in laboratory work and the lecture-
room. His superb health, which he never spared,
permitted him increasing physical and mental exer-
tion. He could fill up every hour of the day, and
study half the night, without fatigue, and without
apparent strain. It was through the friendship of his
preceptor. Dr. Horatio C. Wood, always keenly in-
terested in so brilliant a student, that the young
physician received at the outset of his career an ap-
pointment which, lasting less than twelve months,
influenced him for life, and was of far greater ad-
vantage to him than he was then able to under-
stand.

Professor Benjamin Peirce, Superintendent of the

8 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

United States Coast Survey, had fitted out a small
steamer, the Hassler, for scientific explorations in
the waters of the South Atlantic. He invited Profes-
sor Agassiz to head the expedition, and Agassiz, al-
though in failing health, eagerly accepted the post.
Dr. Thomas Hill, former President of Harvard Col-
lege, a man of seemingly limitless information, and
Count Pourtales, of the Coast Survey, accompanied
him on the voyage. To Dr. White, then just twenty-
one, was offered a berth as hydrographic draughts-
man, and it may be conceived with what enthusiasm
he snatched this golden opportunity. "Agassiz says
he can and will teach me more comparative anatomy
in a month than I should ever learn in a year at
college," he writes joyously to his father; adding
with a canniness which was as natural to him as
courage: "The Professor is down on the Darwinian
theory, so, although I believe in it at present, I think
I'll renounce it for a year. He is going to buy me a
shot-gun, or rather let me buy it, and send him the
bill. Which is the most expensive kind?"

The last line is illustrative. There never was a time
when Dr. White did not stand ready to take all that
life and opportunity had to offer; but there never
was a time when he was not equally ready to give
the best that was in him in return.

CHAPTER II
THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER

THERE are few things in this life so good as we
think they are going to be, or so good as we
think they have been. Our enjoyment is either an-
ticipatory or reminiscent, because we cannot foresee
the disagreeable possibilities of the future, and we
remember with grateful distinctness the pleasures of
the past. It is natural that Dr. White should have
keenly relished the prospect of a most unusual voy-
age, and that he should have looked back upon the
nine months on the Hassler as a remarkably and
exclusively happy period of his career. He did enjoy
it with all the freshness of youth, and with all the
appreciation of sense and intelligence. But the trip
brought him, as it brought more important members
of the party, a full measure of vexation and disap-
pointment. In the first place, the expedition, which
was to have started in August, 1871, did not get off
until December. Apparently it went then, only be-
cause the money appropriated for the work would
have been returned to the treasury if the Hassler
had not sailed within the fiscal year. Dr. White spent
the month of November in Boston, hoping every day
to be off the next, and fretting over the delay which

10 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

eventually curtailed the voyage, compelling Agassiz
to relinquish the Falkland Islands, and the Rio Ne-
gro and Santa Cruz Rivers, to his inextinguishable
regret. Moreover, the deep-sea dredging, from which
he hoped to obtain important results, failed because
of defective apparatus. The hauls from the greatest
depths were invariably lost.

Mrs. Agassiz, who accompanied her husband, kept,
under his direction, a diary, descriptive and scientific,
which was published after his death, and made dull
reading. Dr. Hill wrote a series of letters to the "New
York Tribune.'* Dr. White, with characteristic self-
confidence, invaded, before sailing, the office of the
"New York Herald," and actually persuaded the
managing editor, Mr. Cannery, not only to accept
him as a special correspondent, but to pay him
twenty dollars a column, instead of the modest
ten which was the paper's customary rate. These
"Herald" letters became a heavy burden as the
young physician's duties on the Hassler grew more
and more imperative. Often he had no time to write,
and oftener still he had nothing to write about. Al-
ways he found it hard to tell enough to satisfy the
paper, without telling more than Agassiz wished told.
He confesses in his diary that he envies Dr. Hill (who
received thirty dollars a column from the "Tribune")
the ease and intentness with which he scribbled his
interminable pages. "He does not have to consult

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 11

any geographical dictionaries, encyclopedias, or other
useful abominations. He just sits down, takes his port-
folio on his knee, and draws out of his antiquated,
perverse, crotchety, obstinate, but well-filled head all
that he wants, and more too. I have n't seen any of
his letters, but I know they are so much better than
anything I can write, that the very thought dis-
courages me."

Nevertheless, the correspondence with the "Her-
ald" was continued until the end of the voyage. It
would no more have occurred to Dr. White to vol-
untarily relinquish a job he had undertaken to do
than to voluntarily relinquish existence. The letters
— which have been preserved — are sober, intelli-
gent narratives, written in the forceful, vigorous
style he retained through life, and marked, it must
be confessed, by that reluctance to leave anything
untold which characterized all he ever wrote. They
were printed by the "Herald" in type so ruinously
fine as to suggest collusion with the oculists and
opticians of New York, and provided with fantas-
tic and sensational headlines, calculated to attract
readers who would not have known Agassiz from
Audubon. "Millions of Skeletons at the Bottom of
the Sea." "Beautiful Tempest-Defying Creatures
Dancing on the Crests of the Waves." "Oysters a
Foot in Diameter." "Hydroids, the Socialists of the
Sea." This is the way a valiant newspaper strove to

12 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

arouse the intellectual curiosity of the public. Even
solid paragraphs were broken up to admit such head-
ings as "Never before seen by Human Eyes." "The
Skeletons." "Perished by Thousands." "Died a
Heretic." Naturally the most apathetic old gentle-
man droning over his newspaper wondered a bit who
died a heretic, who perished by thousands, and what
on earth the expedition was about.

It is amusing to note that many years later. Dr.
White, addressing the Harvard Club, dwelt feelingly
upon the anguish of spirit which the "Herald's"
headlines had caused his sensitive youth. He had
aspired to be weighty and scientific, and the paper
had presented him to its readers as a second Jules
Verne. All his life, notwithstanding certain stormy
episodes, he remained on fairly good terms with
newspapers. No man was less inclined to the stupid
and vulgar error of censuring the press. No man bet-
ter understood its difficulties, or recognized more
clearly its incontestable merits. His dedication — a
year before he died — of the "Text-Book of the War
for Americans" to the press of the United States,
proved that he rightly regarded our best newspapers
as intelligent leaders of the nation's thought, and
upright guardians of the nation 's honour. He winced
under the "Herald's" sensationalism, but he grasped
its motives, and forgave.

Once launched on its voyage, the Hassler became

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 13

a scene of incessant activity, and the hydrographic
draughtsman — a title which might have been roughly
interpreted as man-of-all-work — was kept busily em-
ployed. How he ever found time to do all the jobs
which Agassiz gave him to do, and most of the jobs
which should have been done by older and less stren-
uous men, write the interminable letters to the
"Herald," keep up an energetic correspondence with
his family — to say nothing of a diary — and study
French and Spanish with zest, remains a mystery.
His days always seemed to hold more than the twen-
ty-four hours allotted to ordinary mortals.

Every calm morning, Agassiz gave a lecture on
deck, using a rubber blanket stretched on four sticks
as a blackboard. These lectures Dr. White copied
"smoothly," and he also undertook, before they had
been out a week, to copy the log. When the ship was
quarantined in Montevideo Harbour, he had himself
awakened every three hours in the night, to make his
observations on surface water, Agassiz being eager to
test the influence of winds and tides upon the admix-
ture of fresh water in the bay. The incessant dredg-
ings kept him hard at work, examining the specimens,
and dropping everything of value into alcohol. Three
thousand five hundred gallons of alcohol were used
during the voyage. Agassiz's curiosity was so in-
satiable, and his delight over a good haul was so
radiant, that his young assistant could not forbear

14 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

a joke (a variant of Cleopatra's famous trick), and
slipped one day a polished chicken bone into the
dredging net before it was cast. Up in time came the
net, and up came the bone. A sailor grasped it, and
carried it to Agassiz, who rejected the strange speci-
men with a smile, divining the jest, and asking no
questions.

Sunday brought scant respite from labour. Dr.
White writes to his father that Agassiz was "very
religious," but would dredge seven days in the week,
deeming it a work of necessity, and expected others
to do the same. An average Sunday was spent in
dredging until noon, photographing the specimens
until dusk, and listening in the evening to a lecture
on "Positivism" from the omniscient Dr. Hill, whose
custom it was to interpret metaphysics in the terms
of a mathematician, somewhat to the disgust of
Agassiz, who hated mathematics, and who was nat-
urally disposed to disagree with what he did not
understand.

It must be remembered that Dr. White was not a
marine biologist, and that he had none of the noble
but somewhat overwhelming enthusiasm common to
this department of science. He threw his whole soul
into his work because slackness was impossible to
his nature, and he tried to share Agassiz's wild delight
when — off the coast of Patagonia — they caught
some uncommonly ugly little fishes which could swim

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 15

head first or tail first, *'as a matter of indifference."
"There was once a folio volume written on a single
imperfect specimen of these fish," he reports proudly,
"and they are still very rare; so the Professor's
pleasure is unbounded." It was another red-letter
day which showed them their first steamer-duck pad-
dling expertly on the rough water, and very often
the fossils secured were of inestimable value. When
in ill-luck, their ropes broke, their hauls were lost,
the bathometer let down for deep-sea sounding never
came up again, and the result of four hours' dredg-
ing in six hundred and eighty fathoms of water
in Panama Bay was "a few worms and some blue
mud." If there was an element of monotony in their
labour, there was a glorious diversity in its reward.

Photographing the specimens was every whit as
difficult as securing them. The art of photography
was then, if not in its infancy, at least in its early
and untrammelled youth. Dr. White was not an
expert at the work, but Dr. Hill gradually resigned
it into his hands, hating its messiness, and heart-
broken over its results. To photograph live Ascidians
in a basin of water on the heaving deck of a small
ship would be no facile task to-day; but with the
imperfect apparatus of 1872, wet plates, time ex-
posure, and a persevering but inexperienced photog-
rapher, the percentage of failures was ruinous.
Nevertheless, Dr. White went steadily on with this

16 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

unloved task until he might be said to have con-
quered it. Twelve hours out of the twenty-four were
sometimes consumed taking the photographs, de-
veloping them, and packing them away. At Rio de
Janeiro he carried his negatives to the laboratory of
Signor Leuzinger, where conditions were exception-
ally good, and worked there in the heavy heat for
ten hours, without intermission, and without food.
It was a heroic test of endurance. Zealotry could
have done no more.

Besides photographing specimens, it was Dr.
White's more difficult duty to take pictures of the
coast, and of all objects of beauty and interest which
might be desirable for stereopticon slides. This in-
volved such diverting experiences that I quote a long
extract from the diary, partly because it is really
funny, and partly because it might have been written
at fifty instead of at twenty-one. Those who knew
Dr. White only in later life can recognize the familiar
turns of speech, the ease and sharpness of expression.

**At Sea. Off the Island of Chiloe. Sunday, April
7th, 1872. This morning I had an instance of what has
been one of my great troubles in photography, — the
fact that it is impossible to make some people under-
stand what can and what can't be done with a camera.
It would be amusing if it were not annoying. I wak-
ened between six and seven o'clock, looked out of my
port-hole, saw that we were at some distance from

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 17

shore, pulled off a leaf from my calendar, disclosing
* Domingo, April 7th,' said a word of good morning to
you all by looking over the photographic album, and
then settled myself comfortably to read a new novel
(new when we started) which Mrs. Agassiz had re-
quested me to pronounce upon before beginning it
herself.

"I hadn't enjoyed this very long when my cur-
tains were pulled aside, and the Professor's face was
visible. He made a movement to retire, saying some-
thing about having thought that 'perhaps the pho-
tographic apparatus was ready.' I told him that
it would be ready in exactly ten minutes if it were
necessary, but that I did n't believe there was any-
thing to photograph. 'Oh, yes, something of the
greatest interest, if it would not be too much trouble.'
I turned out, dressed, and was on deck with my
camera and a coated and sensitized plate in about
the time I mentioned. Then I found that the nearest
objects were hills several miles off, which hills had,
on the focusing glass, an elevation of about the
tenth of an inch; and that the intensely interesting
'something' consisted of white spots on those hills,
barely discernible without the aid of the glass. I might
as well have been called upon to photograph a fly-
speck on Girard College from the State House steeple.

"I did n't say much. The old gentleman had been
greatly disappointed at our not going up to the

18 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

island, as he thereby missed an opportunity of hav-
ing a slap at Darwin on the Glacial Theory, and I
did n't want to worry him any more. So I went
through the motions, exposed three plates, and told
him I did n't believe I had secured what he wanted,
but that I had done all that was possible. I then
stowed away the apparatus. In fifteen minutes he
saw a volcanic range on the other side, and at about
twice the distance, of which he wanted a picture. I
unpacked, repeated the process, made a couple of
plates on which the hills would have to be looked for
with a compound microscope, and stowed away the
things. In half an hour he discovered two peaks,
snow-covered, and almost exactly the same colour as
the sky behind them, so that it was diflScult to make
out their line of demarcation, even with strong
glasses. I told him they would both take the same
colour, that the mountains would n't show, and that,
in addition, the vessel was beginning to make con-
siderable motion. He did n't seem persuaded, how-
ever, that it was impossible, so I again unpacked,
and demonstrated it to him. I caught all the ripples
on the waves without a sign of the peaks. Then I
packed up, and registered a vow -— which I kept —
not to take the things out again unless we were in
smooth water, within a hundred yards of shore."

In what odd moments of his crowded day, Dr.
White snatched the leisure to write the diary which

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 19

he kept for his family, as well as letters of amazing
length and minuteness, no one will ever know. There
is no sign of haste or scrimping in his voluminous
pages. He tells his mother that the washerwoman at
St. Thomas starched his handkerchiefs and towels,
and left his collars and cuffs limp. He tells his grand-
mother everything he had to eat at a dinner party at
Talcahuano, because that was what she liked best to
hear. If, at the close of the trip, he omits the menu
of a dinner given by Mr. Leland Stanford, then Gov-
ernor of California, he pleads in excuse that the en-
tertainment lasted from six to nine, and that he was
too torpid when he left the table to remember any-
thing about it. He makes careful notes throughout
the voyage of all that might interest his little brother,
Louis, then six years old. He writes to this child
about the island of Juan Fernandez and Alexander
Selkirk; and about a big flying fish which leaped with
such violence to the deck of the Hassler that it
knocked over a cabin boy; and about the trained
canaries he saw at Rio de Janeiro, which obstinately
refused to tell his fortune, though they told the for-
tunes of the Rio de Janeirans all day long. He gives
him the kind of good advice which a little boy rejects
from his parents, but receives docilely from a big
brother. Louis is not to fight for the sake of fighting.
"If the other boy is smaller than you are, it is a
mean thing to do, and if he is bigger, he might make

20 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

you wish you had n't." The whole duty of little boy-
hood is compressed into this one golden sentence: *'I
want you to be a good boy, and mind father and
mother and grandmother, and keep your feet dry,
and keep off the car-tracks, and not eat pie-crust or
pork."

In his clamorous demand for home letters. Dr.
White does not exempt even the six-year-old. It
appears that Louis can write a little; therefore he
should write, though the forgiving brother makes
allowance for his ineptitude, and answers an unsent
baby scrawl in this really charming fashion.

Dear Louis :

Although I have n't yet received that letter which
Mother told me you had written, I thought I had
better answer it just the same as if I had got it. I
guess I know what was in it. You told me how you
and Waltie played, and how Maltie — not Waltie —
had fits, and how you were a bad boy sometimes,
and a good boy nearly always, and how Grand-
mother fed the pigeons, and the cats, and the rats,
and everything else that would eat, and how much
money you got when you were sick, and how you
dirtied your new suit, and how you ran to fires,
played in the mud, rode with the milkman, plagued
Grandmother, teased Rosie, worried Mother, and
behaved yourself when Father was around. If you

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 21

did n't write all this, I am sure you might have done
so without telling a great many stories.

One fact is evidenced by the Hassler diary. It is
never divulged, but may be read between every line.
The diarist is horribly homesick. This is his first
journey, and the familiar scenes and figures he has
left tug at his heart-strings. He is maddened by the
irregularity of the South American mails, and ap-
pears to have spent hours at Rio de Janeiro trying
to worry the hot and exasperated post-office clerks
into giving him letters which were not there to give.
When one does come, it has two fifteen-cent stamps
on it, and he has to pay twenty-four cents more; but,
although habitually careful of money, he declares
joyfully that it is worth fifty dollars. Later on, he
records without a tremor that the Chilean Govern-
ment asks twenty-five cents for every letter which
passes through its post-office, and that his are always
double weight. Whenever the ship's provisions run
low, his homesickness is augmented by the cravings
of his youthful appetite for the good Philadelphia
fare, so long untasted, so ardently recalled. For a
week in Otter Bay, scientists and sailors were alike
reduced to pork and beans, — pork and beans for
breakfast, dinner, and supper. At this period the
young doctor's letters resemble nothing so much as
the "Homesick Glutton's Dream." In vain he tries

22 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

to solace a free and hungry hour with "Aurora
Leigh." His soul rejects this fare as unmistakably as
his stomach rejects the pork and beans. In vain Mrs.
Agassiz recommends Browning's "Dramatic Poems."
"I don't think much of them," is his uncritical, but
not unnatural, verdict. The Hassler library seems
to have been a somewhat haphazard collection of
books, and Dr. White — a swift and omnivorous
reader — skimmed over its fiction in the first few
weeks, tossed aside its poetry, lingered appreciatively
over Dr. Holmes's "Autocrat," and Macaulay's
"Essays,** and finally settled down to "Gray's
Anatomy," and a Spanish grammar. He knew what
promise they held.

The grammar, indeed, bore fruit a hundredfold,
for, whenever the Hassler was in port, its earnest
student found himself fit for conversation, lively if
limited, with all the pretty girls he met. He never
suffered his courage to be daunted by an imperfect
vocabulary; but eked out his Spanish with French,
and his French with English, and his English with
the universal language of youth; making himself
invariably understood, and enjoying the abundant
hospitality of the South. His pleasure in being on
shore was just as keen, whether he were climbing a
mountain peak at Tijucas, or eating a highly civilized
dinner at Talcahuano, or listening to the chanting of
a tobacco-begging Fuegian chief, or hunting iguanas

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 23

for Agassiz on Charles Island, or shooting, or fishing,
or collecting butterflies, or photographing a glacier.
"Agassiz knows all about fishes, except the way to
catch them," is a record in the diary. **He gives
directions concerning hooks, and bait, and nets, and
drawing seines, which are listened to respectfully,
but never followed."

At Panama, Dr. White accompanied Agassiz on
a specimen-collecting expedition which lasted three
days. They went by rail to San Pablo, and the diary
gives a minute account of the trip, dwelling especially
on the hospitality of the San Pablo station-master,
a Mr. Lesley from Bangor, Maine, and a vastly
important official. This young man had married a
school-teacher from Belfast, Maine, and had made
her a home in the wilderness. Their shining house
and neat garden were like a bit of New England
transferred to the Isthmus. Mrs. Lesley's good cook-
ing, her raised biscuits and excellent coffee, are
feelingly described. A cribbage board and a five-
months-old baby complete the picture, which is
bright with comfort and contentment. Yet at the
foot of the pretty garden flowed the Chagres River,
with alligators basking in the mud; and before the
front door stretched a tropical forest, full of ana-
condas, and wild hogs, and tarantulas, and vampire
bats, — evil neighbours for the little household. The
snakes did sometimes eat her young chickens, IVIrs.

M J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Lesley confessed ruefully, but had no other word of
dissatisfaction with her lonely and perilous life.

Throughout the nine months' voyage, Dr. White
remained on cordial terms with all his associates. If
he were sometimes irritated by Dr. Hill's dogmatism,
he respected his wide and accurate knowledge. Count
Pourtales and Dr. Steindachner he liked. Captain
Johnson he pronounced a "good sailor, an honest
gentleman, and a kind friend." To Mrs. Johnson
and to Mrs. Agassiz he became increasingly attached,
finding that their presence on the Hassler added
materially to his pleasure and well-being. Mrs.
Agassiz he commended strongly, because she was a
lady without nerves, who did not scream when in-
cidents of a mildly terrifying order disturbed the
usual tranquillity. Of Agassiz he has given us, both
in his diary and in an admirable paper written after
the Professor's death, a consistently charming and
sympathetic picture. He can find no words keen
enough to describe this great scientist's noble de-
mocracy, — which was like the democracy of Scott,
whom men called a feudalist, — his kindness, his fluent
English, the simplicity and readiness with which he
imparted his knowledge (to those who sought it only),
his noble generosity and wise economy. "Agassiz," he
wrote, "is just as free from any pretence or assump-
tion of superiority as if he were a cabin boy."

Toward the close of the voyage, some one pro-

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 25

posed to teach the Professor the beguiling and irritat-
ing game of soHtaire. Agassiz, who had never touched
a card in his hfe, fell a victim to the spell. "He spent
hours glued to the cabin table, dealing and sorting
the cards, ejaculating in three or four languages, and
becoming as much excited over the turns as over a
new tadpole." From solitaire — an easy descent to
Avernus — Agassiz fell to playing poker for gun-
wads; and Heaven knows what further temptations
lay in wait for this straight-living scientific gentle-
man, if the harbour of San Francisco had not put an
end to the sport. The last record made of him in the
diary is a testimony to his generous good-nature.
Tired and ill, he consented to give a lecture at the
Sacramento Literary Institute, and his gratified
audience presented him with a gold-headed stick.
The Hassler reached San Francisco on the 24th of
August, 1872. Fifteen months later, Agassiz died.

One eventful dispute roughened the smooth friend-
liness of the expedition, and lent — to Dr. White at
least — an added interest in the trip. It was no part
of his duty to look after the Hassler's sick. Dr. Pit-
kin was the ship's surgeon. But Dr. Pitkin was
sometimes ill himself, and, when this happened,
Dr. White dosed the crew, and mended their broken
heads. Their manifest preference for his services was
due probably to his friendliness, to his open and easy
manner, and to the confidence which his abrupt

26 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D,

decisiveness seldom failed to inspire. The boatswain
told him that the sailors waited their chance to con-
sult him; and, as he had himself no great belief in
Dr. Pitkin's remedies, this seemed to him a sensible
precaution on the sailors' part. Dr. Pitkin thought
otherwise; and the disagreement between the two
physicians was brought to a head when Paymaster
Dee, hunting for shells on the wet sands of Mag-
dalena Bay, came back with his feet and legs badly
blistered by sunburn. Dr. Pitkin applied glycerine
and carbolic acid. Dr. White urged the use of phenol.
Dr. Pitkin scouted phenol. Dr. White contemned in
forceful language glycerine and carbolic acid. The
contest reminds us of the ever memorable battle
waged by Dr. Benjamin Rush, in the Yellow Fever
summer of 1793, in behalf of mercury and jalap,
against bark and wine. Finally the contestants
agreed upon a compromise, or rather upon an experi-
ment. Each took possession of one of the paymaster's
legs, and treated it in his own fashion, the patient
acquiescing because he was not consulted. The result
was a triumph for Dr. White. In twenty-four hours
the phenol leg was healed, while the glycerine leg
remained swollen and inflamed. Whether the pay-
master then decided which treatment he preferred,
or whether Dr. Pitkin continued to have his own
way with his appointed leg, the diary does not say.
In San Francisco came the final separation. Dr.

THE VOYAGE OF THE HASSLER 27

White parted from friends whom he had learned to
value, and made his own way home. With his cus-
tomary good fortune, he reached Salt Lake City at
the time of a great Mormon conference, and heard
Brigham Young and other eminent saints preach to
huge congregations. The prophet was authoritative,
censorious, omniscient. He protested against his fol-
lowers seeking legal or medical advice, instead of
asking counsel of those who were divinely appointed
to direct them. "Lawyers," he said, "are very good
in their place, but I've never been able to discover
where the devil their place is, unless it's in Hell."
Doctors were little more in favour. Young vehe-
mently reproached his female flock for their obstinacy
in employing obstetricians, assuring them that they
and their babies would be just as well off if they
would dispense entirely with medical service. He
gave the offending ladies a great many sound and
intimate exhortations on the subject of their health.
He inveighed against the extravagance and immod-
esty of their dress, declaring he could see their garters
when they walked. (Can it be possible that these dis-
ciplined wives wore tilters!) He accused the men of
withholding their tithes. And he clamoured furiously
for money.

The robust sanctimoniousness of Salt Lake City
was evidenced in the petty details of life. Dr. White,
staring at the strange medley of stuff in a shop win-

28 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

dow, heard the shopman urging a customer to buy a
fifty-cent shell, on which was engraved the Lord's
Prayer. "It will be a moral power in your family,"
he said unctuously. "Your children will be eager to
learn from it. And you know" (patronizingly) "it
really is a beautiful prayer."

We cannot overestimate the value of a nine months'
voyage with distinguished associates to a man of Dr.
White's deeply impressionable mind. The scientific
knowledge he acquired counted for much. The
glimpses of Latin civilization, broadening as they did
the strictly local standards of the home-bred youth,
counted for more. The daily intercourse with scholars
counted for most of all. If, throughout his life, Dr.
White loved success, he had also the finer qualities
which enabled him to revere achievement. His per-
sonal ambitions remained unchanged; but he under-
stood and appreciated the higher aspirations of men
who pursue truth for truth's sake, expecting no com-
mon rewards, and receiving none. This is illustrated
by a page of the diary in which he notes down the fact
that Agassiz's salary at Harvard was for sixteen years
$1500; that it never rose above $3500; and that he
had working under him twenty-five assistants, some
of them men of fair scientific attainments, whose
aggregate salaries came to $14,000, an average of
$560. "Methinks," the young physician comments
dryly, "that science is not my vocation.'*

CHAPTER III
BLOCKLEY AND THE PENITENTIARY

ABSORPTION in the present never meant for
Dr. White indifference to the future. He knew
very well what a hard climb lay before him, and
how much depended on the start. He knew also the
avenues to advancement, and who controlled the
right of way. While yet on board the Hassler, we
find him making strenuous efforts to obtain an ap-
pointment as resident physician in the Philadelphia
Hospital at Blockley. This post he received imme-
diately after his return, and held for a year, resigning
it in 1873 for the more important and far more inter-
esting position of resident physician in the Eastern
Penitentiary. He continued, however, to visit Block-
ley, and for three years laboured in this double field,
acquiring a wide experience of men and things, of
pauperism and criminology, of trustees and council-
men, of disease and death. His road was not an easy
one, and was made no easier by the breadth of his
views, the quickness of his temper, and the unyielding
character of his professional conscience. The Board
of Inspectors of the Penitentiary was a conservative
body, and its members were not in the habit of hav-
ing their duties expounded to them by an impetuous,

30 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

impatient, and singularly clear-headed young doctor.
They did not like it, and Dr. White did not like
indifiFerence and distrust. His connection with the
prison might have been abruptly terminated, and
his career injured, had it not been for the president
of the Board, Richard Vaux, formerly Mayor of
Philadelphia, and the treasurer, John M. Maris.
These two men gave him their steadfast support. Mr.
Vaux was himself an ultra conservative, and many
of the resident's views were distasteful to him; but,
being an able man, he liked ability, and, being a fear-
less man, he liked fearlessness. If he did not believe
in Dr. White's opinions, he believed sincerely and
wisely in Dr. White; and men, not systems, counted
in his scale.

There are few records of these strenuous years, but
there is a startling reminder of them in a story
written long afterwards by Dr. White, and entitled
"Some Terminal Episodes in the History of a Crim-
inal Family." It was never printed, being no more
than a hurried and roughly put together sketch,
meant to be read at a Christmas party, and at once
too crude and too gruesome for publication. But it is
a vivid picture of Philadelphia in 1874, and of con-
ditions which we would just as soon forget. Prison
reform was then in its timid infancy. Nobody called
a criminal a patient, or crime a malady. Pageants
and plays were unknown within the Penitentiary

BLOCKLEY AND THE PENITENTIARY 31

4

walls. The appeal to honour and reason had not yet
revealed these qualities surviving in the felon's soul.
Fewer convicts became honest men; but, on the other
hand, no convict went out blackberrying, and forgot
to return. The city's politics disgraced its civilization.
The justly celebrated "Board of Buzzards" stole the
roof off the almshouse, — a theft famous in the annals
of corruption. The paupers' bodies were dug up from
the Potter's Field, and sold to the medical schools
for dissection. When the supply ran short, the stu-
dents performed this task for themselves, and drove
in triumph through the streets with the stolen corpse
propped up stiffly beside them. A snow-storm stopped
the traffic of the city. Decent citizens jested at the
shameful improbity it was their business to correct.
Mr. Thomas Lawson observed many years later that
it would be easier to float down Hell on a wax wafer
than to clean up Philadelphia politics. Had he been
contemplating conditions in the reign of the "Buz-
zards," he would have used — or would have en-
deavoured to use — a more vigorous expression.

The incidents in Dr. White's grisly little tale were
borrowed, for the most part, from his experience in
the Penitentiary. There he found the woman who
had kept a baby farm, and who had closed out the
business by killing all its inmates, including two of
her own offspring. There he found the man who had
smothered his mother-in-law, and buried her, with

32 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

his wife's assistance, under the kitchen hearth. The
couple had gone on living amicably in the room,
cooking and eating in undismayed proximity to the
corpse. There he found the Baptist negro who, after
a heated argument with his cell-mate, a Methodist
negro, had ended the controversy by murdering the
offending heretic. The crowded condition of the Pen-
itentiary compelled the housing of two prisoners in
one cell. The Methodist may have been the keener
doctrinaire, but the Baptist was the stronger man.
He vindicated his beliefs with the help of his shoe-
maker's knife, and slept composedly by his victim's
side for the remainder of the night. Through all this
dreadful narrative runs the vigorous spirit of youth.
The writer is not faint at heart over the spectacle of
vice, and crime, and wretchedness. He moves from
the Penitentiary to Blockley, from Blockley to the
dissecting-room, from the dissecting-room back to
the Penitentiary; fronting the wretched sights, and
sounds, and smells, as he fronts the snowdrifts piled
to his knee, and the absence of breakfast and dinner.
It was all in the day's work.

With Edward Townsend, the warden of the Peni-
tentiary, and with Michael Cassidy, the principal
overseer. Dr. White was always on good terms.
Cassidy, who became warden in 1881, and held the
post for many years, was a strict disciplinarian,
devoid of sentiment, and possibly of sympathetic

BLOCKLEY AND THE PENITENTIARY 33

understanding; but he was humane, rational, and
immaculately just. If the prison he ruled offered no
attraction to criminals, neither was it a place where
hearts were cowed, and hope was lost. The young
resident took a friendly interest in many of the con-
victs, and was on terms of intimacy with at least
one, — the famous "Irish giant," Ned Baldwin, who
stood six feet seven, and who was serving a sentence
for assault and battery committed when he was
drunk. From this man Dr. White took sparring
lessons, asking no mercy, and receiving none. The
course of instruction gave him many a bruised and
broken hour, but he profited by it all his life.

A less agreeable experience was an encounter with
an ex-bruiser, to whom he gave bitter offence by re-
fusing to allow him a sick diet. The man swore hide-
ously that as soon as he was released from prison he
would celebrate his freedom by cutting out the resi-
dent's heart, a threat which left Dr. White wholly un-
ruffled, but which he was destined to remember. A few
years later he was exercising with Indian clubs at the
gymnasium of " Professor " Billy McLean when the
door opened, and the ex-bruiser silently entered. The
doctor held fast to his clubs (wishing heartily they
were dumb-bells), and waited. The man stared for an
instant, then recognized his companion, and smiled
broadly. "Hallo, Doctor, glad to see you," he said
with democratic cordiality, and went about his busi-

34 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

ness. Had he been a Sicilian! But Americans are ill-
disposed to rancour or revenge.

When Dr. White left the prison, and set up house-
keeping for himself on Sixteenth Street, he gave a
released convict his "chance." The man was an in-
telligent negro who had served a twelve years' sen-
tence for killing his wife. Dr. White took him for
a servant, trusted him, and slept alone in the house
with him for months. Could the unfortunate creature
have remained sober, he might have repaid this
trust with fidelity; but he drank, and, under the in-
jfluence of liquor, stole. His master caught him in the
act, kicked him downstairs, found to his infinite
relief that this vigorous treatment had sobered with-
out mjuring him, and turned the rogue out of doors, —
thus severing what he thought was his last connec-
tion with the Penitentiary. The fates ruled other-
wise. Nine years later he was appointed by Governor
Pattison to be one of the Inspectors of the institution
he knew so well, and had so faithfully served.

CHAPTER IV
SURGEON AND TROOPER

IN 1876 Dr. White spread his sails to a favouring
wind, and started upon his long, brilliant, and
arduous career as a practising surgeon in Phila-
delphia. He was at this time Assistant Demonstrator
of Practical Surgery in the Medical School of the
University of Pennsylvania, and also Assistant to the
Surgical Dispensary Service. Within two years he
received two posts, differing widely in their scope, in
the surroundings they involved, and in the duties
they entailed; but equally welcome to his keen and
many-sided ambition. In 1877 he was elected sur-
geon to the First City Troop, and in 1878 he was
given the lectureship on Venereal Diseases in the
University's Spring Session. The lectureship was in
line with his professional advancement, with his
sober studies, and reasonable aspirations. The posi-
tion in the City Troop was a daring venture, upon
which relatives and friends (cautious rather than
sympathetic) were disposed to look askance. It
meant entrance upon a career more gay than useful,
more vivid than strenuous, more pleasant than prof-
itable. Dr. White was only twenty-seven years old,
little known in his profession, and utterly unknown

36 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

outside of it, without backing, and without fortune.
He gave great promise as a surgeon, but he was still
on the lowest rung of the ladder. Every step depended
upon his own discretion, no less than upon his own
ability. It seemed to many that he was imperilling
an honourable future for the sake of a very agreeable
present.

The temptation was irresistible. The golden chance
which fortune flung in his way was a challenge to
temerity, and the young, soberly bred doctor was the
last man in Christendom to reckon dangers too closely.
*'The threat which runs through all the winning
music of the world" was to him a lure rather than a
menace. His zest for the feast of life was to the end
undimmed and unvitiated. I cannot do better than
quote here a paragraph from the thoughtful and ad-
mirable paper of Thomas Robins, which aptly illus-
trates this phase of his friend's advancement:

"There were always two Whites. One was the man
who burned the midnight oil, the man ambitious for
professional success, the man whose wide reading and
studious turn of mind made him an effective teacher,
and a master of the intricacies of a difficult science.
That was the White of the profession. The other
White was a light-hearted boy, loving out-door life,
gay companionship, the society of men of the world,
the sports of the country gentleman, the midnight
chimes. That was the White who quickly acquired

SURGEON AND TROOPER 37

the wide acquaintance, and bound to himself, as with
hooks of steel, the affections of many men, and the
absolute devotion of a group who cared nothing for
his professional attainments, but who were willing to
trust any man who rode a steeplechase as fearlessly
as did the spectacled young surgeon. To his last hour,
White never knew which of the two lives he liked
the better, — the one which threw him with scien-
tific men, or the other which allied him with the
votaries of Pan."

Forty years ago the passion for athletics was less
common, and far less glorified, than it is to-day. Dr.
White's prowess in this field was held to be, at best,
an eccentricity; at worst, a danger signal. A physician
was then expected to amble around from patient to
patient, from office to lecture room or dispensary; to
drive — when he could afford it — a covered buggy
with a negro boy to hold the horse; to grow round-
shouldered stooping over his desk; to have a good
bedside manner, and a list of acceptable stories. He
laboured under the disadvantage of not being able
to acquire a family practice until he was married,
and of not being able to marry until he had a practice.
He was held to book almost as rigidly as a clergyman.
Dr. White presented a sharp contrast to this recog-
nized and familiar type. He was just beginning to
"make good"; yet he spent his spare hours with
young, gay, light-hearted men, sparred with pugilists,

38 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

rode hard and well, and swam from the Atlantic City
lighthouse to the "elephant," nine miles along the
coast. Perhaps if he had possessed the lazy good-
humour which so ofttm accompanies great physical
strength, these feats might have been more easily
forgiven; but his irascible temper was imperfectly
controlled, his anger flared like a resinous torch, he
was as impatient of folly as if it were not the ap-
pointed portion of mankind, and he had not a grain
of meekness in his spiritual constitution. Exaggera-
tion was foreign to his mind and speech. He was more
prone to under-statements than to over-statements
all his life. But he never understood the staying
power of patience; he never knew that the soul armed
with this weapon can fight against heavy odds.

If, as Mr. Robins says, young men — in contra-
distinction to old ones — were disposed to trust im-
plicitly in a doctor who shared their sports and
excelled in them, they did not trust in vain. Dr.
White repaid their confidence with kindness and wise
counsel. He understood the spirit of youth because
it throbbed exultantly in his own veins; but he had
always a clear insight into values. He knew that, in
the final analysis, it is character, and character only,
that counts. Excess was distasteful to him, weakness
unknown. Mens sana in corpore sano was the creed
he preached, the rule he lived by. There were gaps
in his philosophy, and far horizons which he never

SURGEON AND TROOPER 39

scanned; but he was a friend of all who faced life
bravely, and a tonic to the morally debilitated.

There was but one break for many years in his
professional life. In November, 1879, he went to
Europe for the first time, having in his charge his
uncle, Dr. S. S. White, who had been seriously ill. It
was a brief and tragic experience. The patient had
hardly reached France when he grew rapidly worse,
and died in Paris on December 30. His nephew re-
turned with the body, and never again crossed the
Atlantic until after his marriage in 1888.

As early as 1878 we find Dr. White in consultation
with the famous Philadelphia surgeon, Dr. D. Hayes
Agnew, who was to play so important a part in his
life. Dr. Agnew was then Professor of Surgery in the
University of Pennsylvania, a man of great ability,
of quiet wisdom, and of unbounded kindness; mod-
erate in the acquirement of wealth, generous with
his time and talents. He had taken for his model
the great French military surgeon, Jean Dominique,
Baron Larrey, whom Napoleon pronounced to be
the best man he had ever known, and whose versa-
tility equalled his virtues. Larrey was doctor and
nurse as well as surgeon. He invented the ambu-
lance volante for transporting wounded soldiers. He
amputated General Silly's leg on the battle-field
at Aboukir, under the enemy's fire, then took his
patient on his back, and carried him safely to the

40 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

French lines. Dr. Agnew's sympathetic study of this
remarkable man was nearly as well known as were
his three volumes on "The Principles and Practice of
Surgery," a work used as a textbook in the United
States, Great Britain, and Japan. The years that Dr.
White served as assistant to Dr. Agnew were of in-
estimable value to him. In 1882 he was made Demon-
strator of Surgery; but his connection with the older
surgeon was never broken until the latter's retire-
ment from active work in 1889. He figures promi-
nently in Thomas Eakins's interesting painting of
Dr. Agnew at his Clinic, which was presented to the
University on the first of May, 1889, by the under-
graduate classes of the Medical Department.

Meanwhile two incidents had occurred which
brought Dr. White into the limelight of public no-
tice, earning for him angry abuse, and a fair share of
ridicule. In March, 1880, while he was on the surgi-
cal staff of the Philadelphia Hospital, some women
students who attended his Blockley clinics com-
plained that he showed distaste for their presence,
and that he sought to drive them away by unwar-
ranted freedom of speech. They presented their
grievance to Mr. James S. Chambers, President of
the Board of Guardians of the Poor. They also pre-
sented it to the public through the medium of the
daily press, greatly to the annoyance of the Dean of
the Women's Medical College, Dr. Rachel L. Bodley,

Dr Agnew at his Clinic: Dr. White Assisting

From the painting by Thomas Eiikins (Copyriglit)

SURGEON AND TROOPER 41

who held stern views on the propriety of silence,
whose students seldom went to the Blockley clinics,
and who had never found occasion for complaint.
Dr. White explained curtly to the Board of Guardians
that — like Dr. Agnew — he did not wish to have
women at his clinics, because the nature of the dis-
eases with which they dealt, and the condition of the
patients treated at them, made the presence of fe-
male students undesirable. If, however, they thought
it well to come (this being their privilege), the only
course open to him was to conduct his clinics as if
they were young men. It seemed to him less decent
to emphasize the presence of women on such occa-
sions than to ignore it. The Board was at liberty to
ask for his resignation; but as long as he conducted
the clinics, he must do so in the way which seemed to
him most fitting.

The men students offered an earnest and indignant
defence of their instructor. Even the poor derelicts
whom he treated were eager to testify to his con-
sideration. The Hospital Committee investigated
the charges, exonerated him completely, and asked
the Board of Guardians for a vote of confidence, a
vote which should express absolute satisfaction with
his performance of his duties. There the matter
ended. The vindication strengthened Dr. White's
position, and gave deep satisfaction to his friends.
They knew that, although no perfected miracle of

42 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

seemliness, he could no more have offered offence
to a modest woman than he could have struck a
child.

The second episode was of a non-professional char-
acter, and more far-reaching in its results. Forty
years ago, duelling was as obsolete in the United
States as it is to-day. It was, or men thought it
was, as extinct as the dodo. Yet Dr. White, dis-
regarding both custom and consequence, fought a
duel; a bloodless one, it is true, but none the less a
duel, with pistols, at fifteen paces, after the approved
fashion of other lands and centuries. His antagonist
was Robert Adams, Jr., and the simple subject of
dispute was the proper dress to be worn by a sur-
geon of the City Troop. Hitherto the gentlemen
holding this post had been content with a nonde-
script but obligatory costume, which included white
trousers and a blue frockcoat. Dr. White asked to be
permitted to wear the uniform of the Troop. Objec-
tions were raised by certain troopers, and voiced
with more force than courtesy by Mr. Adams. A
quarrel, a blow (given by Dr. White), a challenge
(sent by Mr. Adams), ensued. The duellists met
on the Maryland-Delaware border-line, Charles H.
Townsend acting as second for Dr. White, and
Alexander Wood for Mr. Adams. Dr. R. William
Ashbridge accompanied the party as surgeon. Shots
were exchanged, Dr. White being seen to fire in the

SURGEON AND TROOPER 43

air, the principals shook hands, and the five gentle-
men returned to Philadelphia.

Such an event could not possibly be held a secret.
Publicity was inevitable. To say that, the newspapers
snatched their chance would be to faintly express
their satisfaction over this unusual and exciting
scandal. Had the Philadelphia press offered a vote of
thanks to the duellists for affording such priceless
subject-matter for comment and criticism, it would
have shown no more than decent gratitude. Instead
of this, the journals united in a chorus of dispraise.
They told the plain story over and over again with a
wealth of varying detail. They printed grave edito-
rials on the lawlessness of duelling. They demanded
that the law-breakers should be brought to justice.
They made merry over the casus belli. They heaped
ridicule upon the "callow youths" (Dr. White was
thirty years old), the fretful quarrel, the bloodless
contest. Even the New York papers dropped their
languid indifference to quiet Philadelphia, and took
notice of the two unquiet Philadelphians. The "Her-
ald" offered the gratuitous fiction that a lady,
"whose name has been suppressed out of respect
for the family," occasioned the duel. The "Sun"
opined that "unearned money and idleness do not
seem to agree any better with the young men of Phil-
adelphia than with the young men of New York," —
a harmless shaft to aim at the self-supporting surgeon,

44 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

who for ten years had not known or desired a respite
from hard work.

Amid all this buzz and hum, Dr. White went his
usual rounds, gave his lectures, visited his patients,
and kept his own counsel. His only recorded comment
(made to a persevering reporter) was to the effect
that he looked upon duelling "as a relic of a past age,
with which the present generation has nothing to do";
a sensible generalization, but not — under the cir-
cumstances — enlightening. He let the newspapers
have their fling, recognizing it as their prerogative;
but he permitted no personal gibes or criticism, and
he was not the kind of man whom people lightly
offended. "The possession of great physical strength
is no mean assistance to a straightforward life," says
Augustine Birrell, commenting upon Dr. Johnson.
When Johnson was insulted by a rapacious book-
seller, he promptly knocked the fellow down. When
Foote proposed to caricature him on the stage, the
great "Christian lexicographer" replied that he
would, in that event, thrash the caricaturist on the
street, and Foote prudently forbore. If Dr. Johnson
cherished few rancours, it was largely because he tol-
erated no liberties. In the same unaccommodating
spirit. Dr. White refused all his life to suffer any in-
jurious word or deed. When an irritable pedestrian
swore at him on the Philadelphia streets, he took the
trouble (and it involved a great deal of trouble) to

SURGEON AND TROOPER 45

get out of his carriage, demand an apology, and —
not receiving it — knock the offender into the gutter.
A prompt arrest followed. Dr. White told Magistrate
Lennon that it was not his habit to permit insulting
language. The young man who had been bowled
over explained in his turn that a fracas was the last
thing he had anticipated or desired. "I had no idea
he" (Dr. White) "meant to fight," he said simply;
"and I told him to go to Hell, just as any other
gentleman would do under the circumstances."

The breach of law involved in the duel did no
great harm to Mr. Adams; but there is little doubt
that Dr. White suffered professionally. Nothing
could hold back his private practice, which was in-
creasing rapidly in volume and importance. Nothing
could shake the confidence which Dr. Agnew and
other surgeons reposed in his skill. But there was at
least one institution which would have none of him
because he had been a duellist. For years the inci-
dent was remembered against him. For years men
shook their heads as if they expected him to run
amuck through society. On the other hand, he
gained (for as much as it was worth) the point under
dispute, and more. He received his commission in the
City Troop, wore his uniform, and, after his faithful
fashion, remained for years deeply interested in its
work and welfare.

There came a day when the duellists — nominally

46 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

friends after the engagement — s-ank all shadow of
animosity, and talked the matter over with good-
humoured unconcern. "You fired in the air, did n't
you?" asked Mr. Adams. **Yes, I did," answered
Dr. White. "I did n't," said Mr. Adams, "I fired at
you."

There were those who held that to this fortunate
circumstance Dr. White owed his life.

CHAPTER V
MILESTONES

THE Chinese have a saying, as true as it is old,
that if a man is not tall when he is twenty,
strong when he is thirty, and wise when he is forty,
he will never be tall, nor strong, nor wise. After 1880,
Dr. White, having passed his thirtieth year, tall
enough for any eye, strong enough for any venture,
began seriously to qualify for wisdom. An able man
may enjoy the headlong pleasures of youth as simply
and as avidly as does a fool. His advantage lies in his
being able to enjoy other things as well. Ambition
strengthens with the first chilling of high spirits; the
overpowering interest of successful work weakens
the love of play; increasing obligations leave little
time for folly. A great deal has been said about the
dullness of duty; but the dullness of irresponsibility
is a more appalling article. It is poor fun to live in
the tree-tops with Peter Pan, when, down in the city
streets, men are battling for the worth of life. If Dr.
White never closed his heart to the memory of old
days, or to the associates who had lent them gaiety,
he turned his mind resolutely to the new order of
purpose and achievement. The annals of the Uni-
versity show him filling year by year positions of

48 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

increased responsibility, — Demonstrator of Surgery,
Lecturer, Assistant Surgeon on the Hospital Staff.
His profession engrossed his time and interests. He
worked harder and harder as his will concentrated
itself upon the tasks of every day. If he kept a
quarrel or two on hand, it was only for the sake of
an occasional and needed distraction.

One gift was his throughout life. He was always
able to express his convictions and impart his knowl-
edge in terms which were intelligible to his chosen
audience. When he spoke to students, he bore in
mind their intellectual limitations, and made his
meaning clear as daylight to their not very receptive
minds. When he gave his emergency lectures at
Blockley, his language was so simple, his demonstra-
tions so well chosen and so well executed, that no
one could fail to understand him. The laity was then
just beginning to realize the comprehensive nature
of its ignorance, its inability to give "first aid" to
the sick and injured. Dr. White's lectures became
enormously popular, and so fashionable that atten-
tive newspapers printed lists of names, headed
"Among those present," as if the sober audience
which gathered, notebook in hand, had been dancing
at an Assembly.

This was the time when the English nurse. Miss
Alice Fisher, was head of the Blockley training-
school, and had accomplished many needed reforms.

MILESTONES 49

She was a woman who presented the rare combina-
tion of unusual intelligence, a pleasing address, and
heroic devotion to a purpose. The daughter of a
clergyman, the granddaughter of a head-master of
Eton, she had received admirable instruction in the
General Hospital, Birmingham. She brought with
her to this country a young and very handsome as-
sistant, Miss Edith Horner, who subsequently mar-
ried Senator Hawley of Connecticut. The two women
revolutionized the Philadelphia Hospital, which
could well "thole a mend"; and Dr. White lent them
his vigorous support. When in 1885 the typhoid epi-
demic broke out in Plymouth, Pennsylvania, Miss
Fisher asked for a two months' holiday, which she
spent organizing a hospital in the stricken town. The
conditions were appalling, relief came slowly, the
work to be done was beyond a woman's strength. But
her courage never failed, her tenacity toughened
under the weight of difficulties, and willing hands
carried out her measures as well as the disastrous
circumstances permitted. How many victims were
saved by her heroism none will ever know. Her own
life paid the forfeit. She returned to Philadelphia,
and took up her old work with her old interest and
vigour; but never with her old endurance. Her heart,
which had been weakened by an attack of inflam-
matory rheumatism fifteen years earlier, was se-
riously affected by the strain of those two bitter

50 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

months. She died in June, 1888. Dr. "White, who had
been from the first her friend and ally, was her de-
voted physician and her executor. Her memory was
long cherished by the Blockley nurses, who went in
procession every year to decorate her grave. It will
never, I trust, be wholly forgotten by the city which
she served.

Another remarkable illustration of Dr. WTiite's
ability to reach his audience was the success which
attended his emergency lectures to the Philadelphia
police. The incident which occasioned them was com-
mon enough in the eighties, and is not altogether
uncommon to-day. A sick man, thought to be drunk,
was picked up on the streets, and locked in a station
cell to die. He did die, no other course being open to
him; and the evidence offered at the inquest of his
decent life lent weight to the indignation aroused
by his lonely and pitiful death. Everybody said the
police ought to know illness from drunkenness, and
one man, Dr. White, proposed to teach them the
difference. His suggestion was gladly adopted by
Mayor King. The lectures were given in the Police
Headquarters, in Horticultural Hall, in Association
Hall, and in the Medical Department of the Uni-
versity. An alert and attentive audience of from
seventy to five hundred men attended every one.
They were told how to treat accident cases, how to
relieve sunstroke and heat exhaustion, how to use a

MILESTONES 61

stretcher, how to recognize symptoms of heart failure
and apoplexy. No man living could have conveyed
this information more clearly than did Dr. White,
or have riveted more closely the attention of his
hearers. The only danger lay in the excessive zeal of
the police, who showed a disposition to test their
freshly acquired proficiency by acting on their own
initiative in cases which might with propriety have
been confided to a doctor.

In December, 1884, a new and eminently sympa-
thetic field of work was opened to the busy surgeon,
who hailed it as rapturously as if his days were not
already full to overflowing. The University of Penn-
sylvania resolved to found a Department of Physical
Education, along the lines established by Harvard
College, and Dr. White was chosen to be its first
director. Nothing could have been more to his liking.
Since the days when he had lamented in his high
school theme that boys had too many lessons and
too little play, he had never ceased to urge the im-
portance of athletics. He knew the perils of a seden-
tary life, and the perils of violent and undirected ex-
ercise. He knew that a royal road to learning is no
harder to find than a royal road to health. The need
of a University Gymnasium had been ever present
in his mind. The position offered him was one of
dignity and importance. It made him a member of
the Faculty, it enabled him to advance a cause which

52 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

he had deeply at heart, and it brought him into new
contact with the student body.

For three years he laboured unceasingly, and with-
out salary, to raise the standard of athletics. He
offered a cup for competition; he reorganized the
annual Bowl Fight, making it less of a scrimmage
and more of a contest; he began to raise money and
to consider plans for the Gymnasium. In November,
1886, we find him warmly seconding Dr. Sargent of
Harvard in a defence of college football. When his
election to the newly created chair of Genito-Urinary
Surgery at the University made it sheerly impossible
for him to continue to hold the directorship of Phys-
ical Education, he resigned it in 1887, with infinite
regret, and without any slackening of interest in its
work. His enthusiasm rose to fever pitch when, in
the same year, William Byrd Page, son of S. Davis
Page of Philadelphia, Assistant United States Treas-
urer, broke his own record, and, incidentally, the
world's record, by clearing the bar at six feet four
inches in a running jump on the University Athletic
Association grounds. That the English athletes,
Clarke and Ray, should have been present on this
memorable occasion added to the general satisfac-
tion. Philadelphia found herself, and was well pleased
to find herself, "respected like the lave."

In June, 1888, Dr. White married Letitia, daughter
of Mr. Benjamin H. Brown, and sailed with his bride

MILESTONES 53

for England. From this year date the voluminous
diaries which he never failed to keep of his summer
wanderings; but, which, alas! always came to an end
when he returned home, and took up the really
interesting things of life. All records of travel are
curiously alike. Mr. Brownell says that, beside Haw-
thorne's "Note-Books," "Baedeker reads like Gib-
bon"; and where Hawthorne succumbed, who is
strong enough to resist? Good letter- writers grow
monumentally dull when they take a journey, and
tell us what they have seen, — James Howell being
the only notable exception to this rule. Dr. White's
diaries are full of minute detail, because, as in the old
Hassler days, he could not bear to leave anything
untold. That he should have had the time and the
patience to write them is one of the many marvels of
his life. He travelled hard and fast, he saw every-
thing that was to be seen; yet if he had his greatcoat
cleaned, or Mrs. White left her ulster to be shortened,
he made a leisurely entry of the fact.

In London he met the famous surgeon, Mr. Treves,
afterwards Sir Frederick Treves, and laid the foun-
dation of a singularly happy friendship. He also met
Sir Joseph Lister, afterwards Lord Lister, for whom
he entertained the deepest reverence, and with whom
he spent "the most interesting evening of my life,"
talking antiseptic surgery until midnight. His o\\ti
lectures on antiseptics had crowded the University

54 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

lecture room during the previous winter, and it was
with enthusiasm that he listened to the man whose
power of observation had revolutionized the treat-
ment of wounds, and saved so many lives. It was
significant of Dr. White's sane and robust attitude
to his profession that the saving of life was for him
the aim and end of surgery. Research, demonstration,
scientific principles, interested him less than the pa-
tient he had on hand, and who sometimes betrayed
a lamentable and unsportsmanlike disposition to die.
*'I1 faut beaucoup pardonner a la nature," said Fagon,
the famous physician of Louis the Fourteenth. Dr.
White forgave nothing. He entertained a deep and
well-warranted suspicion that what nature is after
is to kill, and he fought this purpose with all the
energy of his soul. Being asked once if the skill of a
surgeon lay in his knowledge of anatomy, in the sure-
ness of his diagnosis, or in the delicacy of his touch,
he said simply that, to his mind, the skill of a sur-
geon lay in his ability to keep his patient alive after
an operation. Otherwise, cui bono?

It was perhaps inevitable that, in this first foreign
summer, Dr. White should have behaved as if nothing
in Europe was going to last another year. Not sat-
isfied with Paris hospitals, and German rivers, and
Swiss glaciers, and Flemish pictures, the dauntless
pair went buoyantly to Italy in August, and have
left it on record that, on the fifteenth of that in-

MILESTONES 55

auspicious month, they saw Pompeii and climbed
Vesuvius. Pompeii and Vesuvius on one day, and
that day the 15th of August! "Few women could
have accomplished it," writes the diarist proudly;
and, of a certainty, not many would have tried.
^ For five successive summers the programme of Eu-
ropean travel was repeated, but never at the same
impetuous speed, and never with the same heavy
sense of responsibility. By the following June the
doctor had grown so lax that he could write in his
diary, "It is hardly worth while to attempt a de-
scription of the Elgin marbles." Twelve months be-
fore he would not have turned idly from this task.
He can also accuse his friend and companion. Hart-
man Kuhn, of making up his diary with an open
Baedeker for inspiration. Baedekers and tourist
diaries are as inseparable as the Siamese twins. The
correctness with which Dr. White packs the conso-
nants into the names of his Welsh villages proves the
benign presence of a guide-book.

The summer of 1890 contained three memorable
experiences. A lazy little trip with Treves and his
family in a house-boat on the Broads, a tour of the
Berlin hospitals in company with Sir Joseph Lis-
ter, and a visit to Count Pappenheim (who had
married Miss Mary Wheeler of Philadelphia) in his
Bavarian home. The first occurrence was the most
enjoyable. The carefully planned idleness of an Eng-

56 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

lish holiday was a revelation to the busy American
tourists. The boat, like the famous Mississippi
steamer, was warranted to float "wherever the
ground was a little damp." Its occupants were con-
genial companions. *'I consider it great good luck,"
notes the doctor in his diary, "that Treves should
turn out to be the sort of fellow he is; as fond of
bathing and swimming as I am" (which meant that
he was semi-amphibious), "and ready for any kind
of fun." The Bavarian visit involved meeting a great
many Germans, new in type, and therefore pro-
foundly interesting to Dr. White, who, all his life,
approached men of every rank and condition with
mental ease. It was this distinguishing characteristic,
coupled with the tenacity of his friendships, which
made hurhan intercourse so sweet.

As for the Berlin hospitals, the diary must speak
for itself. There are several entries, but one will suf-
fice. The doctor went with Lister to see Dr. Von
Bergmann, who had the most important surgical
practice in the Empire, demonstrate in the Royal
Clinic his method of dressing wounds. A number of
women, whose breasts had been excised for cancer,
were shown to the students. "The scars were ugly,
pigmented, irregular and irritable," writes the Amer-
ican surgeon. "The dressings stank. Pus ran out of
the wounds. I have helped Agnew with hundreds of
these cases, and have operated on dozens of them,

MILESTONES 57

and I can truthfully say that we have never had
such wretched results. Other cases brought in were
not much better, and I left the Clinic, disgusted with
this first glimpse of German surgery. Lister shared
my view, and expressed himself strongly to me on
the subject."

In the summer of 1891, Dr. and Mrs. White went
with Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Harrison on their yacht,
Speranza, to Norway and the North Cape, to Stock-
holm and to Russia. It was a life of comparative
leisure (save for a breathless rush to Moscow), and
of superlative luxury. Eating and drinking play a
heavy part in the yachtman's monotonous existence
(there were days when the bill of fare was apparently
the only thing to be noted); and one wonders if, in
this welter of menus, the doctor ever recalled the
long, long week of pork and beans and hard work on
the heaving decks of the Hassler. He plunged deeply
into Russian history by way of preparing for St.
Petersburg, and was a bit dumbfounded by this first
introduction to the annals of the Romanoffs. "The
only thing I know to compare with it in the way of
family history," he writes, "is one of those that we
made in our reports at the Eastern Penitentiary, to
show how criminality may be inherited."

It was at the close of this varied tour that a new
light broke upon Dr. White's mind, a new resolve
entered his soul. Europe attracted him as powerfully

58 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

as ever, but Europe did not necessarily imply per-
petual motion. If Treves could stay in one place
(and that place usually remote from civilization),
and be happy, why should not he? The English sur-
geon's simple conception of surroundings was like
that of Thomas a Kempis: "What canst thou see
elsewhere that thou dost not see here? Behold the
heavens, and the earth, and all the elements; for out
of these are all things made." The American surgeon,
town-bred, and with the restlessness of his race,
could never attain that serene hold upon nature,
that closeness to mother earth, which gives the
Briton, as it gave Antseus, his mighty staying-power.
But he was well equipped for an ordinary outdoor
life. A strong swimmer, a tireless walker, an admir-
able horsernan, a devoted cyclist, a persevering fish-
erman, he could always make sure of occupation and
fatigue. Li every one of these fields Mrs. White
played her heroic part, — vaulting ambition making
up for any lack of physical endurance. A determi-
nation to "travel less and rest more" is recorded in
the diary, and it bore fruit in two successive English
holidays, one spent in West Lulworth, and one in the
Scillies, and both filled to the brim with the simple
happenings common to English country life.

Now and then a very uncommon happening va-
ried the pleasant monotony. A little Lulworth girl,
twelve years old, the daughter of Captain Lecky of

MILESTONES 59

the coast guard, slipped over a cliff three hundred
and eighty feet high, falling on a rough pebbly shore,
and sustaining no other injury than a broken ankle.
The two surgeons attended the child who was so hard
to kill, and vouched for her recovery. Sometimes the
exigencies of British decorum bore heavily on the
roving American. Dr. White was not wont to go to
church, and his laxness in this regard startled Mr.
Treves's little daughters, who had attached them-
selves ardently to their father's friend. For weeks
they asked no questions, and then curiosity and
desire got the better of politeness. *'Why don't you
ever come to church with us?" said the younger and
bolder child. "Because, my dear," was the sober
answer, "I promised my mother that I never would."
The summer of 1894 stands out from the rolling
years because it was actually spent "at home," — if
a hunter's camp in the Rockies can be so described.
Lured by the seductive narratives of Dr. Charles B.
Penrose, and dazzled by his exploits, Dr. and Mrs.
White forswore civilization for three months, and
fled to the wilderness with a train of five saddle-
horses, eleven pack-horses, two admirable guides,
and a bad cook. Their first camp was pitched by
Hell Roaring Creek, whose headlong falls were not
then coveted by contending industries; their second,
on Snake River above Jackson's Lake. A tepee or
Indian lodge, fifteen feet in diameter and fifteen

60 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

feet high, with three feet of door and a hole to let
out the smoke, made them a dry and comfortable
habitation. A cooking tent, a dining tent, and sleep-
ing tents for the men completed their quarters. Their
principal avocations were fishing for reluctant trout
(even the hungry and credulous lake trout scorned
their advances), and pursuing the trail of deer and
elk which seldom or never materialized. In the happy
absence of letters and newspapers, they were able to
concentrate their attention upon matters at hand,
upon those few and bleak essentials which are alike
for the savage and the civilized man.

The abundant entries in the diary (there was time
and to spare for writing) reveal, not so much enjoy-
ment, as a heroic determination to enjoy. Dr. White
loved the long rough rides, the exhilarating altitude,
— seven thousand feet above the sea, — the splen-
dour of his surroundings. For a happy man, he was
always singularly sensitive to natural scenery, which,
to many of us, is a solace reserved for old age and
disappointments. He was content with the whole-
some simplicities of a hunter's life, — bread and ba-
con and cheese for a noonday meal, elk steaks and
onions at night. When the butter grew strong enough
to "walk alone," he contentedly resigned this be-
loved article of diet. He began by bathing gingerly
and by sections in the ice-cold mountain streams,
and he ended, like a good mountaineer, by narrowing

MILESTONES 61

the sections until they reached "the nearest thing to
nothing." He slept soundly in his warm bag, and
he endured, though not with equanimity, the on-
slaughts of mosquitoes. He let his beard grow, "the
ugliest thing of its age ever seen," and he looked —
to the dispassionate eyes of his wife — "like a cross
between Bill Sikes and the Wandering Jew."

But he had a not unreasonable conviction that
the compensation of a hunter's life is hunting; and
the scarcity of game, combined with his own in-
expertness, caused him many disappointments. He
records proudly, but soberly, that Mrs. White sur-
passed him as a rifle shot; and, indeed, she brought
down her first bull elk fifteen days, and her second
eight days, before he shot his one and only — but
very handsome — specimen. Her amazing pluck,
energy, and fortitude enabled her to bear endless
fatigue and exposure. When they changed camps,
she rode twelve hours, climbing rough trails, wading
deep fords, and coming in at nightfall "quite chip-
per." When I add that she learned to cook their
simple fare — Dr. White "couldn't boil a quart of
water without burning it" — and to wash their
scanty outfit, it must be admitted that she was the
better backwoodsman of the two.

In the Penrose camp, all was different. Dr. Penrose
was an old hand at the sport. The game, which so
gleefully eluded Dr. White, fell easy victims to his

62 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

practised hand. The fish, when he cast his fly, recog-
nized their appointed destiny, and rose briskly to
fulfil it. Moreover, he could cook, and dearly loved
this noble and civilizing art. He permitted Mrs.
Penrose to make the coffee, and one of the guides
to bake the bread and biscuits; but "soups, meats
and fancy dishes" he took under his own care. His
chowders and stews were so savoury that his hungry
friends offered him five dollars a day to come over to
their camp and cook. The mere sight of him flour-
ishing ladles and basting-forks, and wiping these in-
struments on his buckskin breeches, filled the on-
lookers with admiration and with appetite. "If we
should run out of provisions before the end of the
summer," comments Dr. White musingly, "those
buckskins would make rich nutritious soup which
would keep us all alive for a week."

To the Penrose camp came hunters and trappers,
friends of other seasons, who told strange tales of
their rude, adventurous lives. The one who most
deeply interested the Whites was an Englishman,
Richard Lee, known as "Beaver Dick," who had
been brought to this country a child of eight, and
reared in the woods like a young savage. He had
married two Indian wives, and he told his sympa-
thetic listeners how he and his first wife and six
children had unwittingly moved into a cabin where
there had been a case of smallpox; in consequence

MILESTONES 63

of which mishap he had, as he feelingly expressed it,
*'lost the whole damn outfit in a week." His second
wife, "Suse," was a capable treasure of a woman, a
true helpmate, with all the useful arts of savagery
and civilization at her finger-ends.

On the whole, the camping summer was a satis-
factory one, — an interesting thing to have done.
Dr. White never regretted the experience, and never
repeated it.

CHAPTER VI

THE YEARS THAT COUNT

WHILE the summers sped smoothly by, the
winters in Philadelphia were rough, tumul-
tuous, and triumphant. In February, 1889, Dr. White
was elected to the chair of Clinical Surgery in the
University of Pennsylvania. His eminence in his
profession was undisputed, and it was with the voice
of authority that he upheld two great and sorely
needed reforms, — the Medical Examiners' Bill, and
the four years' course for medical students. The bill,
which aimed at protecting the public from ignorant
practitioners, was warmly supported by Dr. Agnew
and Dr. Pepper. It is amazing to reflect upon the
indifference of the general public thirty years ago as
to the fitness of the young men turned out from
cheap schools, and permitted to practise upon the
public. Sir Walter Scott once found a Scottish black-
smith parading as a doctor in an English village.
When he remonstrated with the man upon his in-
iquitous conduct, and asked him if he did not some-
times kill his patients, the loyal Caledonian answered
composedly: "Oh, aye, maybe sae. Whiles they die,
and whiles no; but it's the will o' Providence. Ony
how, your Honour, it wad be lang before it makes

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 65

up for Flodden." In much the same spirit, a host of
stalwart young blunderers gave to an American pub-
lic the benefit of their comprehensive ignorance.

There was no great difficulty in pushing the bill
through the state legislature; but what Agnew and
Pepper and White had never anticipated was the claim
made by Homoeopathists and Eclectics to an equal
representation on the board. There were then in
Pennsylvania about seven thousand allopathic, seven
hundred homoeopathic, and three hundred eclectic
physicians. An amendment to the bill provided that
the Governor should not appoint on the board of
examiners a majority of any one school. It was car-
ried, — some shadowy notion of fair play to the
under dog influencing our kind-hearted lawgivers.
The consequence was that the irregulars had a work-
ing majority over the regulars, who naturally did
not like it. Those were days when the rival schools
"fought bitter and regular like man and wife."
There was no pretence of accommodation on one
side, or smiling indifference on the other.

As for the four years' course of study, the argu-
ments against it were all purely and frankly senti-
mental. Such legislature, it was urged, was aimed at
the poor boy who could not aJBFord to spend four years
in a medical school. It favoured the rich man's son
to whom time and money meant nothing. It was un-
fair and tyrannous to students in needy circum-

66 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

stances. No one, it will be observed, wasted a thought
upon the patients (poor enough often) whom these
half-trained young men were going to assist to their
graves. Dr. Roberts Bartholow of Jefferson College
was of the opinion that a two years' course would
be quite long enough, because, as he naively said,
a student's real education came after he had grad-
uated. In other words, he would be taught by his
failures, — a consoling reflection. Dr. James E.
Garretson of the Medico-Chirurgical Hospital de-
nounced all measures of reform. He did not want a
board of examiners. He did not want a four years*
course of study. He wanted things to be just as they
had always been. On the other hand. Dr. J. W.
Holland, Dean of Jefferson, and Dr. Clara Marshall,
Dean of the Woman's Medical College, emphatically
supported the four years' course. It may be observed
that England at this time required four years of
study, and France, five; while, in the United States,
Kentucky had a medical school which graduated a
student in nine months ; and Tennessee and Georgia
were little more exacting. It was high time that
American physicians took a stand against such per-
ilous ineflSciency. Dr. White, who held his profession
in honour, and who heartily mistrusted the line of
least resistance, worked unceasingly for a higher
level of attainment. Six years later, we find him writ-
ing to the "University Courier" a spirited defence

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 67

of the new entrance examinations demanded by the
Medical Department of the University, — examina-
tions which were thought by many to be needlessly
severe. "If there should arise," he said, "as a result
of this advancement in entrance requirements, any
necessity for a choice between a class of foiu* or five
hundred men, well prepared for the work of their
lives, and a class of eight or nine hundred of infe-
rior scientific attainments, I am confident that the
Faculty would unhesitatingly accept the former al-
ternative, and would be upheld in that position by
the Trustees, with whom the final decision must
rest."

The same winter which witnessed Dr. White's
advancement in the University saw him waging a
brave but losing battle for his position as chief of the
surgical staff of the Philadelphia Hospital. It is a
curious story of political intrigue and personal ani-
mosity. Dr. James W. White, Senior, had served for
years as president of the Board of Charities and Cor-
rection. From this thankless and onerous post he
was summarily dismissed, "without executive com-
ment," by Mayor Fitler, who ruled the city pater-
nally, and was averse to giving reasons for his acts.
An angry correspondence ensued. The Mayor, en-
trenched in authority, and outraged by the comments
of Dr. J. William White, Junior, promptly demanded
his resignation from the staff of the Philadelphia

68 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

HospitaL With equal promptness and superior
vigour, Dr. White refused to resign; whereupon the
Mayor called upon the directors of the Board of
Charities and Correction to dismiss the recalcitrant
surgeon. A fearful fracas followed. The press con-
demned municipal despotism, and printed cartoons
of Fitler in crown and ermine robes. The University
students and the students who attended the Phila-
delphia Hospital clinics made noisy demonstrations
in favour of their instructor. But the directors, or at
least three out of the five, did as they were bidden.
Dr. Richard A. Cleeman supported Dr. White. Mr.
Richard McMurtrie refused to vote. Five other Uni-
versity physicians were retired at the same time, and
their places filled by men from Jefferson College and
the Medico-Chirurgical. Dr. H. R. Wharton, who
was elected to fill Dr. White's position, flatly refused
to accept it. Four years later. Dr. White was rein-
stated in his post amid clamorous rejoicings, and he
held it until 1898, when his ever increasing duties at
the University compelled him to reluctantly resign.

In April, 1890, Dr. White contributed to the " Med-
ical News" an article recommending the electric
chair in place of the gallows. It is a strong argument,
and, what is more, a readable paper, showing that
curious literary twist which he was wont to give to
subjects seemingly remote from literature. It also
reveals a relentless common sense, sharply at va-

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 69

riance with the sentimentahty then beginning to dom-
inate a restless, anxious, and humane pubHc. He ad-
vocates electricity because it is less terrifying and
painful to the criminal. But he advocates it still more
urgently because the brutality of hanging, and its
sinister associations, influence juries to acquit, and
governors to pardon. "Punishment," he says truly,
*'is a deterrent influence in proportion to its certainty,
not its severity." His association with the Peniten-
tiary had given him an insight into that direful thing,
the criminal mind, and had convinced him that the
most powerful influence to control it is a reasonable
fear of the law, and of the consequences of breaking
the law. He agrees with Dr. Holmes's verdict: "Noth-
ing stands in the way of the selfish motive which
leads to crime except some stronger selfish motive."
He quotes with relish a passage from an intercepted
letter written by a convict in Australia (where a
murderous assault upon a warden was at that time a
capital offence) to a fellow cracksman at home." They
top" (hang) "a cove out here for slogging a bloke.
That bit of rope, dear Jack, is a great check on a
man's temper." ^

In November, 1890, the first importation of Dr.
Robert Koch's famous "lymph" reached Philadel-
phia. The press and public were greatly agitated

* The Punishment and Prevention of Crime. By Colonel Sir Edmund
Du Cane, Inspector of Prisons in Great Britain.

70 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

over its arrival; the physicians, cautious and reserved.
The five members of the Philadelphia Tuberculosis
Commission, to whom was entrusted the handling of
the new remedy, were Dr. William Pepper, Dr. James
Tyson, Dr. John Musser, Dr. White, and Dr. John
Guiteras, who had gone over to Germany to study
its use, and was still in Berlin. There was a painful
rush to the hospitals of patients eager for the magic
cure, yet so unreasonably alarmed that, after the
first injection, many refused a second, and many
more a third. Eight cases were selected for treatment
at the University Hospital, those of lupus being as-
signed to Dr. White. Reporters, who had hitherto
been restricted to glimpses of the little tubes filled
with reddish-brown liquid, were admitted to the
operating-room; and one of them, true to his training,
described with accuracy and animation the rings on
the fingers of a female patient. The lymph brought
nothing but disappointment to the sick, and to the
less sanguine physicians. Confidence waned steadily
until its flickering gleams died in a dead level of
despondency. There are few things sadder than the
long story of "cures" for the incurables. Hope dies
so hard, and human beings so easily.

In the spring of 1891, Dr. William Pepper's gen-
erous gift of fifty thousand dollars to the permanent
endowment fund of the Medical Department of the
University, and the ready assistance profltered by

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 71

Dr. Agnew, Dr. White, Dr. William Goodell, and Dr.
H. C. Wood, relieved the school from financial strain,
raised its standard, and insured the four years'
course, so essential to its dignity and usefulness.
The following March, Dr. Agnew died, full of years
and honours, leaving behind him a name cherished
by friends, and reverenced by his profession. A year
later Dr. White was elected patron of the D. Hayes
Agnew Surgical Society. It was a responsibility he
did not covet, and an honour he could not refuse. He
was formally installed at the annual dinner of the
society in the Bellevue-Stratford, and the enthusiasm
which greeted him expressed alike the pride the city
took in his achievements, and the warm affection of
his friends. His speech on this occasion, as on all other
occasions, had that ring of candour, of straight and
strong sincerity, which never failed to reach his
hearers' hearts. He summed up the experience of
forty-three years when he said, "I have been reason-
ably successful in life; but I have always felt in my
own case the truth of Dr. Franklin's words, that, if
men are honest, they will admit that their success is
more of a marvel to themselves than it can ever be
to others."

An instance of undoubted success, which surprised
no one, was the reception accorded to "The Ameri-
can Text-Book of Surgery," edited by Dr. W. W.
Keen and Dr. White, and published in 1893. It was

72 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

immediately adopted by forty-nine medical schools
and colleges, including the Kansas City Homoeo-
pathic Medical College, which knew a good thing
when it saw one. Australia welcomed the book warmly,
and its steady sales compelled its editors to issue, three
years later, a new and revised edition.

In the summer of 1895, Dr. and Mrs. White went
to Spain and southern France. On the voyage to
Gibraltar they encountered Mr. John Sargent, the
artist; and an acquaintance begun over a game of
chess, the "glad conquest" of a summer hour, rip-
ened into a warm and lifelong friendship. Together
they travelled to Tangiers and to Granada, where
Sargent lingered while the more impetuous tourists
speeded on their way. He had come to Spain to make
studies of the Spanish Madonnas; and although no
word of his could open Dr. White's eyes and heart to
the beauty of Murillo (a love for whom is one of life's
benefactions), and although no argument of the doc-
tor's could arouse in the artist's soul a true eager-
ness for athletics, the two men had, nevertheless, a
hearty enjoyment of each other's companionship. It
is amusing to note that when, in 1898, Dr. White's
enthusiasm for cycling had reached its height, he
actually bullied Sargent into buying a new wheel,
declaring, on the authority of a surgeon, that his
friend was "soft and in need of exercise." The follow-
ing summer, golf was his ruling passion; and the poor

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 73

artist, having come trustfully to visit him at Barton
Court, was sent at once around the links with Mrs.
White as an instructor. "It would be a good thing
for him if he should come to like it," writes the doctor
with enchanting seriousness in his diary.

It was in the spring of this year, 1899, that the
report of Mr. Sargent's death in London had reached
the United States, and, before there was time to con-
tradict it, the American newspapers snatched their
chance to print long-cherished portraits, and ex-
haustive notices of his work. Fatigue in connection
with the Royal Academy Hanging Committee was
given as the somewhat inadequate cause of death.
"Expired after a brief illness at the house of his son,'*
was the headline to which the great artist took, as
an unmarried man, especial exception. "Had I died
anywhere," he said virtuously, "it would not have
been in the house of a son."

Dr. White's friendship with Mr. Edwin Abbey was
as warm and as constant as his friendship with Mr.
Sargent. He never went to England without paying
a brief visit to Morgan Hall at Fairford, where Abbey
had built a studio "as big as a bam," and where in
1897 he was hard at work on the "Holy Grail" dec-
orations for the Boston Library. These crowded and
glowing canvases, Dr. White pronounces to be
"simply magnificent"; and there is little doubt that
in the artist's vast and empty studio they had the

74 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

space they need, and did not appear to be pushing
the pubHc out of the room, as they do in their nar-
rower confines.

The inextinguishable passion for athletics coloured
Dr. White's life, affording him the pleasures of his
youth, the enthusiasms of his middle age, and the
adamantine convictions which lasted until his death.
The summer of 1896 was spent in New England, and
he had the supreme satisfaction of witnessing the
Newport swimming feats of Mr. Peter McNally, Mr.
Charles Oelrichs, and Mr. Robert Ralston. They
interested him all the more deeply because, sixteen
years earlier, he himself had covered the course now
mapped out for one of the younger athletes. In Sep-
tember, 1880, he swam from the Spring Wharf, New-
port, across the harbour, past Fort Adams WTiarf , and
south of Beaver Tail to the head of Narragansett
Pier Beach. The distance was nine miles, the day
chill and windy, the time four hours and fifty min-
utes. Twice during the swim, a raw egg and a dash of
sherry was handed out to him from the accompany-
ing boat. Even at forty-six, though he could no longer
repeat the triumphs of his youth, he took part in
a genial game devised by Mr. Oelrichs, and called
*' Angling for Men." The swimmer was attached to
a stout line which did not interfere with his motions.
If he were hauled by the anglers into the boat, he
lost his game. If he successfully resisted them, he

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 75

won. Mr. Belmont, Mr. Theodore Havemeyer, and
Mr. James Kernochan angled thirty-eight minutes
for Dr. White, while the gray-haired and distin-
guished surgeon plunged, gambolled, and strained
in the heaving waters. He was dragged to within a
hundred feet of the anchored boat, but not close
enough to be landed. It was an engaging sport.

To a man so deeply concerned with every form of
exercise, the college football games were necessarily
matters of vital interest. As surgeon for the Pennsyl-
vania team. Dr. White stood responsible for the
men's physical condition; as a most loyal son of the
University, their victories filled him with elation,
their defeats with gloom. The controversy over pre-
liminary training raged hotly in the autumn of 1896.
The Pennsylvania men were taken in the summer to
Long Island for three weeks' practice. Harvard, Yale,
and Princeton had abandoned this system, though
their teams met occasionally in the holidays to "try
out." Mr. Caspar Whitney, writing in "Harper's
Weekly,'* attacked the summer traming as savour-
ing unduly of professionalism. Mr. Henry Geyelin,
Mr. John Bell, Mr. George Wharton Pepper, and
Dr. White defended it vigorously, not only because
it put the men in good shape, but because it saved
time and fatigue when they were back in college. A
vast deal of comment, not unmixed with acrimony,
was expended on this dispute. Those were care-free

76 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

days. We look back on them now very much as
Pandora might, in her old age, have looked back
upon the smiling, frolicsome years when the box-lid
was shut down, and no troubles had been let loose
upon the world.

As for the safety-loving people, the pacifists of that
time, who condemned football in toto as a brutal and
dangerous game. Dr. White entertained for them a
sincere and outspoken contempt. Their point of view
was alien to his spirit. He knew that in England,
as well as in the United States, there were men and
women who held these unworthy opinions; and he
was much comforted by a letter from Treves, de-
fending football, not only as one of the best and
bravest, but as one of the safest of sports. "More
lads die from loafing in a public house on Saturday
afternoons," wrote the British surgeon, "than ever
die from playing football one afternoon in the week.
I played every Saturday during the season until I
was twenty-one. I was a member of the Hospital
team, and we played in only first-class matches. I
can recollect in all this time only two cases of con-
cussion, two broken legs, and some broken ribs. As
for myself, I broke two metacarpal bones, and that
was all. Put these broken bones on the debit side, and
then try to estimate what must be written on the
credit side. To drive through the streets in a hansom
cab is more dangerous than to play football matches."

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 77

There are readers to whom Treves's list of casual-
ties suggests the philosophic attitude of a country-
woman who was asked if she did not find an unpro-
tected well-curb a bit dangerous for her large family
of children. "Well, no," she said thoughtfully, "not
so bad as you might think. We 've lived here nigh on
to seven years, and have lost only two of 'em."

But, after all, to inquire too curiously into dangers,
to coimt too closely the cost of all we do, is a dis-
quieting and a withering process. We lose a great
deal, and — such is the irony of fate — we are not
sure of saving anything. There is a satisfactory little
poem of Bret Harte's, in which the man who dares
not hunt lest he be hurt, and who dares not sail lest
he be drowned, stays at home, and is swallowed up
in an earthquake. Dr. White's simple and brave
philosophy was proof against every form of panic.
He gave it voice at the reception offered by the Mask
and Wig Club to the Pennsylvania football team, in
November, 1898. It had been a hard season, and the
Thanksgiving game which closed it had been played
— and well played — in the teeth of a furious storm.
I quote a portion of Dr. White's speech on this occa-
sion, because it expresses with animation and sin-
cerity his lifelong point of view:

"Last Thursday gave apparent support to those
who object to football on account of the exposure it
involves; and the game, from that standpoint, will

78 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

probably never have a more severe test. This is the
only time I have seen it played mider such circum-
stances, and it is unlikely that it will be so played
again. I therefore regard Thursday as a supreme test
of the sincerity of my own convictions, and I have
thought much and seriously on the matter since then.
During the whole game a driving gale was blowing
from the northwest, carrying with it rain and snow.
The field was a quagmire of ice-cold mud and snow,
with pools of icy water on the surface. In five min-
utes every man was soaked to the skin, and his
clothes weighed many pounds more than when he
put them on. The first half lasted for more than an
hour, and the work was hard and exhausting. We
must also take into account the dispiriting influence
of an adverse score.

"The newspapers have not exaggerated the ap-
parently appalling condition of the men at the end
of this half. Many of them were shaking so that they
could not give the least aid toward getting off their
wet clothes; could not carry their hands to their
mouths with the hot soup which was given them;
could not talk intelligibly for the chattering of their
teeth; could scarcely feel the vigorous chafing of their
hands and feet.

"I should be opposed to subjecting them again to
such suffering (it went far beyond discomfort). I
should be opposed to risk losing a game by the toss

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 79

of a coin, when well-earned victory means so much
to all Pennsylvanians. I thought for a few moments
that, as football players, the team was done for that
day. But I never for a moment, after looking them
over, felt anxiety as to the ultimate effect upon their
health. We know that men in such condition, with
their vitality so strong and their power of resistance
at so high a level, repel, not only cold and fatigue,
which are of minor importance, but those forms of
infection which, favoured by cold and fatigue, are
potent, in the presence of low vitality and dimin-
ished resistant power, to produce fever, pneumonia,
grippe, and other diseases.

"The reasons for my unshaken confidence in Penn-
sylvania spirit and pluck are obvious. I have many
times admired the men who represent us on the foot-
ball field; but never so deeply as on last Thursday,
when those eleven frozen, purple, shivering, chatter-
ing players, after a brief ten minutes spent in trying to
get warm, went out again into that storm, overcame
an adverse score, and wrested victory from the hands
of worthy and formidable opponents. They deserve to
be honoured, not only by every Pennsylvanian, but
by every one who loves manliness and courage."

It is little wonder that this kind of eloquence,
simple, sincere, plain-spoken, found its way to the
student's heart. It is little wonder that "Doctor
Bill" is still a name to conjure by. No one who has

80 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

heard the victorious team stand cheering on an au-
tumn night before the surgeon's door, no one who
has hstened to the long-drawn cry —

Ra, ra, ra,

Penn-syl-va-ni-a,
White! White! White! —

can doubt the place he held.

Two months after this memorable Thanksgiving
game. Dr. White went to Boston to address the New
England Alumni Society of the University of Penn-
sylvania. On this occasion he delivered a glowing
eulogy upon Benjamin Franklin, — as an athlete.
With a hardihood of imagination which we cannot
suflBciently admire, he pictured "Poor Richard" as
contemplating with especial gratification the foot-
ball games. "The man who prided himself in his
youth on his swimming, and on his ability to carry
a printer's 'form' in each hand, while his fellow
workmen could carry but one, the man who made
athletic sports an integral part of his proposed cur-
riculum for the Academy, would not only rejoice to
have 'Franklin Field' named after him, but would
join with us in our enthusiasm over the victories
won on that and other fields by the representatives
of Pennsylvania."

This is an original point of view. Franklin was so
many things, — statesman, scientist, philosopher,
and economist, that his athletic side has been ob-

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 81

scured by time. It is hard to fancy him cheering,
whooping, and waving his respectable hat as the
Quakers rush to goal.

And swimming? What did Franklin know of that
noble art as practised by a modern enthusiast.'* Many
of Dr. White's summer diaries read like the records
of a merman. If he were within reach of the sea, he
spent more time in it than out of it. There is some-
thing so monotonous in these perpetual immersions,
that no terrestrial reader can fail to enjoy his lament-
able experiences in Holland. Thither he went with
Treves in August, 1898, confidently hoping that in
this level and sea-girt land they could cycle and
bathe, cycle and bathe, cycle and bathe, through the
long, hot, happy days. Save in the matter of heat,
they found themselves mistaken. The tideless and
filthy waters of the Zuyder Zee repelled even their
ardour. At Zandvoort they joyfully essayed the lap-
ping waters of the North Sea, and were so badly
stung by jelly fish that the two surgeons were ill for
several days. Mrs. White escaped more lightly. Fi-
nally at Scheveningen, where the wide, hospitable surf
invited their advances, they found, first, that after
4 P.M. no one was permitted to bathe at all; second,
that an hour's wait for a bathing-house was the pre-
liminary of every dip; and third, that when they
ventured out to their arm-pits in a smooth sea, a
"life-guard" shouted and blew his horn to bring

82 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

them back to land. If they did not at once return,
he waded out and "rescued" them. It was a humil-
iating experience for a man who had swum from
Newport to Narragansett Beach to have a Dutch
official, decorated with a life-saving medal, play the
Newfoundland dog trick with him in safe and quiet
waters. Dr. White's language on this occasion was
so vitriolic that Treves urged him to publish an
"English and Gehennese Phrase-Book," which should
meet all such emergencies, and help the inarticulate
tourist on his way. It was to begin with familiar
colloquialisms, such as "What the Hell," "How the
Hell," " Where the Hell," " Who the Hell," "Why the
Hell," and after translating these into divers tongues,
was to advance by degrees to more fervid and com-
plicated utterances.

Perhaps it may be well to say here that swear-
ing was never for Dr. White "the riotous medium of
the under-languaged." His vocabulary was large, his
speech was trenchant. He was well aware that the
value of an oath lies in its timeliness and its rarity.
Repeated too often, it sinks into mere drivel, and the
most tiresome form of drivel. If, as we are told, "the
inspired pen of John Masefield has made lyric poetry
blossom with both wild and cultivated profanity,"
these flowers of speech owe their vigour and their
colour to a process of selection. Mr. Masefield, al-
though his diction, like his versiiScation, is ungirt.

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 83

has never permitted himself to rmi amuck through
blasphemy. The quickness of Dr. White's temper
and his habitual impatience inclined him to strong
language. His love for every form of outdoor exercise
insured for him a constant variety of provocation.
Take golf alone, which Mr. William Lyon Phelps
says is, next to the telephone, the greatest incentive
to swearing. "The disappointments of golf are so
immediate, so unexpected, so overwhelming. They
make taciturn gentlemen as eflScient as teamsters."
Now Dr. White began to play golf when he was in
his fiftieth year; and while this game is Heaven's gift
to the middle-aged and the elderly, they seldom excel
in it unless they have practised it in their youth.
There is a world of pent-up bitterness in this extract
from one of the pages of his English diarj'' :

*'July 20th: Letty and I played golf all day long.
I felt much encouraged yesterday, but dropped back
to-day. This place [Barton Court] is certainly ideal
for an impatient or a nervous beginner, because
there are no lookers-on. We buy new clubs all the
time, on the theory that there must be something
wrong with our old ones.'*

Two days later, as a consequence of these per-
severing endeavours, he developed an abscess on the
palm of his right hand, and could not play at all. If
there is never any excuse for profanity, there are
sometimes reasonable explanations.

84 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

No provocation, however, could wrest from Dr.
White an infant oath if he thought it unbecoming.
The people whom he did not wish to hear him swear
never did hear him swear. There were times, too,
when fatigue and a rare dejection robbed profanity
of all savour. "I am evidently doing what is known
as 'ageing,' " he wrote me once when I was in Rome.
"I heard with a shock last week that my language
on the golf links had lost all its vivacity. Too bad! To
destroy thus a reputation based on years of lively
endeavour. I have n't forgotten the words, but they
don't seem to come as easily as they used to. Can it
he that you are undermining me by praying to your
Roman saints ? "

In one respect alone, the doctor, for all his health
and strength and endurance, was physically ill-fitted
for life's unending strain. He could work as hard and
play as hard as any man of his years in Christendom.
He could swim like a fish, and with little more effort
than a fish might presumably make. He could cycle
a hundred miles in a day without undue fatigue. He
could lunch on "cakes, lemon cheesecakes, pears,
plums, milk and cream"; and this school-boy tuck
gave him no more uneasiness at fifty than it did at
fifteen. But he could not sleep unless sustained and
soothing silence composed him gradually to rest. In
this regard he was as unblest as the great Wallen-
stein, who pulled down all the houses around his

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 85

palace in Prague, so as to insure for himself quiet

and slumberous nights.

The summer of 1899 was spent by Dr. and Mrs.

White, and Mr. and Mrs. S. S. White, Junior, on the

English coast. Their days were given over to the

usual routine of outdoor sports, and all went merrily

save for the noises inseparable from hotel life, even

in England, where the infernal racket of continental

hostelries is happily unknown. Finally at Sherring-

ham, the clatter of housemaids indoors, and ostlers

out of doors, became so annoying that Dr. White

suddenly and wisely resolved he would have a roof

of his own.

"If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well
It were done quickly."

Within twenty-four hours he had rented a place,
imported a cook from Norwich, picked up a house-
maid in some neighbouring cottage, provisioned the
party with all things needful from coals and candles to
sugar and suet, and dined comfortably in a house, "the
very existence of which was unknown to us yesterday."

This is efficiency, — efficiency which matches speed
with thoroughness. What a secretary of war Dr.
White would have made!

All was not yet smooth sailing, however, for the
intrepid householder. After two happy days and
tranquil nights there comes this spirited entry in
the diary:

86 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

"Three yelping dogs broke our rest last night. The
silence here is like the silence of death after 6 p.m.
We were all sleepy, and turned in before ten o'clock.
About midnight, or earlier, these three curs over in
the farm-yard began to howl. At 1 a.m. the manly
form of Prof. William White of Philadelphia, clad
in pyjamas, and with a flickering candle in his left
hand, might have been seen standing in the drizzling
rain, pounding on the door of the farmer's cottage,
and using language which made an area of phosphor-
escence around the candle. As a result, the three dogs
were locked up in separate places, and a little sleep
was obtained. This morning I insisted that they
should be sent off the place, and I believe it has
been, or is to be, done.

"I am not, and I never shall be, used to farm
noises. I wish the little birdies had been created
dumb. I never could see any sense in a hen making

such a d fuss over every egg she lays; and it seems

particularly unreasonable that, like the females of
all other species, she should select such inconvenient
hours for bringing her offspring into the world. This
has been one of the complaints of obstetricians ever
since I have known any of them."

It is a bit unfair to hurl anathemas at hens, when
the cock, who has not his partner's excuse for self-
congratulation, makes such untimely and vociferous
racket. But Dr. White's reproaches, however un-

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 87

justified, seem to have shamed the denizens of the
farmyard into silence. Three days later he reports
favourably upon their amendment:

"We've shaken down into our places, and the
people are used to us. The dogs have been sent away;
the ducks have, I think, been given laudanum to
make them sleep late in the mornings; the hens now
cackle a sort of lullaby when they lay their eggs; the
farmer tiptoes over the gravel path when he waters
the pony in the early hours; the gardener wears felt
slippers instead of hobnailed shoes; and the whole
outfit is as quiet as could be desired."

So much for resolution!

In 1899, Dr. White, who had been appointed by
President McKinley a member of the Board of Vis-
itors of the Annapolis Naval Academy, succeeded in
persuading various reluctant departments to permit
the W^est Point and the Annapolis football teams to
play on Franklin Field. It took a deal of persuasion,
and involved many promises which were hard to
keep. He pledged his honour that there should be
no gate money; but he could not prevent Philadel-
phia politicians from selling the tickets he was com-
pelled to furnish them. It was, moreover, a difiicult
task to distribute seats "by favour only," and the
clamorous demand far exceeded the capacity of the
field. These Army and Navy games, which were re-
peated for many autumns, were dear to Dr. White's

88 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

heart. He took pride in them as a Philadelphia!! and
as an A!nerican. They were spirited contests, to
which the presence of distinguished oflScials lent
interest and dignity. But from start to finish they
involved endless labour, which he did not grudge,
and a sort of intricate egg dance among contending
interests, which he was not supple enough to per-
form. Even when the authorities gave permission
that gate money should be asked, and the proceeds
given to the Army and Navy Relief, the diflSculty of
satisfying the public was lessened, not ended. There
were more people who wanted to buy, and who held
they had a right to buy, than there were tickets to
be sold.

A friendlier warfare had been waged for years
between Dr. White, who was singularly reticent
about his "cases," and the press, which sought to
know the details of novel and intricate surgery. In
1897 he published, in collaboration with Dr. Edward
Martin, a work on " Genito-Urinary Surgery and Ve-
nereal Diseases." It was an exhaustive and author-
itative study, furnished with two hundred and forty-
three illustrations, and seven coloured plates. The
success which attended this volume, the opening in
the same year of the D. Hayes Agnew Pavilion, and
the beginning of the great drive for the University
Gymnasium, brought the doctor so sharply before
the public eye that an increased attention on the part

THE YEARS THAT COUNT 89

of reporters was perhaps inevitable. The newspapers
claimed that when a man of science withheld timely
and valuable information from their readers, he in-
flicted a loss, and he suffered one. They argued with
Waller,

"Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired."

Dr. White, impervious to this reasoning, and without
personal apprehension, expressed his point of view
in one uncompromising sentence: "Science," he said,
"ought not to be paraded side by side with a murder
up an alley." It was an irreconcilable difference of
opinion.

' CHAPTER VII
LAST YEARS OF SURGERY

MOST men who have lived through a half-cen-
tury find — to their regret or to their relief —
that they have abandoned the animating enthusiasms
of youth. They retain a tender and reminiscential
regard for past pleasures and extinguished zeal; but
their real and vigorous concern is reserved for the
cares and counsels of maturity. Dr. White never sur-
rendered his youthful convictions, or lost his youthful
ardour. He clarified both with the aid of reason, and
found them better worth preserving from being more
amply understood. His interest in athletic sports, and
his belief in their value, strengthened with years and
experience. If, as he lamented, "the opponents of ath-
letics die hard," he stood ever ready to help them
to their graves. He found time in his crowded days
to write sturdy articles in defence of the much
maligned football games, as well as of every other
game which required strength and hardihood. "Man
walked straight before he thought straight," was his
scornful reply to upholders of the studious life.

Being himself tall and strong, and having never
lacked mental concentration, sustained industry, or
professional skill, the doctor was naturally disposed

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 91

to resent President Eliot's contemptuous compari-
son of "big, brawny athletes" with "slighter, quicker-
witted men." He saw no reason why quick wits
should not accompany broad shoulders, and he said
so in the plainest words at his command. The dis-
paraging comments of the "Nation" and the "Out-
look" upon our "gladiatorial contests," and Dr. van
Dyke's concern over "a bone-breaking, life-imperil-
ing game," roused him to more spirited vindication.
Even the arguments of his friend, Thomas Robins,
who pleaded for an open field and for players less
highly specialized, failed to shake his "pigskin con-
servatism." He was, it must be admitted, "com-
plexionally averse to change"; but he brought himself
in time to accept reasonable measures of reform, and
to subscribe heartily to President Roosevelt's pro-
posals for a simple and uniform eligibility code. He
had been closely connected with students for twenty-
five years, he knew that their animal spirits needed
a broad outlet, and he had seen too many evils re-
sulting from "boisterous college sprees" not to be
fully aware of the corrective value of athletics. As
for the "hysterical enthusiasm" which was consid-
ered so dangerous an accompaniment of football, he
scored heavily when he retorted that far more injury
had been done to nations by besotting them with
oratory than by provoking their admiration for ath-
letics.

92 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

It is amusing and instructive to see how this
champion of physical prowess turned a searchHght
upon history for examples that would illustrate his
argument. Dr. Weir Mitchell, speaking at a dinner
of the New York alumni of the University of Penn-
sylvania, took the opportunity to comment severely
upon college athletics in general, and upon football
in particular. He said that when he was in college,
their hero was, not the captain of a team, but their
"honour man." "We loved Thackeray and Tenny-
son. Some of us were enthusiastic over Socrates. Do
college men talk of Socrates in these days?"

Probably not. Probably not many undergraduates
in Dr. Mitchell's youth indulged in Socratic colloquy.
The reader and the scholar may be found in every
seat of learning. They have survived centuries of
sport, centuries of battle, centuries of ignorance.
But they have always been, and will always be, the
exception, not the rule.

From Dr. WHbite's point of view, work and play,
study and athletics, walked amicably hand in hand.
He was convinced that the men who are physically
fit are the men of most service to the world; and that
food and drink are not more necessary to develop-
ment than are sunlight, oxygen, and exercise. He
published two exhaustive papers in the "Saturday
Evening Post," November and December, 1900, set-
ting forth the "natural association " between physi-

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 93

cal, intellectual, and moral strength, and enforcing
his arguments with a host of amazing illustrations.
The startled reader found himself confronted by
Samson, "who, though he seems to have lacked dis-
cretion, was a judge in Israel"; Caesar, who was
** admirable in all manly sports"; Cicero, who ad-
mitted that he owed his health to the gymnasium;
Cato, "who drilled his muscles into activity"; Lord
Byron, who swam; Scott, who rode; Goethe, who
skated; Wordsworth and Dickens, who walked;
Gladstone, who chopped wood. Dr. White even tried
to persuade himself and his public that Kant's daily
stroll — so methodical that the philosopher's neigh-
bours used to set their clocks by his passing — was
in the nature of athletics. A canvas broad enough to
admit Samson and Kant in juxtaposition leaves little
to be desired. I offered to stretch it further by mak-
ing out an opposition list of eminent men who, like
Gibbon and Littre, were never known to take any
exercise whatever; but my services were declined. I
was reminded that Gibbon would not stand by the
woman whom he had asked to marry him, and that
Littre would not face the siege of Paris, — regrettable,
but natural, consequences of sedentary habits.

There is no doubt that Dr. White's love for the
University of Pennsylvania strengthened his interest
in college sports, and deepened his concern over their
fluctuating fortunes. There is something admirable

94 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

and touching in this sustained devotion to his Alma
Mater. He was a busy and a canny man; but he
grudged no time, no labour, no money, when the
advancement of the University was at stake. Her
medical school was his pride and joy; her really beau-
tiful museum — which owed its perfections to Dr.
William Pepper and Mrs. Cornelius Stevenson —
gave him profound satisfaction; her gymnasium was
the project nearest to his heart. Everything the
students did, from a Greek play to a Mask and Wig
burlesque, fired him with interest. When they pro-
duced "Iphigenia Among the Tauri," in the spring
of 1903, he triumphed in this evidence of scholarship;
and the two hundred roses presented to the players
by the Greek colony of Philadelphia pleased him as
much as if he had been a debutante actress receiving
this giant ovation. Yet he was habitually impatient
of entertainments that did not entertain. He once
sat in front of me at a conscientious performance, by
distinguished but deliberate amateurs, of Gilbert's
"Engaged," which, of all plays, needs to be lightly
handled. At the close of the second act he arose,
bade me a cordial good-night, observed amicably,
*'I think I'll come around after breakfast to-morrow
morning, to see how they are getting on," and van-
ished. But the laborious presentation of "Iphigenia"
failed to daunt him, for every student actor was, in
some sort, his friend.

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 95

If college plays gave so much satisfaction to this
true lover of youth, college games, which in them-
selves are well worth looking at, naturally absorbed
his attention. He cared so much for the result, he was
so keen for victory, that pain and pleasure gripped
his heart whenever he watched the struggle. For six
bitter years the University football team had suffered
defeat at Harvard's hands. The Crimson men said
plainly and contemptuously that the Red and Blue
men were not worth playing against, and that if they
were beaten for the seventh time, they should be
dropped from the list of contestants. Therefore, when
Penn defeated Harvard 11 to 0 at Cambridge, in the
autumn of 1904, the victory was a source of gratifi-
cation to all good Philadelphians, and of profound
felicity to Dr. White. The students celebrated the
happy event for twenty-four tumultuous hours,
made nuisances of themselves, as is their wont on
such occasions, and were readily forgiven by their
tormented, but proud and grateful townsmen. The
following year, Pennsylvania again beat Harvard
12 to 6 on Franklin Field; and Dr. White wrote to
Mrs. Tom Robins, who had wired him her felicita-
tions: "I was delirious on Saturday, wildly happy
on Sunday, ineffably content yesterday, and am
blandly satisfied to-day. It was what we football
cranks call a great and glorious victory."

Other sports laid claim to his enthusiasm, and

96 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

brought their measure of dehght and disappointment.
In the summer of 1901 the University crew went to
England, to row against the London Club, some Bel-
gians, some Irishmen, and the invincible Leanders.
Dr. White saw the new eight-oared shell christened,
made a rousing speech to the men when they sailed,
June 8th, on the Waesland, and followed June 15th,
on the Minneapolis, to witness the triumph he con-
fidently predicted. The Penn crew was exceptionally
strong, and his assurance was justifiable. But when
he reached Henley, and saw the Leander men train-
ing, he knew, though his hopes still ran high, that
the cup would be hard to win. The London Club was
easily outrowed, the Belgians were nowhere. "Bar
accidents, and I don't see how we can lose," he wrote
on the morning of the great race. But although our
men made a splendid showing, Leander came in a
length — a bare length — ahead, and his heart was
too sore for comfort. "I had argued myself into a
state of absolute confidence," he admitted, "so that
the result was a surprise, and all the harder to bear.
It was as bad as any football defeat, — worse, I
think, because success meant more to us. I lost $190;
but, of course, I'd have given $1900 to see that cup
in Houston Hall for a year."

The next day, July 6th, there is this entry in his
diary: "Still dull, but gradually beginning to realize
that we must continue to live, and may (years hence)

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 97

enjoy ourselves. ... It must be understood that it

was a d d good race, and that we have nothing

to be ashamed of." Indeed, the best of good feeling
prevailed everywhere, and the contest was so close
that there was no bitterness in defeat. Neither, how-
ever, was there any solace in beating the Dublin
crew at Killarney, because the Irishmen were so
quickly outdistanced that the race was no race at all.
The beauty of the scenery brought small compensa-
tion to Dr. White's soul, and of Bantry he records in
words which Horace Walpole might have envied: "A
hideous, dirty, unmitigably Irish town, which makes
you spit and scratch just to look at it." The last act
of the drama was played in London, at the Hotel
Cecil, where the American Society gave a jovial
supper to the Pennsylvania men. Dr. White made a
gallant speech, and, inasmuch as the company did
not disperse until 5 a.m., the occasion must have been
a pleasurable one. Nevertheless, defeat is defeat, and
nothing can turn it into victory. "We certainly rowed
a magnificent race," is the diary's final comment,
"and scared them badly; but, after all, it comes back
to the fact that the cup stays here."

To the Army and Navy football game of 1901 came
IVIr. Roosevelt, the first American president who had
ever graced the contest on Franklin Field. The de-
mand for seats was more clamorous than ever, and,
as fourteen thousand of the thirty thousand tickets

98 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

went to West Point and Annapolis, it was clearly
impossible to satisfy all aspirants. The tickets issued
to politicians (to insure adequate police protection
for the President) were sold on the sidewalk for
twenty-five dollars each. It was a brilliant and an
unspoiled game. Admiral Dewey was among the dis-
tinguished guests. The sun for once forbore its cus-
tomary trickery, and shone gloriously in a blue sky.
Charles Daly, West Point's quarter-back, made a
sensational run, and won the Army's victory. The
crowd on the field shouted itself hoarse, and, when
the President left for his train, the vaster crowd out-
side took up the cry — so democratic but so loving —
"Teddy! Our Teddy!" until the skies rang with their
rapture.

This was not the beginning of Dr. White's ac-
quaintance with Mr. Roosevelt. The two men
had met before. But it was an added link in the
friendship which became the enthusiasm and the
inspiration of the doctor's life. Every trait of Roose-
velt's splendid personality made its straight and
strong appeal to his spirit. The President was not
only the most distinguished American of his day; he
was not only the wise and intrepid ruler of the na-
tion; but he was a man whose hand — to use Mrs.
Wharton's fine phrase — was ever on the hilt of ac-
tion; a man who held his country's honour and his
own in high regard, who was so compelling he could

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 99

afford to be simple, and so determined he could
afford to be gay. To Dr. White, who thought in plain
straight terms, who held fast to primitive things, and
to those qualities which are the foundations of man-
hood, Mr. Roosevelt presented an ideal which years
failed to impair, and detraction could never weaken*
The President called him from the beginning a
"sworn friend," which he truly was; and showed
a well-placed confidence in his discretion when he
summoned him a few years later to Washington
for a conference upon college athletics, and upon the
new football rules which embodied some admirable
measures of reform.

In the summer of 1903, Sir Frederick Treves, hav-
ing reached the zenith of his fame, and having un-
doubtedly saved King Edward's life by his courage in
operating ("Any other man," said the King to Syd-
ney Holland, "would have sewed me up, and said
that there was no abscess, or that it was too deep
to reach"), retired from active practice. The royal
family declined to release him; but he severed his
connection with all humbler patients, and strongly ad-
vised Dr. White to follow his example. He was not
exactly like the fox who had lost his tail, because he
had cut off his own tail ; but he was solicitous that his
friend should be as tailless as himself. "Treves has
retired definitely and permanently," wrote Dr. White
to Tom Robins, in September, 1903. "He has much

100 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

to say in favour of my doing likewise. I find, how-
ever, that I grow more extravagant and exacting
as I grow older. That makes me hesitate about re-
tiring." And again, when lamenting to the same
faithful correspondent that he has had too much
surgery and too little golf, he adds wistfully: "I am
still looking forward to retirement, and never think
of you without envying your freedom from daily rou-
tine, and from anxiety, except such as is, of course,
unavoidable. We must all of us be anxious some time
or other about the people we care for most."

This note of apprehension is struck again and again
in every allusion to his profession. He was like one
forever breaking a lance with Death, and he could
not endure that his great opponent should sometimes
triumph over him.

In December, 1900, he had operated for appen-
dicitis on Mr. John Clarke Sims. The patient was
convalescent and considered out of danger, when he
succumbed to a sudden attack of heart failure, and
died before his surgeon could reach his bedside. It
w^as a heavy blow to Dr. White, the harder to bear
because the dead man had been his friend. "My af-
fection no less than my pride was at stake," he wrote
to me. "For weeks I have devoted all my skill and
all my purpose to saving this one life. For weeks
I have sacrificed both work and play. And I have
accomplished nothing."

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 101

Yet when, the following month, he came perilously
near to an enforced retirement, having infected the
middle finger of his right hand in the operating-room,
he was in no wise disposed to be ousted from a career
which he liked to talk of abandoning. He had for his
profession that proud regard which is the natural
outcome of achievement. The opposition of the *' li-
tigious laity" to great life-saving measures, such as
vaccination and the use of diphtheric antitoxin, fired
him with just wrath. The stupid jokes of comic
papers about doctors and surgeons irritated him as
keenly as if they had been barbed shafts of wit. I
once ventured to quote in his hearing those merry
lines from the "Beggar's Opera,"

"Men may escape from rope and gun,
So7ne have outlived the doctor's pill";

but they awoke no answering smile. There were
things he was not prepared to jest over, and the
healing art was one of them.

It was natural that the retirement of Sir Frederick
Treves should have influenced his friend, because the
two men had acquired the habit of spending part
of their summer holidays together. In July, 1900,
Dr. White rented an English country-house, Ingham
New Hall, in Lessingham, two miles from the Treves'
house in Hasboro, and sUpped for once into the un-
broken calm of rural life. When he was not bathing,
or trying to get his bicycle repaired, he was driving

102 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

a fat pony, "Clementina," to Stalham for butter and
soap, or superintending the arrival of ice from Yar-
mouth. The sole excitement of the summer was pro-
vided by a mole, an indefatigable, unconquerable
mole, which bade defiance to law and order. "I am
no good as a mole catcher, and might as well go
out of the business," writes the disconsolate tenant.
"Strychnia enough to kill the Boer army fails to
disagree with that beast." It was in truth a free-born
British mole, and scorned to be routed by Ameri-
cans. They found it there when they took the house,
and they left it diligently raising hillocks on the lawn
the day they drove away.

The admirable thing about the comradeship of Dr.
and Mrs. White and Sir Frederick and Lady Treves
was the large liberty they allowed one another. Their
tastes were alike, but their habits of life dissimilar.
"W^hat I want to do, I want to do," writes Dr. White.
"Frederick has the same not uncommon peculiar-
ity, and we don't always want the same thing.' The
Englishman, for example, liked to loaf, and to be
comfortable. The American liked to forge ahead,
and to be entertained. When the Englishman got to
a place which he fancied, it seemed to him a good
reason for staying there. When the American got to
a place which he fancied, it seemed to him a good
reason for moving on. The Englishman had a strong
regard for his luncheon, and an almost religious

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 103

respect for his dinner. The American was content to
leave his meals to chance when tempted by an inter-
esting excursion. The Englishman (and the English-
man's wife) preferred to drive over the passes in the
Engadine. The American (and the American's wife)
preferred to walk, and took a genuine delight in
surmounting diflSculties, and conquering fatigue.

"We said good-bye to the Treves," is an entry in
the Swiss diary of the following year. "They, of
course, were eating, and they regarded our pedes-
trian tour" (over the Schyn Pass and on to Campfer)
"as one of extreme danger and privation. They shud-
der at the thought of being out of reach of food for an
hour or two. They will go nowhere unless some English
doctor — who is generally an ignoramus — assures
them that the water is all right, that there have been
no 'throat cases' in the neighbourhood for years, and
that sterilized milk can be obtained for Enid. They
think I 'm peculiar, and I think they 're comic. All of
us think the others do not know how to travel. We
get on very well together, all the same."

Nothing incensed Dr. White so deeply as being
warned against walking too much, unless, indeed, it
was being warned against letting Mrs. White walk
too much. To some mild remonstrance on the part
of her family, he answered tartly and triumphantly:
"Letty has for years taken ten times the exercise
that most of her women friends take, and I should

104 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

like to have some sort of comparative test of their
health and hers. I'll back Letty." That Dr. Osier,
whom he warmly admired, should not more explicitly
commend "the men who have sense enough to take
exercise," vexed his soul; and he reproached this
high authority — a bit unfairly — for backing " all
the lazy, over-fed, gouty imbeciles in the commu-
nity." Finally, when his friend, Mr. Effingham B.
Morris, begged him to call a halt on Alpine climbs
(a dangerous sport for his years), he retaliated with
all the counter-accusations he could heap together in
one scorching missive. As it chanced, Mr. Morris's
letter reached him at Morgan Hall, where he was
leading a gentle and blameless life with the gentle
and blameless Abbeys, so that he was able to assume
an air of injured innocence, as if he had been frisking
like a lamb all summer long on the soft English turf.
After expatiating on the joys of croquet, and his de-
votion to that tranquil sport, he conjured his friend
to abandon the strenuous for the simple life, and
rebuild the foundations of health:

"I've no doubt the Drexel estate is both honour-
able and profitable; but if you don't take more hol-
idays, and — since you won't climb mountains — at
least play croquet, you '11 have a d d large hand-
some funeral, with a lot of millionaires for honorary
pall-bearers, and a few really sorrowing Christian
friends like me in the hired carriages.

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 105

"Your cheek in giving me good advice about
health and safety is monumental. If you'd come
over here and play with me in the summer, you
would not, I suppose, accumulate so many diamonds
for wearing purposes, but you could continue to use
Waterbury watches and nickel scarf-pins for many
happy years."

It has a convincing ring, but when we read the
records of the Swiss tramps, they sound more in-
trepid than engaging. Mrs. White walked like a
Trojan. Fatigue, vertigo, blistered feet, — she
scorned them all; covered her requisite number of
miles, climbed up and slid down the mountain-sides,
found the right paths which Dr. White was an adept
at losing, and came in smiling when the day was
done, too proud and pleased to admit exhaustion.
"Letty has two blisters; but with plaster, grease, a
couple of pairs of stockings, etc., she pulled through
with comparative comfort," is a typical entry in the
diary. And, two days later, after climbing the Piz
Nair, which Baedeker fraudulently calls "easy and at-
tractive": "Letty has two blisters (not new ones, the
old ones resuscitated) ; otherwise we are both well."

In the summer of 1903 these dauntless pedestrians
ventured upon a supreme test of endurance. On the
1st of August they walked from Pontresina to La
Rosa, a good ten miles. This was merely to get up
steam. On the 2d of August they walked over the

106 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Val Viola to the Nuovi Bagni at Bormio, thirty
miles, including an ascent of two thousand feet in
the morning, and a descent of four thousand feet in
the afternoon. "It was really a test of strength for
Letty," writes Dr. White triumphantly. "We have
had harder walks, but none so hard, hot, rough and
stony. She wound up in good shape, and is none the
worse for it." The next morning, August 3d, they
started at 7.45, and walked over the Stelvio Pass,
climbing five thousand feet, and descending four
thousand feet to Trafoi. Here Mrs. White enjoyed
the unwonted privilege of resting two whole days,
while Dr. White and a couple of friends, Mr. Paine
and Mr. Orthwein, made a successful ascent of the
Ortler.

This expedition was like all Alpine climbs, — a
peerless combination of discomfort and danger. The
three men and their guides spent the night in the
"Payerhutte" with a dozen adventurous souls,
sleeping — or not sleeping — in all their clothes for
the sake of warmth, arose at 3.30 "as fresh as daisies,"
went out at 4.25 into the frozen dark, cut their way
over the upper glacier, and at 6.40 reached the sum-
mit, from which "it looked as if there were nothing
but mountains in the world." The ascent qualified
Dr. White for membership in the Swiss Alpine Club;
and the only circumstances which humbled his legit-
imate pride were Baedeker's belittling statement that

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 107

the Ortler "is not difficult, but requires a tolerably
steady head," and the fact that a young American
girl, "very light and strong," climbed easily and fear-
lessly by his side.

The next day, August 6th, the Whites set val-
iantly forth, and walked for eight hours and a half
(their average was eight hours) over the Umbrail
Pass to Santa Maria; after which they were "tired
enough to enjoy the quiet of the night," but fresh
enough to start at 7.30 the next morning for the
Scarl Pass and Vulpera. "A most successful and en-
joyable week," is Dr. White's summing up. "We
men have climbed twenty-seven thousand feet, Letty
nineteen thousand. I have lost fourteen pounds since
I left Philadelphia. Letty has lost sixteen pounds.
She stood the trip wonderfully. Orthwein and Paine
are sure to give her a great reputation as a walker
when they get back to the Kulm. Very few women
could have done it."

It is little wonder that after an August spent in
such fashion, the Wliites should have been well dis-
posed to dally a while in England with the Treves
(Sir Frederick promised to have all the barking,
crowing, cackling livestock within a mile of Barton
Court assassinated before his friend's arrival), or that
croquet on the smooth lawn of Morgan Hall should
have seemed a pleasant pastime. The Abbeys had
been Dr. White's guests in the winter of 1902.

108 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Abbey had received the degree of Doctor of Laws
from the University of Pennsylvania, and had ac-
cepted a commission to decorate the State Capitol
at Harrisburg, — work which he began with enthu-
siasm, and was destined never to finish. The vast
Coronation picture was still incomplete, and the bur-
den of it grew heavier year by year. The artist was
toiling over this canvas for several successive sum-
mers, and he told Dr. White many amusing stories
concerning the trials and tribulations inseparable
from the painting of royalty.

The Queen, he said, could never be persuaded to
keep her appointments; and the King, who was a
miracle of punctuality, changed his mind frequently
and tormentingly in regard to the details of his own
portrait. At first he was painted with the yellow
coronation robe falling to his feet. Then he asked to
have one leg exposed so as to exhibit the Order of the
Garter. This was done. Then he sent word that both
legs had better be uncovered. This involved changing
lights and tones, and did not, from the artist's point
of view, improve the picture; but it was also done.
Then he proposed that Abbey should "suggest"
Treves and Laking at the back of the royal box.
They were, with some difficulty, suggested. Then he
desired the same privilege for several duchesses who
accompanied the Queen; whereupon the artist, who
was but too well aware that everybody in that box

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 109

wanted his or her presence made plain, asked grimly
whom he should leave out to give place to the la-
dies. There being no one to leave out, the King, with
perfect good-humour, abandoned the duchesses to
obscurity.

Abbey also told Dr. White that, when he was
painting the Prince of Wales, the young man asked
him how much he thought Sargent made in a year.
Abbey said truthfully and discreetly that he did not
know. *'Do you suppose," persisted the Prince, "that
it's £10,000.?" "More likely £20,000," was the reply.
"My God!" said England's heir, "I wish I had
£20,000 a year."

Another large canvas on which Abbey was engaged
in the summer of 1902 was a decoration for the Royal
Exchange, and represented a reunion, after a pro-
tracted feud, of the Companies of Skinners and Mer-
chant Tailors, in the presence of the Lord Mayor of
London. Time, Richard III. The incident is not pre-
cisely a high light in history, and many there are who
have never heard of it; but it afforded the artist a
good chance for the grouping and costuming in which
he delighted, and in which he excelled. Having per-
petual need of models, he pressed his guest into serv-
ice as a master skinner. "I wear a light wig with
hair reaching to my shoulders," wrote Dr. White in
the diary; "a tall black cloth hat with narrow rolled-
up brim, a long robe and a gilt chain. I look as ugly

110 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

as H ! Perhaps it would be enough to say uglier

than usual."

Personal vanity was not a disturbing element in
his constitution. The morning he left Morgan Hall,
he paid a farewell visit to the studio, and declared
himself well pleased with his portrait. "Some day,"
he wrote, "probably about 2102, a discerning art
critic will say : ' There is in the right hand corner of
the picture the head of a gray-moustached citizen
wearing the tall black hat of the period, which is
rightly considered as the central point of interest
in this remarkable painting. The face, judged by the
ordinary standards of human beauty, cannot be said
to be perfect. The mouth is somewhat full, and the
fact that it is partly open does not add to its at-
tractiveness. The eyes are over prominent, and have
a tendency to what was known in those days as
blinking. The jowls are too accentuated, and the
nose not enough so, being indeed slightly retrousse,
whereas if it had been longer, and inclined down-
ward, it might have partly hidden the conspicuous,
upper central incisors. These, however, are mere
details. What makes this face the gem of the pic-
ture, and of all the pictures of this master, is the
expression of almost superhuman intelligence, of
saintliness of spirit, of purity of soul, of pensive
benevolence, of meekness and abnegation when self-
interest is involved, but firmness and decision when

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 111

the rights of friends are jeopardized, which character-
izes every feature. If Abbey had painted nothing else
but this one face, it would in itself justify his im-
perishable reputation, and entitle him to rank above
Frans Hals and Velasquez.' "

When we consider that, in addition to conferring
immortality upon his host, Dr. White operated on
the Abbeys' beloved black cat. Tinker, removing a
malignant growth from the animal's poor little head,
and prolonging one of its fleeting lives, we can un-
derstand his value as a guest, and the warmth of
welcome which awaited him.

Perhaps the obduracy of golf inclined him gently
to the Abbeys' favourite sport, croquet. He wrote me
once (when his patients were getting well, and mat-
ters at the University were all going his way) that if
his game of golf would but improve, he 'd ask nothing
else of fate. But though it did improve, he never was
satisfied with its amendment. After a week's practice
on the links of Maloja, in the summer of 1901, his
only triumph was beating a Baltimore invalid who
had been suffering from nervous prostration: "I am
going to challenge the blind asylum when I get
home," is his bitter comment. *'I should be afraid
of the deaf and dumb."

Yet, in their humble way, both Dr. and Mrs. Wliite
distinguished themselves on the Maloja links. Mrs.
White hit a ponderous German on the head, and he

112 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

said so often and so accusingly that she had "nearly
killed" him, that Dr. White, who had seconded his
wife's profuse apologies, was finally impelled to offer
to finish the job. Two days later, the doctor "took
another German in the small of the back with a
hundred and twenty-five yard brassie," awakening
violent profanity; and the following morning hebowled
over, "with a hard-driven, low-pulled ball," a little
Italian caddy. For one horrid moment he feared he had
seriously hurt the boy; but an examination showed
nothing more alarming than a bruised hand, which
was speedily righted with a cold-water bandage, a
friendly word, and the gift of a two-franc piece.

Another distinct advantage of croquet was the
impossibility of losing one's way between the hoops.
Dr. White always vowed he could be lost in Ritten-
house Square; but Rittenhouse Square is a vast area
by comparison with a tennis court or a croquet
ground. He was the most eminent path-loser of his
day, and could always be trusted to choose a long
and hard route when there was a short and easy one.
"The Lord has not been very good to me in the
matter of talents," he wrote candidly. "I cannot
sing, or make music, or paint, or speak foreign
tongues easily. But He has given me a wonderful
insight into the wrong ways of getting — or not
getting — anywhere. I can beat the world at losing
myself. That's a proud thought at any rate."

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 113

In the spring of 1903, John Sargent spent a month
with Dr. White; and a great deal of gaiety was
necessarily crowded into two very busy lives. The
artist had been hard at work all winter, and had
painted among other pictures the masterly portrait
of President Roosevelt, remarkable, not only for its
force and purpose, but also, as Owen Wister pathet-
ically remarked, for having the first frock coat he
had ever seen "rendered gracious and harmonious.'*
I was in Rome that year, and Dr. White found time
— I don't see how — to write me an unwontedly
long letter, full of the joys and sorrows of a Phila-
delphia May.

" I have lived in what seems to have been a whirl —
though a pleasant one — for a month. Sargent came
here four weeks ago to-day, and goes to New York
this afternoon, to sail on Saturday for Gibraltar. I
like him more than ever, and wish he could be here
for another month; but, of course, there have been
dinners, and late hours, and less exercise than usual,
so that I shall have some lost rest to make up be-
tween now and my sailing time, — June 19th. His
work here has been splendid. Mitchell's portrait is
superb ; but he, Sargent, thinks (and Thomas Eakins,
John Lambert, and other artists agree with him)
that the best thing he did in Philadelphia is an oil
sketch of Mrs. White, begun and completed last
Sunday, — two sittings of two hours each, — and so

114 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

full of life and animation and spirit that it is truly
wonderful. It does n't flatter her, or make her seem
younger than she is; it is not a photographic like-
ness; but it has something that I am not skilled
enough to describe, and that represents Sargent at
his best. I am delighted to have it. He insisted on
doing it, and we had not self-denial to refuse, though
we tried to do so.

"We have had tropical weather here for some days,
92° in the shade, — and wretched criminals expect-
ing me to operate on them. My only comfort is in a
single shell on the Schuylkill, clad — I, not the shell
— in undershirt and drawers. I begrudge the hours
I spend at work. Rittenhouse Square is noisy with
the vociferous play of millions of the useless progeny
of my neighbours, the back street in the early morn-
ing is pandemonium, — and it is one month from
to-morrow that I sail."

Again the note of impatience and weariness, — the
hours "begrudged" to work. Treves was by this
time a free man, and meditating a journey around
the world. One daughter, Hetty, had died. The
other, Enid, had married Colonel Delm^-Radcliffe,
who was then officially surveying, and incidentally
lion-hunting, in northern Uganda. Dr. White prom-
ised his friends that he would meet them in San
Francisco, when the globe-circling tour landed them
on our shores, and the promise was nobly kept. It is

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 115

a far cry from Rittenhouse Square to the Golden
Gate; but when Sir Frederick, Lady Treves, and Mrs.
Delme-Radcliffe landed in May, 1904, Dr. and Mrs.
White were on the docks to receive them. The Eng-
lish ladies frankly confessed that they had had a
surfeit of travel. To stay in one place now seemed to
them the best of earthly joys. Therefore, when they
found themselves moderately comfortable in Wawona,
in Wawona they resolved to remain, while Sir Fred-
erick and the Whites went to the Yosemite. "I
didn't argue," writes Dr. White virtuously. "After
all, as I said to Lady Treves, they were under no
obligation, moral or otherwise, to 'do' the Yosem-
ite; and if they were happier in Wawona, no one
could object to their staying there."

This was a handsome concession. In ruder and less
tolerant days, no one had ever heard such words
from the doctor's lips. He was beginning to realize —
in the case of other people, not yet in his own —
that there are limits to endurance.

As Treves was to receive a degree from the Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania on the 13th of June, as
they were to visit the Grand Canyon on their east-
ward flight, as there were social engagements looming
on the Philadelphia horizon, and as the whole party
were to sail for England on June 24th, Lady Treves
and her daughter may have had some excuse for
relinquishing the rare loveliness of the Yosemite.

116 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

And perhaps they would not have found it lovely. I
once made some rapturous comment upon its beauty
to Alice Meynell, and that distinguished lady replied
that she did not consider the Yosemite beautiful. It
was, she said, on too vast a scale for beauty.
' The distinctive feature of this summer was Dr.
White's ascent of the Piz Palii, one of the highest
peaks of the upper Engadine, a climb of which even
Baedeker the scornful speaks with becoming rever-
ence, as "trying, not advisable except when the
snow is firm, and requiring a steady head." The Piz
Palii is 12,835 feet, only a little lower and a little less
dangerous than the Piz Bernina. Mr. Paine was
again his companion. They had the two best guides in
the Engadine, and the expedition was of sufiScient
importance to be gravely and admiringly chronicled in
the " Alpine Post." For a man in his fifty-fourth year,
who had made but one other ascent, it was an amaz-
ing feat. Dr. White confessed to extreme fatigue;
but, beyond a few cuts and bruises, seemed none the
worse for it. There is a characteristic entry in his
diary, the day before he started: "I've borrowed
Orthwein's ice-axe, Paine's second jersey, Bott's
gaiters — to keep the snow out of my shoes — and
Letty's dark glasses. If I fall down a precipice, or a
crevasse, there will be four people interested in find-
ing the remains.'*

In December, 1904, the long hoped-for, long

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 117

planned-for, long fought-for gymnasium was at last
opened to the students of the University. For years
Dr. White had worked with grim determination over
this cherished scheme. For years he had counted no
labour too heavy, no enthusiasm too keen, no sacri-
fice too great, where its advancement was concerned.
In April, 1902, he was able to write to Thomas
Robins that $200,000 had been raised, and that the
bond issue of $262,000 had been fully subscribed.
The building cost when completed nearly $600,000.
Its beauty, its scope, its admirable equipment, were
due to him. His unfaltering resolution and con-
tagious zeal animated his townsmen, and spurred
them to repeated efforts. The College alumni re-
sponded nobly to his call. The day that he formally
presented this gymnasium to the University was
perhaps the proudest and happiest of his life. In a
few simple words he told of his early hopes, of his
harsh disappointments, of his seven years of toil. He
also announced a bequest of $50,000 from the estate
of Mr. William Weightman to the endowment fund,
— a bequest which he had personally beguiled from
the testator. Provost Harrison accepted the new
building in the name of the trustees, and Dr. R. Tait
McKenzie, sculptor, and Director of Physical Edu-
cation, made an admirable address. The relations
between this keen and brilliant young Canadian and
Dr. White were of the friendliest character. Six

118 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

montlis after the opening of the gymnasium, Dr.
McKenzie wrote to Dr. White: "What your advice
and friendship have meant to me in this trying year
of strangeness and pioneer work I need never tell
you. If you are a telepathist, you must have felt it.
I am not likely ever to forget, and I hope I may yet
have a chance to repay it in small part, leaving al-
ways a debt that I am glad to ov/e."

In January, 1905, Henry James came to Phila-
delphia, to give his lecture on Balzac before the
Contemporary Club. It was his maiden effort, the
first time he had heard his own voice raised in public,
and he was correspondingly nervous and depressed.
Dr. White put him up at the Rittenhouse Club, and
gave him a supper after the meeting, snatching
wisely at that happy hour when — the burden lifted
— a speaker becomes once more a free and happy
man. Mr. James before the lecture, and Mr. James
after the lecture, was a study in gloom and gaiety.
He and his host had never met until that January
night; and just as the great law of sympathy or-
dained that Dr. White and Roosevelt should be
friends, so the great law of contrast ordained that
Dr. White and James should also be friends, under-
standing each other from the first hour they met,
and trusting each other to the last. On his subse-
quent visits to Philadelphia, the great novelist was
always the surgeon's guest. Dr. White never ex-

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 119

ploited him, never flattered him, never teased him
with questions; but just gave him honest Hking,
freedom, and leisure; while Mrs. White saw to it that
he had the warm fires and soft blankets which he
dearly loved, being the chilliest man in Christendom.
It is little wonder that when he left these pleasant
quarters to wander through the frozen South, Mr.
James's letters were full of regret for lost comforts
and companionship. He wrote from Biltmore that he
had been increasingly cold ever since he crossed the
Mason and Dixon line; that Richmond, "wrapped in
ice and snow" (it was a very inclement winter), had
desolated him; and that Biltmore House was "mag-
nificent, imposing, and utterly unaddressed to any
possible arrangement of life, or state of society, or
recruiting of company, in this huge, sordid, niggery
wilderness, which was all I saw after leaving the
melancholy Richmond." He pictured himself hob-
bling goutily through vast and chilly corridors, look-
ing out of "colossal icy windows," and sighing for
what seemed by comparison "the cosy little house
on Rittenhouse Square," with the "rich security of
its stained and pictured library," and with the sunny
suite of rooms which had been his own, and for
which he had acquired a cat-like attachment. He
would, he said, joyfully exchange the "whole per-
pendicular English staff" of Biltmore for "a single
snatch of Mrs. Morton and little Joseph."

120 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

This seems a fitting time (inasmuch as she has
been formally introduced by Henry James) to say a
few words about Mrs. Morton, who was a familiar
and characteristic feature of Dr. White's establish-
ment. She was his housekeeper when he first ac-
quired a bachelor home on Sixteenth Street, and she
remained his housekeeper until he died. She had
been a sick nurse, and came to him because (a widow
with an only son) she wanted to keep this child by
her side. The doctor took a strong interest in the boy,
who went to the public schools, studied medicine at
the University, married, and acquired a country
practice and a family. But not even the lure of
grandchildren could win Mrs. Morton from her post.
Her affection for Dr. White, an affection duly mingled
with honour and with pride, was the great emotion
of her life. To talk about him was her keen delight.
She knew his crotchets, and conceded them. She also
knew his worth; — his loyalty, his immaculate in-
tegrity, his boundless kindness to poor patients
whose paymaster is God. She could tell tales of his
devotion to these humble clients, about whom he
maintained a rigorous silence. "What praise is more
valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant?"
asks Jane Austen, who knew that it is to our own
households we oftenest expose our inconsistencies.
Mrs. Morton's spare, upright figure, her white hair
and smiling face, remained a pleasant memory in the

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 121

minds of many guests. The references to her in their
letters mark the dignity and importance of her po-
sition. Her fidelity deepened with every year of serv-
ice; and when the end came, and Dr. White's be-
quest made her handsomely independent, she simply
transferred her whole allegiance to Mrs. White, who
had formerly shared it, and lived on in the old house
which had held all the substance and sweetness of
her life.

The power of attaching to himself people who
worked for him, or with whom he came into daily
contact, was Dr. White's lifelong gift. He estab-
lished relationships wliich stood the test of time. He
did not forget, and he was not forgotten. When in
the summer of 1903 he found himself in the neighbour-
hood of Lulworth, he motored over to see the old
couple whose cottage he had rented eleven years
before, and who had looked carefully after his com-
fort. He found his former landlord failing fast, and
made this entry in his diary: "Mem: — To send Mrs.
Haytor a sovereign every Christmas, and increase it
to two after Haytor's death."

Mention has been made of " Professor " Billy Mc-
Lean, in whose gymnasium Dr. White encountered
the friendly bruiser who had erstwhile thirsted for his
blood. McLean was a boxer from whom the doctor
had acquired the art of self-defence, and who was
prodigiously proud of his pupil. He loved to match

122 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

him against professionals, to "try him out"; and on
one occasion brought three of these gentry, Forsyth,
Arnold, and McNallery, to the house on Ritten-
house Square, and presented them to its master as
opponents worthy of his skill. "The doctor," he said,
"would box with any one." On this occasion the
combat was so sustained and so glorious that Ar-
nold, who had driven a peaceful milk wagon before
he took to the fancy, asked with some asperity if he had
been lured into a gentleman's house to be murdered.
When McLean grew old. Dr. White obtained for
him a post as one of the guardians of Rittenhouse
Square; and there the former pugilist looked after
the playing children, rescued their boats from foun-
dering in the pool, and told hilarious stories of his
youth. "Once," he confessed to me, "I got into
some little trouble. Well, no matter what it was
about. I got out of it anyhow. The next time I saw
Dr. White, he said: 'Billy, when you were in trouble
the other day, why didn't you send for me.^^' I
thanked him, and told him I had n't any need to.
And the very next day, what did he do but knock
down a fellow who had insulted him, and get himself
arrested for doing it. I waited until he came to my
rooms, and I said to him: 'Doctor, I heard you were
in trouble the other day. Why did n't you send for
me?' He just looked at me, and 'Billy,' said he, 'you
go to H !'

i>»

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 123

On the 22d of February, 1905, the University of
Pennsylvania conferred the degree of Doctor of
Laws on President Roosevelt and the German Em-
peror. Baron von Sternburg accepted the honour
in the name of the Kaiser, who cabled this urbane
message :

Dr. Charles C. Harrison, Provost,

University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia.
I am truly glad that the University has tendered
me, at the same time with President Roosevelt, the
academic honour that once clothed George Washing-
ton. I beg you to accept with my thanks my best
wishes for the continued growth and prosperity of
the University.

WiLHELM, Imperator Rex, Berlin

It is significant that President Roosevelt, who was
the orator of the day, should have made a plain and
practical appeal for protection against imperialism;
pleading then, as he had pleaded before, and as he
pleaded until the end, for that wise and warlike
preparation which alone can insure us safety.

Dr. White's admiration and affection for the Pres-
ident had deepened with the deepening of knowl-
edge and experience. A year before this celebration,
Thomas Robins accused his friend of trying to win
him over to warmer partisanship by sending him

124 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

all the derogatory editorials in the "Nation." The
scheme worked. A steadfast course of reviling is sure
to awaken contrary emotions in generous hearts.
Robins admitted that, after reading one particu-
larly virulent attack, "Roosevelt became tolerable im-
mediately," and he stood ready to vote for him like
a man. *'The Nation pulled me around."

On the great question of national security. Dr.
White held strong and sane views. He was the last
man in Christendom to pose as a prophet; but neither
was he ever content to live in a fool's paradise. Ger-
many had made plain her malevolence in the Spanish
War. He no more dreamed than did his neighbours
that she was planning fresh conquests in Europe,
and that within ten years she would turn the world
into shambles; but he was well aware that she was
making trouble for us in Mexico. As far back as
1899 he records in his diary a devout wish that the
United States would strengthen her navy, and ally
herself defensively with Great Britain; so that when
Germany plotted against us in Samoa, Mexico, or
the Philippines, we could put a stopper on her mis-
chievous designs.

In the spring of 1905 the first symptoms of heart
trouble intruded themselves menacingly upon Dr.
White's reluctant consciousness. He had always been
superbly healthy and superbly active. He could not
contemplate life under any other conditions. He was

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 125

then hard at work on the section of Piersol's *' Hu-
man Anatomy" which dealt with practical surgery,
toiling over it with that concentration of purpose
which accomplished such marvellous results. " Yester-
day," he wrote on March 20th to Tom Robins, "was
a rainy day, and I sat at my desk from 10.30 a.m. to
7.30 P.M. Letty is at the Hot Springs. I will not go
down, as I want to get the book finished this spring."

By May he was so much worse that rest was im-
perative, and in early June he made a careful note of
his condition, and of Dr. Stengel's diagnosis. "For
the first time in my life I have reason to think I am
not entirely sound, having suffered for ten weeks
from an irritable heart, my symptoms consisting of
arrhythmia, palpitation, and a variable, but at
times decided, mitral systolic murmur. This is sup-
posed ^to be due to heart strain during my recent
mountain climbing experiences. I am told that there
is no valvular disease, but that I probably have some
form of myocardial degeneration. The month at the
seashore did me so much good that I hoped the
trouble was disappearing; but four days in Phila-
delphia, with the hurry and worry of getting ready
to sail, have brought back most of the symptoms. So
much for this troublesome business."

To Thomas Robins, then in California, he wrote
more fully and freely about his health than he did to
any other correspondent. The initials "S. I.," which

126 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

stood for saintly invalid (himself), became increas-
ingly frequent in his letters. He admitted to this
sympathetic friend his discouragement and his pro-
found disgust. Dr. Stengel promised him that he
might live many years if he would give up every-
thing which made life worth having. For that form
of amusement known as "moderate exercise" he
had no taste whatever. To abandon climbing, tramp-
ing, cycling, swimming, coffee and tobacco, consti-
tuted a heavy draft on renunciation. The only indul-
gence he relinquished without concern was alcohol.
Robins wrote back much good advice, given with the
solicitude of affection. He made up lists of reasonable
pleasures which the saintly invalid might still enjoy,
and he pointed out, with the perspicuity of an ob-
servant friend, a few roads to reform: *'If you will
only lop off mountain climbing, walk after your golf
ball instead of rushing at it like a mad bull, and sit
quietly in your box at the ball games instead of wav-
ing your arms like windmills on the side-lines, you
will surely live to the eighties."

"Human Anatomy" was ready for the printers
by the end of May, and, on the 16th of June, Dr. and
Mrs. White sailed for England. In London, Dr. Osier
made a careful examination of the patient, conJBrmed
Dr. Stengel's diagnosis, permitted a few weeks in
Switzerland, and prescribed a cure at Bad Nauheim.

It is worthy of comment that during this summer

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 137

of ill-bealth and anxiety, when week after week Dr.
White's symptoms grew more pronounced, his days
less profitable, his nights devoid of ease, the diary
becomes for the first time in sixteen years riotously
humorous. It is as though the sick man, determined
not to repine, took refuge in dwelling hilariously
upon every absurd incident, and in laughing his wife
out of her deep concern. He fills pages with teasing
descriptions of her interrogatory conversation, her
ruthless interruptions to his poetic flights, the pe-
riodic losses of jewelry which enliven dull days, and
her fluttering fear of mice. "It is strange," he muses,
"how easily these animals — with presumably no
education in the matter — can tell a man from a
woman. It must be something about our legs or our
underclothes which enlightens them."

One astute and valorous mouse "of the dangerous
variety known as the Souribus Ferox, or woman-
eating mouse of the Engadine," attacked Mrs. White
in their sitting-room in the Hotel Kulm, St. Moritz.
"She was alone at the time, but fortunately I was
in the next room, or Heaven knows what might not
have happened. She gave a shriek that startled the
hotel, caused crowds to gather in the road below our
windows, and put back my heart cure one calendar
month. I rushed in, but the mouse was gone. No one
has seen it except Letty; but she now has our suite
so full of mouse traps that there's no room for fur-

128 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

niture. This is a sample of our daily conversation:
" 8 A.M. Letty appears, to the extent of putting her
head in my room and yawning: 'Have any mice been
caught in the traps?' 'No, dear.' 'Why not?' 'I don't
know, love.' 'Have you looked at them?' 'I have,
and I caught my toe in one of them when I got up
to draw the curtains.' 'Well, did you set it again?*
'No, sweetheart.' 'Why not?' 'Because I love the
cute little mice, and I like to see them around, and
enjoy their innocent gambols, and — ' Door slams."
As for the long threatened paper on "Morning
Noises of the World," some valuable notes were
secured for it in Switzerland. The travellers spent
one night at Siis, having crossed the Fliiella Pass en
route to St. Moritz, had an excellent dinner, and
slept the sleep of the weary until 4 a.m., when this is
what took place under their windows, — the diary
recording each event in order:

1. (4 o'clock) : Boy with a shrill tin whistle calling
cows.

2. Cows with large bells on their necks.

3. Shepherds talking to each other.

4. Shepherds talking to a female.

5. Shepherds and female all talking at once.

6. Sheep with small bells on their necks, and lambs
bleating.

7. Rooster crowing directly under window, and try-
ing to outdo another rooster around the corner.

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 129

8. Two hens join rooster, and cackle.

9. Rooster and hens put to flight by a tumblerful

of water from J. W. W.

10. Horses (with bells) led through the streets.

11. Early diligence passes.

12. Rooster and hens return, and are again put to
i flight.

13. Goatherd with a long horn, blowing loudly.

14. Goats with medium-sized bells on their necks.

15. Hens again.

16. Reapers with scythes, talking loudly on their
way to work.

17. Rooster again. By this time it was 6.20, and I
got up. So did Letty.

If good advice could keep any of us on the straight
and narrow path of prudence. Dr. White need never
have lost his footing. Friends and acquaintances
wrote to him all summer, enjoining a contemplative
life, and pointing out the beauties of inaction.
Among them was Henry James, who, after urging
his friend to come to Rye, implored him with whim-
sical intentness to surrender himself for once to the
limitations imposed by illness. "When you tell me
you are not well, I see it only means that the rank-
ness of your pride and the violence of your past are
not sufficiently laid low. . . . Nauheim is, I believe,
beautiful and benignant, and never fails with those

130 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

of its children who really consent to nestle on its
bosom. Nestle close! Nestle, and don't wrestle, ac-
cording to your vice and wont. That's all you re-
quire, — to 'permanently give up wrestling. I, for one,
shall feel myself better for your having done so. The
sense that you have quit it will act quite as my own
private little Nauheim."

From a friend of six months' standing, this letter
shows as much insight as afiPection. Its plea, and the
oft repeated pleas of other correspondents, were fully
granted; for it is in the nature of all "cures" to turn
their patients into pulp, to deaden every vital im-
pulse, to conquer the souls as well as the bodies of
their victims. When Dr. White had been ten days at
Nauheim, he was as inert as a garden snail. "The
laziness of the place is really getting into my bones,'*
he writes in the diary. "To-day I've walked to the
bath-house (four minutes) and back; and to the Kur-
haus (ten minutes) and back. That's all, and yet I
feel as if I 'd had quite enough exercise, — perhaps
a shade too much."

Thermal baths, "resembling Schuylkill water after
a heavy rain," filled up a modicum of time. Massage,
"resting," and "fooling about" filled up the rest. To
play with some engaging little children at the Kur-
haus became a recognized pastime; to "listen to the
music" figured as recreation; an illumination in the
hotel garden was a real event. Dr. Heineman, the

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 131

Nauheim physician recommended by Dr. Osier,
urged his patient to be "placid" (he might as well
have asked him to be timorous or affable), and to
"take things quietly," which he tried hard to do. He
notes with increasing frequency in the diary his suc-
cessful essays at passivity. "Begin alkathrepta this
A.M. instead of coffee. Ha! Ha!" "To-day I stayed
eleven minutes instead of six in the bath, waiting for
the man to come and take me out and dry me. God
knows it's a wonder I'm not dead."

There seems to have been a forlorn pleasure in
laughing at his own plight, at the

"masterful negation and collapse
Of aU that made him man."

On the 8th of August he records feelingly: "Out of
the last twenty -four hours I have spent fifteen 'rest-
ing' in a recumbent position. By the time my five
weeks are up, I shall have had more continuous,
consecutive rest than I've had in nearly fifty -five
years. And the trouble is they don't send you away
for your after-cure to exercise, and get up your
muscle again; but insist that you must then take
more rest, to recuperate from the baths. Heaven
knows what I'll be like in October. I never exercise
on a steamer anyhow. I'll probably arrive home in
a bonnet and veil, with a little knit shawl over my
shoulders, black fingerless mittens on my hands,
open-work stockings, high-heeled red morocco slip-

132 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

pers, a lorgnette instead of spectacles, and a caba
to hold a little bottle of smelling-salts, one of cologne,
a piece of orris root to bite on occasionally, and a
nice little black Testament. If Ethel and Florence
see any one like that running at them with shrill cries
of joy, they'll know it's their Uncle Bill."

Dr. Heineman's diagnosis of the case was an ** irri-
table heart from suppressed gout." This concurred
with Dr. White's own convictions, and with Dr.
Osier's theory that the trouble was "pure neurosis."
There were days when the patient felt himself
bounding, or at least sauntering, back to health,
and days when he was profoundly discouraged.
Clear Sprudel baths replaced the more homelike
*' Schuylkill" dips; the children went away with their
arms full of Dr. White's farewell gifts; the weather
grew cold. The hour of departure brought with it a
sense of well-merited improvement, which was not
destined to last. Ostend, or at least the Palace Hotel,
a mile or so out of that "Franco-Belgian-German
ghetto," had been chosen as an after-cure. "Sargent
is off to Jerusalem," wrote Dr. White to Thomas
Robins. "I asked him why Ostend wouldn't have
done as well. There are more Jews there. Of course
his visit is in the interest of his work in the Boston
Library. I hate to see such paintings put in such a
God-forsaken place as that dreary corridor assigned
to them."

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 133

A verdict with which many readers will agree.

A brief visit to Henry James at Rye was immensely
cheering to the invalid. He wrote that he had sud-
denly lost all his homesickness, and should like to
stay in England for a month. The old house, the old
town, and his kind host gave him a serene sense of
well-being, which not even the rainy weather could
dispel. He listened delightedly to the chronicles of
the country-side, and to personal reminiscences,
jotting down occasionally such an item as this: "I
want to record, for the purpose of telling Harrison
Morris some day, that the best selling story James
ever wrote — * Daisy Miller' ~ was first offered to
*Lippincott's Magazine,' and was promptly rejected
by the editor, John Foster Kirk. 'Daisy Miller' was
subsequently pirated in America" (the shame of it!),
*'and seventy-five thousand copies were sold."

Morgan Hall was as soothing and as sympathetic
as Lamb House, although the patient suffered so
severely at this time that Dr. Osier made a little
journey to see him. Fresh advice was given, new
remedies were tried. "I am beginning to have my
own view about the situation," is Dr. White's grim
comment. "But I've had so many views — of my
own and of others — and they 're so devoid of practical
results, that I 'm not going to waste time in putting
down any more. The camphor is keeping the moths
out of my heart anyhow. That's a great comfort.'*

134 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

The summer he counted a failure (there was no
other possible verdict), and the winter to which he
returned was full of cares and contrarieties. Here and
there were bright spots in the gloom. The election of
Treves as Lord Rector of Aberdeen University gave
him sincere pleasure; and he accepted (provisionally)
his friend's invitation to represent the University of
Pennsylvania, and receive a degree at Aberdeen's
Four Hundredth Anniversary. He abandoned defi-
nitely and forever his surgical practice, taking this
long-meditated step for reasons which were more
convincing to himself than to his friends and patients.
He retained, however, the John Rhea Barton Chair
of Surgery at the University, and gave his lectures
with unstinted zeal.

There was much football clamour in the air, but
some of it passed him by. Columbia relinquished the
game which had never been her long suit. The col-
leges in general were keen for reform. The Army
and Navy game was played at Princeton instead
of on Franklin Field, which was unable to furnish
the requisite space to West Point and Annapolis.
President Roosevelt was again present. The distin-
guished guests were royally entertained; but thou-
sands of visitors, unable to obtain other food than a
chance sandwich (which they refused to consider in
the light of luncheon), and heart-broken over the dif-
ficulties of transit (it is a stout heart that Prince-

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 135

ton Junction cannot break), sighed for the flesh-pots
of Philadelphia. No wonder there should be a note
of genuine satisfaction in a letter written by Dr.
White to Thomas Robins, January 30, 1906, and
containing the welcome news that the repentant au-
thorities had signified their desire to return to their
old quarters:

"The Army -Navy game is to be played next De-
cember on Franklin Field. This was arranged yester-
day. We were generous, and promised we would
make some extra provision for them" (West Point
and Annapolis) "on a temporary stand, although we
would not recede an inch from our original position,
and give them more than two-thirds of the present
seats. I believe, on the whole, that we have done
right, and that they have had a lesson which will
enable them to appreciate what they are getting
when they come here. I am glad they went to Prince-
ton, for until they tried elsewhere, they did not know
how comfortable they were with us."

In this month (January, 1906), Dr. White, smitten
with the desire for a country home which comes to
every man at least once in a lifetime, bought the
very beautiful property in Delaware County known
as the "Old Farm." It was an estate of a hundred
and thirty-seven acres, with a good colonial house
somewhat out of repair. "You will see that I have
provided elaborately for the use of my spare time

136 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

during the few remaining years of my life," he wrote
to Robins; who, in return, besought him eloquently
to do what no owner of a country home has ever
been known to do, — live in it: "When you are in the
country give up the pursuits of town, all the pomps
and vanities of the wicked world, and the pride
thereof. Burn your bridges and be a countryman,
and you will be happy. But if you become a subur-
banite, cleaving unto Rittenhouse Square, you will
be miserable, and will promptly sell the place. All of
which I firmly believe."

I Dr. Osier, who was Dr. WTiite's guest this winter,
and still much concerned about his health, was en-
thusiastic over the curative powers of field and
meadow. "The farm, I dare say, will be your salva-
tion," he wrote after his return to England. This
pleasant conceit was echoed from every side. There
are hosts of people ready to believe that a town
mouse, transported to the country, becomes forth-
with a country mouse, changing its nature with the
changing scene. The only dissentient voice in this
chorus of congratulation came from Dr. Martin.
"What is the first thing I'd better do with this
place?" asked the proud proprietor; to which his
friend replied concisely and conclusively, "Pave it."
In April, the California earthquake, followed by
the disastrous fires in San Francisco, filled the coun-
try with dismay and commiseration. "Thousands are

LAST YEARS OF SURGERY 137

stripped as naked as they were born," wrote Thomas
Robins from San Mateo. "Men who had large in-
comes have now nothing for daily needs; yet they are
full of hope for the future. I did not dream that the
highly specialized modern could face the conditions
of the cave man with such uncomplaining alacrity."

Dr. White's first concern was for the safety and
welfare of his friend. When this anxiety had been set
at rest, he applied himself vigorously to measures of
relief. He sent a strong appeal to the alumni of the
University of Pennsylvania in behalf of their fellow
students, who, scattered along the Pacific Coast, had
been involved in the universal ruin. "Some of them
are young men who worked their way through col-
lege, and had succeeded in establishing themselves
in the pursuit of their chosen avocations. Physicians,
lawyers, chemists and engineers have lost their li-
braries, instruments, household goods and clothing,
and are now in genuine and extreme distress. Where
can they turn in their hour of need with more cer-
tainty of freely proffered aid than to their Alma
Mater.?"

The response to this call was so generous (even the
Mask and Wig Club broke its rules, and gave a
benefit performance), the fund was so well admin-
istered, and the demands upon it were so decently
moderate (American gentlemen do not take help
unless it be a sore necessity), that, after "central

138 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

California had been raked with a fine tooth comb for
Pennsylvania men in need," there was actually money
left in the treasury, — money for which no Univer-
sity graduate applied.

This relief fund was Dr. White's last public activ-
ity for the year 1906. His health had been indifferent
all winter and spring. He believed and said that he
was holding his own; that, notwithstanding many
bad days and nights, the heart trouble had made
little or no progress. He had given up violent exer-
cise, and, with it, the habits of a lifetime; and he
hoped that by spending tranquil days and nights on
the farm, and by rolling 'round in a motor like a fat
and prosperous citizen, he might compromise with
an unrelenting foe. Then suddenly there came a bolt
from the blue, a harsh threat of impending disaster,
a tremendous struggle for the life that was so useful
and so dear.

CHAPTER Vin
A CRISIS PAST

ON June 5th, 1906, 1 had an attack of peritonitis,
during which I discovered a hard nodular mass
in my left iliac fossa. Taken with my other symptoms,
at my age (fifty-five), this indicated with great prob-
ability a cancerous growth involving the sigmoid
flexure, no final and conclusive proof of the presence
of internal cancer being at this date known to the
profession. On June 17th I left Philadelphia (with
Letty and Dr. A. C. Wood) for Rochester, Minne-
sota, where we arrived June 19th. On June 21st I
was operated on by Dr. William J. Mayo. Resection
of seven inches of the sigmoid, with end-to-end anas-
tomosis, was done. The operation was severe and
prolonged. Dr. Mayo thought the mass was can-
cerous until the pathologist's report showed that it
was a congenital diverticulum, containing an enter-
olith which had set up ulceration, and was sur-
rounded by a mass of inflammatory exudate, making
the lump thought to be malignant. The ulceration
had already caused perforation of the bowel, which
had given me the attack of peritonitis."

This is Dr. White's succinct account of an expe-
rience which embraced the utmost limits of appre-

140 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

hension and relief. He had no doubt that the growth
was a maHgnant one. The physicians who examined
him were equally sure of it. and made little effort to
deceive a man who absolutely refused to deceive
himself. He put his affairs in order with his cus-
tomary precision. There were many friends eager to
accompany him to Rochester; but he declined all
companionship save that of his wife and of Dr. Alfred
C. Wood, who had been for years his assistant in
the University Hospital, and for whom he enter-
tained the strong regard which comes with the shar-
ing of work, and care, and responsibility. He knew
Dr. Wood's skill as a surgeon; he knew his deep
unspoken affection; and he knew the quality of his
intercourse, the smooth, silent, wise watchfulness,
which would give all the help that was needed, and
never fret the nerves of a man who believed he was
travelling to receive his death-warrant. As soon as an
hour was fixed for the operation, telegrams were sent
to Philadelphia, and Dr. Martin, Dr. Frazier, and
Dr. Stengel started at once for Rochester. Treves
had been most anxious to be present, but it was, of
course, impossible to await his coming.

There was one intervening day, June 20th, and
Dr. White filled it up, characteristically enough, by
watching the two great brother surgeons operate.
The utmost interest was taken in his own case, the
utmost kindness and consideration were shown him.

A CRISIS PAST 141

When the report revealed the non-malignant char-
acter of the growth, Dr. William Mayo hastened to
the bedside of his patient, who was perilously weak,
and somewhat disinclined to living. "Well, you're
all right," he said gladly.

*'Well, you're a good liar," replied Dr. White.
"I've been there myself, and I know."

Dr. Mayo sat down, and took the sick man's hand.
"You don't know everything," he said. "It is like
this. A bagful of black beans and one white one.
You've pulled out the white bean. Now get well."

Meanwhile, in far-off Philadelphia, Dr. White's
secretary. Miss Ivens, waited all that long June day
in his oflBce on Rittenhouse Square for news which
she could transmit to his anxious friends. She was as
earnestly and as loyally devoted to him as any
friend he had, her concern was as deep, her heart as
heavy. At ten o'clock in the morning she said to me,
"Come back at four. We should have word by then."
At four I went. She opened the door. Her eyes were
shining, her face transfigured with joy. Silently she
handed me the telegram, and, half-dazed by the
sudden lifting of fear, I read the message which
brought better news than any one had ever dared
to hope.

The convalescence was slow, and endangered by
serious complications. For a whole month Dr. White
was permitted to remain in the hospital, — an un-

142 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

heard-of indulgence when so many patients were
waiting for admission. For ten days Dr. Wood stayed
by his side. He estabHshed the friendliest relations
with Sister Mary Joseph and her assistant nuns; and,
after his faithful fashion, he never forgot her kind-
ness. When he reached Rome the following Novem-
ber, he sent her a signed photograph of Pope Pius
the Tenth, and obtained for her and for her sister-
hood the Papal blessing; in return for which she
wrote him fervent thanks, promised him fervent pray-
ers, and gave him unreservedly the "united love" of
the community.

To Dr. Mayo he made the only return in his power.
His friendship for both the brothers, his admiration
and gratitude, found expression in a codicil in his
will, bequeathing to them the sum of $10,000. He
wrote them frankly of this bequest, and they an-
swered just as frankly, saying they always had bet-
ter luck than they deserved, and that, while they
were willing to wait many long years for the money,
it would be useful to the hospital when it came.

On July 3d, thirteen days after the operation,
came the first faint scrawl in Dr. White's hand-
writing to Thomas Robins. "I ought to have had
cancer," he wrote. " Mayo says it was one hundred
to one chances against me, and that he hardly
thought any alternative worth considering. But my
dumb luck stuck to me." On July 12th he wrote

A CRISIS PAST 143

again, this time quite legibly, and in his old banter-
ing strain. He has escaped all the pitfalls spread to
catch his tottering steps. He has been promoted to
the dignity of bathing himself, and of brushing his
own teeth. The teeth he finds unchanged; but his
arms and legs are so shrunken, they are not worth
washing. He can hardly see them with the naked
eye. For fifteen months he had been treated for a
heart disease that did not exist. For fifteen months
the real nature of his malady had never been sus-
pected. For fifteen months he had blindly accepted
the verdict of his doctors. He offers the excuse that
he was the patient, and that it was not his business
to find out what was the matter with himself; but he
is candid enough to admit that he was a bit "stupid"
never to have made a guess at the truth.

On the 18th of July he left Rochester, and on the
20th a little group of happy friends and relatives
waited for the arrival of his train in Philadelphia.
Thin, worn, but smiling and as perverse as ever, the
convalescent jeered at the rolling chair which had
been drawn close to the car, refused the station lift,
walked proudly, though not very firmly, down the
stairs, and into the waiting motor. He was taken at
once to the house of his cousin, Mr. S. S. White,
at Narberth, and remained there, gaining a pound a
week, until he sailed for England about the first of
August. There existed between Dr. White and this

144 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

cousin a warm and inextinguishable friendship which
dated from early boyhood, and which had that foun-
dation upon which Robert Louis Stevenson says
most friendships are built, — the memory of careless,
happy hours, of mutual jests, of little experiences,
comical or exasperating, which they had shared for
years. Their marriage with two sisters deepened the
bond between them. Dr. White's summer diaries
were really letters, sent home in batches, meant
chiefly for his cousins and brothers; and full of jokes,
and phrases, and allusions, to which only his chosen
readers held the key.

From absent friends came hosts of loving, anxious
letters. John Sargent wrote his deep concern and his
profound relief. Henry James sent warm-hearted
messages to his "dear and gallant friend," and longed
to "scuflBe" with Mrs. White for the privilege of
holding his hand. Treves was beside himself with
delight at the happy ending of so many sorrowful
hours. Lord Lister wrote a sad little note, confessing
his own heavy infirmities, while congratulating Dr.
WTiite on his marvellous restoration to health. Dr.
Horace Howard Furness complimented the conva-
lescent upon his wisdom in foregoing for a time "the
problematic joys" of another world. "Had I my
will," he wrote affectionately, "every step in your
life should be strewed with flowers. But are not
transitory, fading flowers far better replaced by the

A CRISIS PAST 145

countless blessings invoked upon your head from
lips where gratitude will last as long as life? What
are the roses of an hour compared with the roses of
health that you have made to bloom! Ah, my boy,
you are to be envied.

"As our St. Agnes told you, I intended to go at
once and look after you, although my special pro-
ficiency does not, as you are aware, meet your case.
But I am timid about calling on my friends. It is
such a horrid bore to talk to a deaf man. When
Nature sends deafness, it is the good dame's way of
saying to the victim, 'do you go into the comer and
hold your tongue, — conversation is not for such as
you.' I accept her decree, and obey."

It was natural that the ocean voyage this fateful
summer should have seemed to Dr. White the sweet-
est he had ever known. The lightness of heart which
comes with the departure of pain and the daily in-
crease of strength was intensified by the thought that
life was his to hold; that the world, with its dear
familiar things, its perpetual menace and its shining
possibilities, was his to conquer and enjoy. He had
been ready to meet the "great adventure" with an
unshrinking front; but his desire to live was vigorous
and unabashed. The sea, the salt breeze, and the
sparkling sun sent the blood dancing through his
veins. The shores of England beckoned invitingly.
Loving friends awaited his arrival. Aberdeen, where

146 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

he was to receive the degree of LL.D. was his main
objective; but there was time to spare for a run through
Wales, a visit to Morgan Hall, London, and the
English Lakes. He had thought to make things
easier by sending over his motor and his faithful
chauflFeur, Ellwood; and the sight of them on the
Liverpool docks was pleasantly reassuring. Later on
he learned that he had secured for himself three
months of care and vexation; but this knowledge
was mercifully hidden in those first smooth, tranquil
days.

From Henry James came a long letter, full of ad-
miration, or consternation (it is hard to tell which),
at the meteor-like velocity with which the conva-
lescent was scouring through Wales. "The whole
picture of your proceedings and adventures," he
wrote, "affects me as nothing else does. I sit here
driving my poor dull pen, and striking my damp
inefiFectual matches, while you bound from continent
to continent, from ocean to mountain, from hospital
to motor, from triumph to triumph, in a manner that
attests the exuberance, not to say the arrogance, of
your vitality. Truly you live a Life, and the mere
side-wind of it, in the form of a Bettws-y-Coed (I do
love to write that name) breeze, makes me sit up.
I am, in fact, sitting up till one a.m. to tell you how
I rejoice in your grand recovery, in your brave activ-
ity, in everything that is yours.'*

A CRISIS PAST 147

Dr. White's appreciation of the Welsh scenery
found expression in a renewed zeal for photography.
Since the far-off days on the Hassler he had practised
this difficult art with singular lack of success. He
sent me once some photographs of his own taking,
and I could only say it was a severe blow to me to
know that he could do anything so badly. Still, as he
repeatedly pointed out, there was always a picture
of some sort to show as a result of his endeavours,
while Mrs. White occasionally drew a blank. "The
workings of the female mind are truly wonderful," he
observes with conscious superiority. "After eighteen
years of kodaking, Letty is just as likely as not to
put the lens against her stomach, and try and pho-
tograph with the other end."

It was inevitable that there should have been some
disappointments to mar the glory of this triumphant
summer. The motor, which behaved so irreproach-
ably in the start, grew more and more recalcitrant
as the weeks went by, and required a great deal of
tinkering at the least convenient times, and in the
least commodious localities. The reports from the
farm were exasperating, — plumbers, plasterers, gar-
deners, and workmen generally, conspiring, after
their wont, to make a mess of their respective jobs.
"No bad news except about the farm, which I wish
were in Hell," is a typical entry in the diary. It was
in this first year of ownership that Dr. Martin chris-

148 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

tened the place, "Oh, Hell!" and as "Oh, Hell!" it
is casually and repeatedly alluded to. Mrs. White
rebelled against this endearing epithet, explaining
tersely that it was not a name which she could have
engraved upon her stationery; so Mr. Robins re-
placed it with the pastoral and irreproachable appel-
lative, "Cherry Knoll Farm."

More serious matters of concern to Dr. White
were Abbey's ill-health (he had been an invalid for
five months), and his own lack of endurance. Fatigue,
heat, worry of any kind, told on him as they had
never told before; and, in the first flush of convales-
cence, he was apt to forget that he had ever been ill.
There were nights rendered sleepless by over-exertion,
and there were homesick days when he comforted
himself by watching Mrs. White's recovered bloom
and unalloyed content. "Letty's old insomnia still
troubles her before 10 p.m. and after 8 a.m.," he
writes from Keswick; "but for the intervening ten
hours she is dead to the world. She is having a tre-
mendous flirtation with a Canadian gentleman, a
little my senior, and spends most of her waking
hours (when they are not meal hours) talking to
him."

It would have been the part of wisdom (even mod-
erate wisdom) to have saved up strength for the
fatiguing days in Scotland; but this was not Dr.
White's way. Treves had written from the royal

A CRISIS PAST 149

yacht, then anchored at Christiania, claiming his
friends as his guests while they were in Aberdeen.
He was not having a really good time on that yacht.
The daily excursions in company with one king, two
queens, and a princess, were less merry than the old
picnics at Scilly. "I miss the bathing clothes hung
out to dry," he wrote. "There is no golf, but a big
dinner of some sort every night, which I could do
without. The only thing you would enjoy is the
service of prayer and praise every Sabbath morn."

Two things weighed upon Dr. White's soul as he
motored to Aberdeen. He would be compelled to
make a speech (a short one, happily) in the name of
all the American universities; and he would be com-
pelled to wear, when he received his degree, a par-
ticularly brilliant gown of scarlet and pale blue. He
wondered if it would be as gorgeous as the Cambridge
gown in which Dr. Furness looked on Commence-
ment days like "a jolly old bird of paradise"; and
he found to his dismay that it was more determinedly
picturesque, being topped by a rakish black velvet

cap, hard to adjust, and "d d unbecoming" when

adjusted. The speech, however, was a great success,
owing largely to the fact that the Reverend William
Smith, first Provost of the University of Pennsyl-
vania, had been an Aberdeen man, born within a
mile of the town, baptized in the old Aberdeenshire
kirk, and educated at the University. The story of

150 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

this highly belligerent and seditious Scotchman,
who, when clapped into a Philadelphia jail, con-
tinued to instruct his students in these incommo-
dious quarters, and turned the peaceful prison into
Bedlam, was hailed with delight by his townsmen.
They had forgotten all about him for more than a
hundred years, and were correspondingly pleased to
be reminded of his tumultuous and triumphant
career.

The Aberdeen celebrations lasted three days, —
three whole days of meetings, and speeches, and for-
mal openings of new buildings, and processions, and
luncheons, and "banquets." It was a terrible pro-
gramme for a convalescent who had been ordered
quiet and rest; but, once embarked upon it, there
seemed no avenue of escape. The Lord Provost of
the University gave one banquet, the Lord Chancel-
lor, a second. At the first. Dr. White sat between a
German professor and an ex-Lord Provost, and had
as much in common with his neighbours as he might
have had with a "cigar-store Indian." At the second,
he was too tired and ill for conversation. As the
friend and guest of the Lord Rector, he was bidden
to the royal luncheon, the only foreigner so honoured;
and he walked in his cap and gown through the
streets of Aberdeen to the Town Hall, in company
with other gentlemen equally distinguished and
equally bedizened, while the crowd stared its fill,

A CRISIS PAST 151

and the Gordon Highlanders held back adventurous
children. "It was a great day," he wrote, "for me
and the King.'*

It was even greater than his simple spirit had con-
ceived. English papers gravely recorded the favour
shown him, and Philadelphia papers repeated the
news a trifle more emphatically. Friends applauded
or jeered, according to their frame of mind. Henry
James, with an affectation of profound humility,
wrote, asking for the privilege of an interview.

*'I shall not expect to do anything but come up to
London to lunch with you on some day that I now
appeal to you very kindly (or graciously, as they
say of your present sort) to appoint. I naturally
yearn over you, with your rise in the social scale,
more even than usual; and it is, in short, indispen-
sable that I shall at least be able for the brief here-
after of my days to swagger about having lunched
with you. Don't deprive me of this possibly sole
consolation of my inferiority. Make me some simple
sign of the duration of your days in London, and I
will come for as many hours as may be, and spend
them all as near you as one may now approach.
Would n't it be some day next week? I am supposing
that this will meet you in London. Heaven send it
find you intermitting a little, in the interest of rest,
the passion and pride of your career."

It was about this time that Dr. White came slowly

152 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

and sadly to the conclusion that he was not strong
enough to return to Philadelphia, and take up his
lectures in the winter. He had tried to bully Nature,
and had consistently refused her all concessions.
Now he found that the "good dame" — to use
Dr. Furness' too partial epithet — was more than a
match for him. "I am still weak and nervous," he
wrote to Thomas Robins; "and while I can never
under any circumstances avoid worrying about
something, I'm sure I'd have more to trouble me if
I came home and went to work. I'm only part of a
man yet, and had, I suppose, better play until I can
stand at least the mild knocks of life."

His play would have bowled over Hercules. He
motored on, on, on, seeing everything that was to
be seen, hustling through Scotland, England, and the
beautiful towns of southern France, in a series of
one night stands. If by good luck a stormy day gave
him a chance to loaf and invite his soul, he wrote
reams of diary, dozens of letters, made up accounts,
and fatigued himself as thoroughly as if he had gone
on some nerve-racking expedition. He was always
a punctilious correspondent, "very scrupulous and
energetic" (his own words) in answering his friends'
letters, and very prompt and patient "even when I
don't care a damn for the answeree." It was doubtful
wisdom. Sargent used to point out to him that leav-
ing letters unanswered saves half a man's life, and

A CRISIS PAST 153

leaving them unread saves the other half. As for the
thousand and forty-seven picture postcards which
he sent home in less than four months, that riotous
excess, that "passionate prodigality," would have
been possible to no other traveller in Christendom.

Monte Carlo left him cold. He had no love for gam-
bling, and no taste for the elaborately meretricious.
*'I think I could be almost as wicked as anybody
here without half trying," is his highly characteristic
comment. The only person who interested him was
"an elderly, respectable, motherly looking lady, who
sat by the dealer at trente-et-quarante, and who got
ten thousand francs out of the bank while we were
watching her." The only thing which really pleased
him was the profound quiet of his rooms. Southern
France he had found to be little less noisy than Italy,
and to have the same reprehensible habit of begin-
ning life early in the day. At Brignoles he makes this
entry in his diary:

"October 29th. 6.15 a.m.: If it had not been for a
dozen musicians under our windows, one horse, two
roosters, three dogs, four cats, a cook in a kitchen, a
scullion in a courtyard, and a carbuncle on my neck,
I 'd have slept very well last night. Letty did anyway.
Everybody in Brignoles — except Letty — is now up
and making some kind of a noise. I wish I had a
horn and a drum. I feel out of it."

With his usual amazing good luck, he had reached

154 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Rome, and was actually in St. Peter's, when the
bomb was exploded on November 18th. He was not
a church-goer, and seldom attended a service. Yet
he did hear Mass that day, did linger to see the
great relics exposed in the logge, and did stroll about
afterwards long enough to be present when the out-
rage occurred. The bomb exploded near the beautiful
tomb of Clement the Thirteenth. There was a rend-
ing noise and a column of black smoke. Most of the
people left in the Cathedral ran to the doors. A few,
including the Whites, ran to the smoke. They were
so swift that Dr. White was able to gather up a
handful of nails and scraps of iron before the guards
appeared, and drove back the now clamorous and
excited mob. It was a remarkable experience. Phil-
adelphia newspapers took due notice of it; and one
journal, permitting itself a pardonable latitude in the
matter of detail, reported that Dr. White was travel-
ling through Russia, when a bomb flung by a nihilist
in the streets of St, Petersburg exploded at his feet.

The trip to Egypt, so long in abeyance, was now
settled upon. Of all Dr. White's friends, Henry James
alone opposed it. He had heard vague rumours of
"unrest," of "heavings" beneath the surface. He
had been informed by the usual "good authority'*
that it was not a safe country for a "delicate fe-
male" to enter. "You, William," he wrote, "are not
a female, and your delicacy is a thing of the past.

A CRISIS PAST 155

when I have known you really quite indelicate; but I
kind of fidget over Letitia, and am hoping that, in
the eastward current, as you have now sometime
been, you are not without full information and re-
assurance on this general head. If you've never
thought of the matter at all, think of it now, —
always for Letitia, since I don't care so much what
becomes of you. I give you, of course, my little
chatter for what it is worth, and can but take for
granted that you are not going it blind, but know
where you are, and what you are doing. You are not
irresponsible infants, and won't behave as such.
Still, for the last word, don't, William, drag the
delicate Letitia! And do, Letitia, wrestle with the
reckless William!"

It may be imagined how much weight this coun-
sel had with either of the enterprising tourists. Dr.
White admitted that it gave the Egyptian trip "a
faint — a very faint — spice of adventure," which
was strengthened when a British soldier told him in
Cairo what precautions for safety had been taken.
Mrs. White probably never thought of the matter
again. The nostalgia which lay in wait for the doc-
tor's unoccupied moments (they were few) had
attacked him in Italy, — especially on the days of
the Penn-Cornell and Army-Navy games, when he
did not know whether to give thanks or to curse,
and so felt all the bitterness of exile. The novelty of

156 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Egypt was expected to heal these sick dreams of
home. His enthusiasm for fresh fields of travel was
as keen as in his youthful days, his curiosity was as
insatiable. He never knew — and to some of us it
would be a heavy loss — the exquisite and unworthy
pleasures of the idle tourist, who is content to be a
part of his strange surroundings, and who refuses to
be hounded into sight-seeing. The joy of leaving
Yarrow unvisited was never his to tell.

That he and Mrs. White should have climbed the
Great Pyramid, and have crawled into its burial
chamber, was inevitable. "I wouldn't have missed
entering if I'd have had to wriggle in on my belly,'*
he wrote emphatically. That, with the slow current
of the Nile inviting him to repose, he should have
made every excursion and visited every ruin, was
equally a matter of course. But when it came to the
dubious delight of riding on a camel fifteen, eighteen,
and twenty miles a day, his enjoyment is harder to
analyze. Yet there were many amusing experiences
which he would have missed had he been a shade
less energetic, notably a Soudanese wedding at
Wady Haifa, where he figured as a distinguished
guest. The bride's dowry consisted of two nose-rings,
a brass anklet, and a six-inch fringe of glass beads.
The groom possessed a goat-skin water bag and a
bone-handled dagger. With this simple and sufficient
equipment, free from the tyranny of things, from

A CRISIS PAST 157

the burden of rubbish which we carry to our graves,
the young couple faced an unencumbered and con-
tented future. There was plenty of dancing, which
costs nothing; and Dr. White treated the donkey boys
to all the Arabic beer which they could drink, with
results that would have scandalized our peremptory
prohibitionists.

On the whole, Egypt was beneficent to the inva-
lid. A carbuncle and poisoned flea-bites marred his
pleasure in Cairo (" I just have to keep out of the
charming and attractive little cesspools and sewers
which they call streets," he wrote regretfully); but
the life-giving air of the Nile could not fail to in-
vigorate him. He had for the East as strong a sym-
pathy as was possible for a man to whom one of its
great inspirations was a dead letter, a blank leaf in
the book of fate. His careless summary of Mahomet
as "an epileptic lunatic" (and this after visiting the
mosque el Azhar with its library and students), marks
the barrier which divided him from a high tide of
human emotions, and blocked his historic perspective.
Epileptic lunatics have, indeed, started religious move-
ments; but these have perished with their founders.
They have made history; but only its brief and dol-
orous records. No epileptic lunatic has ever been a
nation-builder, a controlling influence in the world's
life, a potent force and a spiritual solace to millions
of men through the passing of the centuries.

158 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

On the 24th of January the Whites sailed from
Alexandria, and on the 11th of February they reached
Philadelphia. Three hundred University students
were lined up at the Broad Street Station, singing
"Hail, Pennsylvania!" as the train pulled in. When
they caught sight of the familiar gray head, the
broad shoulders and the broader smile, they cheered
vociferously, and formed themselves into a guard
of honour to escort the wanderer home. Many wel-
coming friends were also present, and from all over
the country came letters and telegrams of congratu-
lation. Dr. Furness, then ill at Wallingford, was com-
pelled to write the loving words he would have liked
to speak.

My dear, dear White:

Heartiest of all hearty welcomes to your home.
You never wrote a line more delightful to your
friends than "I am as well as ever again."

I have been counting upon nothing with more
eagerness than upon the pleasure of greeting you on
Wednesday at The Triplets; but you may possibly
have heard it remarked that man proposes but God
disposes. I have been completely tied up by the re-
sults of overwork, complicated with grippe; and my
physician will not listen to my going out in the night
air; so I must, perforce, forego The Triplets next
Wednesday.

A CRISIS PAST 159

Who shall say that your restoration to health be
not due to the prayers of our dear friend, St. Agnes?
'Tis a certain fact, if fervour spells efficacy.

Do let me send my sincere congratulations to that
happy woman, your wife, and believe me.
Yours affectionately

Horace Howard Furness

There were receptions and public dinners. There
were many speeches called for, and a few made. Dr.
White was never enamoured of speech-making. He
could but say out of the fulness of his heart that, of
all sights in the world, the best and dearest to him
were the faces of his friends, and the dear familiar
shabbiness of Rittenhouse Square.

CHAPTER IX

FOUR BUSY YEARS

IF Dr. White had rashly dreamed that the sur-
render of his practice would mean for him a life
of leisure and tranquillity, he was destined to be
rudely undeceived. Perhaps leisure was as alien to
his habits as tranquillity was alien to his disposition.
Certain it is that work found him out wherever he
went, and that the "rest," of which he was wont to
talk a little vaguely, formed no part of his earthly
experience. Three months after his return to Phila-
delphia, he was offered, and accepted, the post of
Advisory Surgeon to the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company. The position was a new one, and repre-
sented a needed consolidation. The doctor was given
supervision and absolute control of the medical
department of the great corporation which left no
part of its business to chance, and which for many,
many years, down to the spring of 1918, enjoyed the
proud distinction of being the best-run railroad in
the world. The Company's hospitals in the mining
regions were put under the Advisory Surgeon's care.
He was responsible for their management, equipment,
and staff. He was consulted in the appointment of
their physicians, and he gave personal supervision

^CotL^^^^.^^^^.^ /C^^^^i^^^

FOUR BUSY YEARS 161

when serious surgery was required. The work in no
way interfered with his University lectures; but it
insured a brand-new assortment of responsibihties,
and absorbed many hours of an aheady well-filled
life.

This being the ease, there was no apparent need
for his associates to urge upon him fresh fields of
labour. Treves, who was forever driven by the demon
of print, wrote books about every place he visited,
and counselled Dr. White to follow in his footsteps.
He wanted him to write mild antiquarian papers on
English villages and manor houses. Dr. Weir Mitchell,
who could do anything he put his hand to, laughed
at the scruples of a man who pleaded that the field
of letters was not his bailiwick, and that perhaps it
was as well to keep out of it. "You are a blessed old
humbug," he wrote breezily, "to talk about the use
of language. You know that few men have a better
control of English. You have used your powers but
little, and needlessly underrate an unusual capacity."
Thomas Robins, with a limitless confidence in his
friend's endowments, proposed that he should write
a novel, and the suggestion was repeated to Henry
James, who said briefly and enigmatically, "Why
not?" "I fancy," commented the doctor, "that he
knows why not as well as I do."

All this time there was much work to be done at
the University, there were papers for medical journals

163 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

encroaching upon every spare hour, there were the
new and unloved football rules to be assimilated and
made the best of, and the Army and Navy games to
be kept in good running order. There was also the
supremely important business of getting well, which
never received the attention it deserved. Dr. White
had fondly hoped that the summer of 1907 would
find him tramping through the Engadine, and climb-
ing mountains with his old ardour and endurance.
He was profoundly disappointed when Dr. Osier
pronounced him to be still unfit for these strenuous
joys. No hard walks, no climbs, no carrying of knap-
sacks (why, in Heaven's name, should any man not
compelled to carry a knapsack solicit the privilege!),
was Osier's verdict; and so much danger did he appre-
hend from undue fatigue that he wrote twice to his way-
ward patient, entreating him to be cautious. "Don't
rush!" he pleaded. "Don't put any extra strain upon
your heart!" "Don't forget that you have no longer
the ostrich-like digestion of twenty -five years ago!"
Wise counsel which no friendly feeling could make
welcome. "I wish I hadn't asked him to examine
me," said Dr. White dejectedly.

Yet there were attractions in England which
might well have outweighed the pleasure of moun-
tain climbing. Friends were there to welcome him.
Sargent, whom he had not seen for nearly two years,
was in London this season, dallying with the fond

FOUR BUSY YEARS 163

illusion that he was about to give up portrait-paint-
ing, and answering all remonstrances with the strong
statement, "I hate doing pawtreets." Henry James
was there also, aghast as usual at Dr. White's "per-
verse and incalculable rhythms"; and Treves, who
had been so loaded with honours in the past twelve
months that his back was nigh to breaking. To him
and to Sir Francis Laking, the King's second surgeon,
had been granted, in recognition of their "great skill
and unremitting attention," the supreme dignity of
bearing a golden lion on their arms. Such a thing, it
was said, had never been known since the days of
James the First, when that disconcertingly demo-
cratic monarch had permitted his apothecary, Gideon
Delaune, to bear on his arms (if he had any) a golden
lion passant on a red field. A more substantial mark
of favour was the beautiful "Thatched House Lodge,"
in Richmond Park, which King Edward assigned to
Treves as a residence. In its charming grounds stood,
and still stands, the original "Thatched House,'*
decorated by Angelica Kauffmann, and preserved
with admirable care. It was a priceless boon to a
man who had to be near London, yet hated to live
in it, who said — and believed — that the air of big
cities was "poisonous," and who loved the country
with a Briton's hardy and tenacious affection.

To prosper gracefully cannot, in the nature of
things, be impossible; but it is an art which has yet

164 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

to be demonstrated. Sir Frederick would have been
more or less than human if his brilliant successes had
left no mark upon him. Dr. White, who was heart-
ily American, and, in his own fashion, democratic
(no two men are democratic along the same lines),
thought that his friend, when he went to visit him in
Dorsetshire, had grown a trifle superfine. Treves was
ready enough to sigh over the old unregenerate days,
but he would do nothing to compromise his present
exalted position. He had become strangely fastidi-
ous about the clothes he wore to church and garden
parties; he regarded bank holidays very much as a
conservative Boston gentleman might regard a re-
union of the "Elks"; he did not like to see his guest
bicycling hatless over the country "like a clerk," or
breaking eggs into a glass, — having never listened
to Dr. Weir Mitchell's powerful and pleasing argu-
ments in favour of that cleanly custom. It took the
clear understanding and kindly oflSces of Lady Treves
and Mrs. White to keep their distinguished husbands
in smooth running order.

Dorsetshire had many attractions. Thomas Hardy
was a near neighbour, and a friendly one. The bare
simplicity of his house amazed Dr. White, who all
his life was powerless to resist possessions; but two
"nice cats" softened its austerity, and lent to the
great novelist and his guests the privilege of their
suave and gentle company.

FOUR BUSY YEARS 165

Other acquaintances, less famous but equally
agreeable, did the honour of the countryside; and one
clever Englishwoman endeared herself for life to the
highly receptive American by telling him the story
of an ancient village dame who, when ill, said she
wished she were "in Beelzebub's bosom." "You
mean," corrected the startled parson, "in Abraham's
bosom." "Ah!" sighed the unconcerned patient, "if
you'd been a lone widow as long as I be, you'd not
care 'oose bosom it was."

Abbey was devoting his whole summer to the
decorations for the Capitol at Harrisburg, and Dr.
White, more confident than ever that these virile
and deeply coloured canvases would be "the saving
of that monument of graft," wrote a long account of
them, and sent it home to be printed in the Phila-
delphia papers. The symbolism of the designs pleased
him no less than the execution, because it was, for
the most part, of that uncomplicated order which
conveys its meaning instantly to the eye of the spec-
tator. Symbols which require little guide-books to
explain them are remote from the simplicity of dec-
orative art. What interests us is, not what the
decorator meant, but what he did; not what was in
his mind, but what was in his finger-tips; not how
deeply he felt the subtleties of his subject, but how
successfully he mastered the difficulties of his craft.
Dr. White's timely praise had the effect of sharp-

166 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

ening public curiosity, already much concerned over
the Capitol decorations. The "Philadelphia In-
quirer" embellished his paper with a somewhat
rakish picture of the writer, felicitously inscribed:
"Rev. J. William White." "This," wrote the doc-
tor to Thomas Robins, "is a late recognition of my
piety and worth. It has led to sarcastic letters from
friends like Effingham Morris, to whom I have re-
plied in a truly Christian spirit of forgiveness."

The hours spent in Abbey's studio were to Dr.
WTiite a never failing source of interest. He was ready
to pose as a model whenever he was wanted. He liked,
in the mornings, to watch the artist sketching and
grouping his figures; and, at night, to see the magnified
sketches thrown by means of lantern slides on the
great canvases stretched for their reception. "Then
the outlines and memoranda of the lights and shad-
ows, etc., are rapidly gone over,and avast deal of labour
is saved. In an hour, William Penn and four Indians
were placed on the canvas, and roughly sketched in."

Abbey confided to his friend that he thought sev-
eral additional panels were needed to complete his
designs for the "Founding of Pennsylvania." These
panels formed no part of his original conception of
the subject, or of his original bargain with a board
which might be reasonably reluctant to pay for work
it had not ordered. The more he considered them,
however, the more essential they seemed to his pur-

FOUR BUSY YEARS 167

pose; so, like the true artist that he was, he wrote to
his friend in December, 1908, bidding him ask space
for the panels, and authorizing him to offer them
without payment. This Dr. White did, and the offer
was briskly accepted. Politicians may have mar-
velled a little at such a method of doing business, but
they found no cause for complaint.

Dr. Charles Penrose, who had never abandoned
the pleasures of the hunt, met with one of its penal-
ties in the autumn of 1907, when he was camping in
the mountains of northwestern Montana. A she bear,
whose cub he had shot, attacked him so fiercely that
he was badly torn before he could despatch the en-
raged animal. He maintained, as became a huntsman,
that the bear was within her rights, and that he had
no kick coming; but the justness of this point of
view, while soothing to his mind and salutary to his
soul, left his body in a terrible condition. He was
taken to the Mayo Hospital in Rochester as soon as
he could bear the journey, and brought home when
partly convalescent. Dr. White was even then much
concerned over his condition. "Charley Penrose is
improving," he wrote Thomas Robins; "but he has
a wrist which gives me a good deal of anxiety. Mar-
tin is attending him, and I am in consultation. Our
differences of opinion (which are many) are marked by
vituperation and profanity, — Charley finding fault
indiscriminately with both of us."

168 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

By this time the farm was in fair running order.
Mrs. Morton's herculean efforts had made the house
habitable and attractive, and the workmen were be-
ing driven one by one from the domain they had so
long misruled. Dr. White's conception of a pastoral
life was to spend hours every day in the saddle, rid-
ing with Mrs. White in the morning, and alone in
the afternoon, and fatiguing himself as thoroughly
as if he had been carrying a knapsack over a Swiss
pass. His friends, especially those who lived in
Europe, thought of him as an American "Farmer
John," inspecting his crops and his poultry, or con-
templating from his own rooftree those aspects of
nature which were spoken of in Hannah More's day
as "moral scenery." Osier and Treves and Abbey vig-
orously applauded this serene absorption. Sargent,
who cared nothing for moral scenery, and who was
beset by groundless alarms lest bucolic pleasures
should wean his friend from their old haunts, wrote
him warningly to stop "watching mangel-wurzels,
and listening to black Leghorns and Plymouth
Rocks." "These, I am aware, are the joys of the
landed proprietor; but let them not take exclusive
possession of your heart. They beget a terrible re-
spectability, and an awful pride. And when they
have seared your soul, you will suddenly find that
you don't care a damn for mangel-wurzels after all."

Never in his correspondence with Dr. White did

FOUR BUSY YEARS 169

Sargent consent to sully his pen by writing the word
"damn." He always stencilled it in large letters, red
or black as the fancy seized him. When red, it took
on a lurid significance. When black, it had an im-
pressive solemnity, reminding the reader of that
clergyman whom Thomas Fuller commended, inas-
much as "he could pronounce the word damn with
such emphasis as left a doleful echo in the hearer's
mind a long time after."

Henry James, who could never think of Dr.
White except in violent action, and who knew that
riding had for the time supplanted all other athletic
exercises, pictured him as an Arab or a Tartar, for-
ever astride of his beast, "leading a free quadrupedal
life, erect and nimble in the midst of the browsing
herds. ... It all sounds delightfully pastoral to one
whose 'stable' consists of the go-cart in which the
gardener brings up (from the station) the luggage of
visitors who advance successfully to the stage of
that question of transport; and whose outhouses are
the shed under which my henchman 'attends to the
boots ' of those confronted by the subsequent phase of
early matutinal departure" (is that James or John-
son?). "All of which means that I do seem to read into
your rich record the happiest evidences of health as
well as of wealth, and that you take my breath away."

He took the breath away from friends less con-
templative and less stationary than Mr. James.

170 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Even those who knew him best, and who shared his
tastes and amusements, were staggered by the im-
petuosity of a man whom years could not sober, or
illness daunt. "I weigh a hundred and seventy
pounds," he wrote to Thomas Robins in June, 1908.
*'I'm in good hard condition. I've spent the last
days in the hay fields with pitchfork and rake, and
have done a man's work. I'm keeping three saddle
horses exercised. I've jumped four feet, six inches,
and, if you don't believe it, I 've a photograph taken
by Alan Wilson at the time. I have a horse that
whirls and rears at automobiles, and I don't care a
damn. So my nerves must be in as good shape as my
muscles. I've had one fall (jumping), and tore some
of my probably large assortment of internal ab-
dominal adhesions. I was under the weather for
three days, but was on horseback and jumping again
on the fourth. It could not have been serious."

All this meant that Dr. White had unalterably
resolved to fling prudence to the winds, and escape
in August to Switzerland. It was not only the zest
for tramping, and climbing, and wearing himself out,
which impelled him to this indiscretion. He loved
those heights and valleys with a faithful affection.
"I have been asked," he once wrote, *'if we did n't
get tired of the same mountains and the same walks.
WTiy, if there were only one mountain and one walk,
there would be variety enough."

FOUR BUSY YEARS 171

There spoke the true artist. Yet it must be ad-
mitted that this nature-lover spent little time in
dalliance with his mistress, but wooed her after the
rough fashion of a conqueror. There is in the diary
of 1908 an account of a ten days' tramp from Riffelalp
to St. Moritz (with wide deviations) which equals, if
it does not surpass, the records of earlier years. Read-
ing it, we are forced to admit that, not adventure
only, but mere endurance has an inexplicable charm
for those who are strong enough and brave enough
to endure. For seven days, Paine and Orthwein were
members of the party. For nine days, Mrs. White
tramped heroically by her husband's side. The tenth
day he crossed the Julier Pass alone. On the third
evening, after a walk of twenty-two miles over diffi-
cult ground, he makes this cheerful entry in the
diary :

"To-night my two little toes, my left great toe,
and my left heel burn as if my feet had been run over.
My calves and thighs ache, and hurt to the touch.
My back is sore and strained, and my side bruised
from yesterday's fall. My shoulders feel the effects
of carrying a heavy knapsack. My face is peeling
from sunburn. I am * creepy' from fatigue and the
nervous exhaustion due to the pain in my feet.
Otherwise, barring a little overaction of the heart,
I am all right."

The ninth day brought them to Miihlen. On the

172 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

tenth it was snowing hard. Mrs. White's shoe had
burst, her heel was blistered, her ankle badly swollen.
Under these discouraging circumstances, Dr. White
(handsomely conceding that her record was "well
enough for a woman, and ought to content her")
insisted upon her completing the trip by diligence;
while he donned clothes and shoes, wet from the
storm of the day before, and started for his climb in
the snow. The drifts grew deeper and deeper as he
ascended. He struggled through them with increas-
ing difficulty, and a well-defined apprehension lest he
should give out on this lonely way. Six hours of
exertion, too severe to be exhilarating, brought him
to the summit of the Pass. "At the top I put my
hand on one of the stone pillars erected by Augustus,
thought a few noble thoughts, looked at the road
before me going down, thanked God for the attrac-
tion of gravitation, and started for the Engadine at
a gait which would n't have disgraced Weston. I
actually did the next five miles in one hour and
seven minutes."

It was natural enough that this prowess should
have been a matter of pride to a man who, a year
before, had been leading the cautious life of a con-
valescent. His delight, when the long tramp was
done, bubbles over in the pages of the diary. "If any
gentleman of gambling propensities wants to bet, I '11
back myself to walk, climb, swim, ride, bicycle, row.

FOUR BUSY YEARS 173

or do anything else not dependent upon grace of
movement, against any man he can produce, who is
near-sighted, white-haired, has an irritable heart
(and temper), has had eight inches of gut cut out
within two years, and is within three months of fifty-
eight. All ball games barred."

A merry and a light-hearted boast. But three years
later, in the winter of 1911, Dr. White ruefully ad-
mitted that the rheumatic neuritis in his right arm
was directly attributable to the exposure and fatigue
of that day on the Julier Pass. It began to trouble
him before the close of the summer, and he had
suffered from it at intervals ever since.

There was no premonition of these evil times in
the joyous weeks at St. Moritz. Flushed with tri-
umph, brimming, as he believed, with health and
vigour, the doctor despatched a letter to Effingham
Morris, pleading with him, as he had pleaded many
times before, to stop work and begin to play.

"I don't like the persistence of that discomfort in
the back," he wrote affectionately. "In the light of
its duration, of your broken sleep, and of your in-
temperance in the matter of work, it begins to look
like a symptom of exhaustion; and only emphasizes
the need of a real holiday of sufficient duration to do
you permanent good. So now you know, — and don't
meet me with some fool excuses about the 'impossi-
bility of staying away longer.' Some time we'll both

174 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

stay away for millions of centuries, and things will
go on just the same. But don't hurry that day!"

In November, 1908, Dr. White was appointed by
President Roosevelt a member of the new Army
Medical Reserve Corps. These men were to compose
a strong medical staff who would serve as first lieu-
tenants in time of war, who could be put in immediate
charge of base hospitals, and appoint their assist-
ants. The President was well aware that the doctors
who served in the Spanish-American War were in-
effectively organized, and were too often political
appointees. The Reserve Corps was part of his "Pre-
paredness" programme, so distasteful to the senti-
mental and inert.

To Dr. White it was a wise and welcome measure.
His enthusiasm for Roosevelt deepened with each
year of his life. His delight when the President
received the Nobel Prize was equalled by his admi-
ration for the dignified use which the recipient endea-
voured to make of it. He was pathetically ready to
welcome Taft's nomination, and to uphold him
against all doubters. "On the whole," he wrote to
Thomas Robins in the spring of 1908, "I think the
anti-Roosevelt party at the Club is losing ground.
Three or four months ago, Taft, as the next President,
was an 'absurd impossibility.' Now they say little or
nothing against him, but content themselves with
looking gloomy, and predicting Bryan's election."

FOUR BUSY YEARS 175

In other letters to the same sympathetic corre-
spondent he refuses — wisely — to doubt Owen
Wister's allegiance, and exults because "Ned Smith
reluctantly approves of Roosevelt's having sent
troops to Nevada, to suppress disturbances on the
part of that gang of murderers known as the Western
Federation of Miners." After a dinner at the "Ma-
hogany Tree," he reports that he sat next to Charles
Francis Adams, — "a bigoted, intolerant, self-opin-
ionated, interesting, intelligent Yankee. He is 'agin'
the President, and his reasons seemed, if possible,
feebler than those I am accustomed to hear."

Dr. White was ever a strong antagonist in an
argument. It might have been said of him, as of
another great surgeon, that he was "formidable
when he was in the wrong, irresistible when he was
in the right." He fought with the broadsword rather
than with the rapier, and he had great difficulty in
controlling his temper when he was very much in
earnest. But he never argued unless acquainted with
his facts. He had a tenacious memory and a lifelong
habit of accuracy. No access of feeling could betray
him into a groundless assertion, and no pity for an
opponent's weakness could stay his heavy hand. He
drove his weapon home, and, it must be confessed,
he turned it in the wound. W^hen the conversation
strayed beyond physics, athletics, politics, tangible
things which he well understood, and entered those

176 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

higher fields where statistics count for little, and the
emotions and experiences of mankind for a great
deal, he was at a disadvantage because no deep stu-
dent of humanity, — humanity which never in re-
corded ages has been able to live by bread alone.
"I am having a lonely time," he wrote in 1909,
"when the talk turns on Roosevelt or Revealed
Religion."

In friendly badinage he was unsurpassed, and he
loved a joke with the pure enjoyment of a school-boy.
Many of his letters were filled with raillery, and he
carried on contests in doggerel with any of his friends
who had a gift that way. He wrote one summer from
St. Moritz to Effingham Morris in Philadelphia,
using an envelope on which, in lieu of name, he had
pasted a fairly good newspaper portrait of his friend.
The patient post-office officials, accustomed to dis-
play the ingenuity of secret service men, delivered
this letter safely and promptly, to the delight of the
sender, and the embarrassment of the recipient.

Perhaps it was this ineradicable boyishness which
made Dr. White delight in the society of children.
He won their affections easily, and he never tired of
their companionship. They brightened and soothed
the tediousness of Nauheim. When he went to At-
lantic City he invariably met "a nice little girl," or
"two stirring little boys," with whom he spent his
days on the beach. Upon every ocean trip he records

FOUR BUSY YEARS 177

his intimacy with children. He was much pleased
when a friend on the Cedric heard one passenger say
to another: "Dr. White of Philadelphia is on board."
To which the second man answered: "Oh, yes, I
know him by sight. He 's the man with a gray mous-
tache and several children." He wrote to Effingham
Morris from the Adriatic: "There are some dear little
children on board — five of them — with whom I play
all day. We came over together last September, and
are true and tried friends. Letty tells me she heard
a passenger say: 'That old gentleman is certainly de-
voted to his children.' I think she put in the 'old.' "

He was as garrulous as a grandfather in repeating
the witticisms of his friends' offspring. Dr. Penrose's
little son interested him especially, and he had always
an anecdote to tell of this precocious child. One story
I thought, and still think, remarkable, as illustrating
the unconscious subtlety of the childish mind. Dr.
White, going one morning to Dr. Penrose's house,
found this eight-year-old boy playing with a train of
cars which he was loading with bits of wood, and an
occasional lump of coal, purloined from the scuttle.
"Hello, Boies," he said; "where are you running
your train to?" "To Zanzibar," answered the child.
"And what's your load.-^" "Witches, and ghosts, and
hobgoblins. And there are n't any witches, and there
are n't any ghosts, and there are n't any hobgoblins."
"Why, then," asked the amazed visitor, "are you

178 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

running a trainload of them to Zanzibar?" "Be-
cause," said the child, "the people of Zanzibar don't
know there are n't any."

Of rival schools of medicine, Dr. White was al-
ways profoundly intolerant, and he hated proprietary
drugs with a just and righteous hatred. Once in a
London hotel he found himself seated at table next
to the thrice celebrated Munyon, from whom he fled
as from the pestilence. "An honest, straightforward
burglar who takes his chance of being killed or jugged
is comparatively respectable," was his indignant
comment. This martial attitude inspired him to
work hard in the spring of 1909 for the new Medical
Examiners Bill, then being prepared for the state
legislature. He believed it to be a wise and a much
needed measure, and he rejoiced because it "in-
volved a row with osteopaths, homoeopaths, eclectics,
and all the other quacks in town and state.'*

The friends and former students of Dr. WTiite had
been for some time eager to present his portrait to
the Medical Department of the University. This
year they subscribed the money, and asked his con-
sent. He in turn wrote to Sargent, who was still
struggling to escape from the bondage of portraits,
and put the questions bluntly. Would he paint the
picture? Would he paint it in June? Would he object
too keenly to the scarlet gown of Aberdeen?

Sargent, well accustomed to his friend's humorous

FOUR BUSY YEARS 179

moods, thought this letter a jest, and treated it as
one. It took a second missive to convince him that
the request was made in sober earnest; and then, like
a loyal friend, he bowed his head to the yoke. True,
the image of his sitter, clad in dazzling tints, haunted
his sleepless nights, "invoking with a savage grin the
name of friendship to hurl me back to the damned
abyss of portraiture, out of which it has taken me two
years to scramble." True, he wrote pitifully that he
hoped Dr. White's admiring friends did not want a
three-quarter length. "That would take much longer,
and looking at a large surface of scarlet affects me as
they say it does army tailors, who have to retire to
the vomitorium every three-quarters of an hour.
You are sure to know all about the close connection
between the optic nerve, the colour scarlet, and the
epigastrium." True, he cabled in an access of despair:
"Prefer death to three-quarter length." Nevertheless,
he painted the portrait (a half-length), painted it in
the Aberdeen gown of scarlet and light blue, with the
University of Pennsylvania hood, and consoled him-
self by declaring that his old friend looked like a
"South African macaw," — being apparently un-
aware that macaws are a product of tropical America.
On the 14th of June, Sargent wrote to Dr. White,
who was expected to land on the 20th: "By this time
I suppose you are on the bridge, practising a becom-
ing expression. I am also training for you by a course

180 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

of drawing from the antique. If you get here on
Sunday, the 20th, I shall await you on Monday, at
eleven o'clock. Bring your war-paint in the way of
gowns, etc. I hope Mrs. White will come with you to
administer anaesthetics, and, generally, lend a helping
hand."

The sittings began on the 21st, Sargent swearing
vigorously that this would be his last, his very last
portrait. It was rumoured that he had already re-
fused a hundred and fifty commissions; but then he
was always refusing something or somebody. He re-
fused resolutely to make speeches; and, as he never
burdened himself with book-plates and other artless
impedimenta, he escaped the demands of collectors.
One day when he was painting his friend, he refused
to dine with the King and Queen at the American
Embassy. "I'd certainly go if I were asked," com-
ments Dr. White simply. "He is more indifferent to
such things. They bore him."

The ocean voyage had browned the doctor to a
rich mahogany, and the portrait was finished before
he had a chance to pale under the mild London skies.
He delighted in this Malayan tint, and explained
indignantly to Henry James and other startled
friends that he was often much darker, — which
would have seemed impossible. Sargent contented
himself with expressing a hope that the picture
would protect him from future applications. "It

FOUR BUSY YEARS 181

will suit my purpose better to let people think that
this is my present style than to make a plea for ex-
tenuating circumstances." That he knew his work
to be good, a penetrating likeness, a virile and dis-
tinguished portrait, is proved by his asking Dr.
White to lend the canvas to the Buffalo Exhibition.
It was shipped to the United States in September,
and was formally presented to the University by Dr.
Stengel, and accepted by Dr. Frazier, on the 22d of
February, 1910. In the meantime it had been hung
in the winter exhibit of the Academy of the Fine
Arts. There I found Dr. Keen earnestly contemplat-
ing it on the night of the Private View. "Don't tell
me that the leopard cannot change its spots," he
said, "for White has certainly changed his skin."

The Engadine programme in the summer of 1909
was materially modified by the fact that Dr. and Mrs.
Martin, and Dr. and Mrs. Clark, joined the Whites
at St. Moritz. The newcomers proclaimed themselves
burning with zeal for a walking tour, and August 2d
was set for a start. It snowed all morning and rained
all afternoon. Dr. Martin lightly proposed a train.
Dr. White explained that travelling by train was not,
and never could be, a walking tour. Dr. Martin ad-
mitted the irrefutable nature of this argument, and
compromised, as did the Clarks, by driving. They
repeated this measure whenever they were tired, or
the weather was unpropitious. There was nothing

182 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

unduly strenuous about that trip. When the friends
reached Menaggio, Dr. Clark took one swim every
day, Dr. Martin, two, Dr. W^hite, three. Dr. Clark
rowed sparingly. Dr. Martin, moderately. Dr. White,
exhaustively. "They think," wrote the diarist, "that
I'm a fool to work so hard. I know they're fools to
miss the edge that plenty of exercise always puts on
outdoor amusements. We're all satisfied."

Another friend of still more tranquil habits came
to St. Moritz in August. This was Mr. John G.
Johnson. He stated tersely that he was not there to
scramble over ice-pits, but meant to read novels and
play solitaire every day, and all day, until he left.
Two weeks later he wrote to Dr. White, then at
Menaggio, that he was still reading novels and play-
ing solitaire in great comfort and contentment.

On his return to Philadelphia in the autumn, Dr.
WTiite found fresh fields of labour awaiting him. He
had already, at Mr. Johnson's solicitation, accepted
membership in the Western Saving Fund Society.
Now he was appointed by the Board of Judges a
member of the Fairmount Park Commission. It was
an appointment which, in newspaper language, "gave
wide satisfaction " to all save the appointee, whom it
was destined later on to enmesh in a particularly
lively quarrel. More and more, as the years went by,
it became the habit of astute boards to pile work
upon the shoulders of a man who was perfectly sure

FOUR BUSY YEARS 183

to do it. For shirkers and slackers he had a profound
aversion; for hedgers and temporizers a still more
profound contempt. A tenacious fidelity to old cus-
toms and to new duties characterized him through-
out life. He served steadfastly on the Board of Stew-
ards of the American Rowing Association. Years had
passed since he severed his connection with Blockley;
but he seldom failed to attend the "Old Blockley"
reunions of doctors and surgeons, and he stood ever
ready to assist in needed measures of reform. A
clause in that profoundly human document, his will,
bequeathed $5000 to the syphilitic ward, the interest
of which was to be given every year to some poor
patient who had been pronounced sound enough to
be free, and who was decent enough to try and re-
build his life, if help were given him to bridge over
the first hard months of convalescence.

Dr. White had not found it easy to escape from
surgery by the simple surrender of his practice. Old
patients refused to be surrendered, and new ones called
imperatively for aid. In December, 1908, Secretary
Root injured his knee, and begged Dr. White to come
to Washington in consultation, — a favour for which
he expressed then and later the liveliest sense of obli-
gation. John G. Johnson, having need of a severe
operation, insisted that his old friend should operate,
brushing aside the latter's reasonable misgivings, and
declining to be touched by any other hand than his.

184 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

In the winter of 1910, Henry James, hugging his
solitude at Rye, wrote sombrely to his friend: "The
days are short and dark, the rain eternal, the mud
infernal, the society nil. But, with the intuition of
genius, I none the less feel the weeks and the months
run through my fingers like water."

They ran swiftly, but they bore misfortune on
their current. Mr. James was, after all, an American,
and no American can vegetate with safety. He knew
he ought to be in London. He admitted that Lon-
don was the only cure for his ailments, the sovereign
remedy for ageing limbs and a heavy heart. Yet he
stayed perversely at Rye, in close proximity to a
Salvation Army, and his health and spirits visibly
declined. Later, the lamentable death of his brother.
Professor William James, plunged him into profound
grief and melancholy. "Every departure," says Mon-
taigne, "breaks a set of sympathies." There were so
many sets of sympathies between these brothers that
the years were too short to mend the shattered life
of the survivor.

The spring of 1910 brought three of the four
friends together in England, — England visibly sad-
dened by King Edward's death, and dimJy aware of
the disastrous nature of its loss. Sargent was in Lon-
don, rioting in his escape from portrait painting,
exhibiting a "Corfu Landscape," and a "Glacier
Stream," at the Academy, and spending happy

FOUR BUSY YEARS 185

nights in watching Pavlova and Mordkin dance.
The Abbeys had bought a beautiful old manor house
near Winchester (Elizabethan in the main, but with
a wall or two which dated from the time of Richard
the Second), and were also in London, deep in plans
for alterations, furnishings, etc. The artist did Dr.
White a good turn, which was duly appreciated.
Hearing that his friend's silk hat had been left in
Philadelphia, he promptly presented him with one
which he held in just abhorrence. It had been the
property of Mr. Cross — known to the world as
George Eliot's husband — who had walked off from
a dinner with Abbey's new hat, leaving in its place
one of his own, partly worn, and decorated with a
cigarette hole in the side. When they next met,
Abbey voiced an indignant protest, to which the
successful raider replied unconcernedly, "Aw really.
Just fahncy now." Abbey bought a new hat, and
handed over his souvenir to Dr. White, who wore it
once or twice until his own head-gear arrived; and
then, true to his instinct for hoarding everything
that had played the least part in his life, boxed it up,
and carried it back to Philadelphia, to be stowed
away in some capacious closet of the Rittenhouse
Square home.

This summer the Whites actually succeeded in
persuading the Abbeys to visit them at St. Moritz.
Dr. White never could be brought to understand

186 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

why his friends did not spend their holidays in the
Engadine, and on the ItaHan lakes, as he did. He
represented to them in moving terms how much
they missed, and how completely they were at fault
in missing it; and they answered with ribald and un-
seemly jests. Sargent wrote: "Wild omnibus horses
would not draw me from this domain to wallow on
your Lascivious Lakes." Henry James, always im-
patient of Switzerland, and of the "elevating amuse-
ments" it afforded, audaciously proposed that his
"passionate friend" should come to Rye instead.
"If you'll let me tie ropes around your waist, give
you a pickaxe to carry, and stick a brandy flask into
your pocket, you will be able to walk up and down
this backyard, with every other natural inducement
to believe you are on the Matterhorn."

Abbey alone listened to the voice of reason, and
presented himself at St. Moritz, with the astonishing
result that, instead of panting up mountain-sides, for
which hardy sport nature had unfitted him, the art-
ist insisted that his friend should follow his lead, and
learn to draw, for which amiable accomplishment na-
ture had, with equal austerity, unfitted Dr. White.
A sketch-book was selected with great care, and Ab-
bey sent to London for an instructive little volume on
the "Making of Pictures." Thus equipped, the friends
sallied forth in search of material and inspiration.
The pupil made amazing progress, only nothing he

FOUR BUSY YEARS 187

drew was recognizable, or of the right size. "If I try
and sketch a rowboat," he wrote from Menaggio, "it
looks like an ocean liner, or a floating peanut."

Running through this summer's diary, and in some
measure through all the diaries, is a vein of raillery
which corresponded with family jokes, and with the
give and take of family banter. What Dr. White most
enjoyed was to deride his wife and sister-in-law ar-
rayed in arms, and arms of exceeding sharpness,
against him. When he wrote teasingly of his wife, it
was in continuation of this battle of wits, in which he
was alternately conqueror and conquered. His one
lasting advantage lay in the fact that he kept a diary,
and Mrs. White did n't. At Menaggio he records the
arrival of home papers which he wanted to read, but
of which she promptly took possession.

"Letizia in Italian means joy or gladness. My little
Joyness read the recently arrived ' Ledger ' to me, and
I noted mentally her selections. She began with the
death of Mrs. Snowden; then commented on the
death of Judge Craig Biddle; then tried to remind me
of some one on whom I had once operated, who was
of course dead, and whose sister had just died; then
read about the epidemic of infantile paralysis in
Pennsylvania, the pest of potato bugs in Chester, and
the appearance of caterpillars in Philadelphia, with
side remarks about caterpillars on the farm, and a
diagnosis of the death of our old sow, and a word on

188 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

the need of a new pig-sty. Then she skimmed the
death list, and wondered if Miss Kate Biddle had
died. Then she told me that the Athletics had just
lost a game or two, and that their percentage had
gone down. Then she stopped a minute to comment
upon Kate's inability to stand American heat. Then
she settled to work again on the remainder of the
death list, the low price of all our stocks, and a couple
of railroad and automobile accidents. She was busy
with a description of the bodies that were removed
from the last wreck when we arrived at the spiaggia.
I felt quite cheered up."

Li the autumn of this year, Dr. White took a step
he had been for some time contemplating, and sev-
ered the last tie which bound him to the profession
he had served for forty years. He resigned the John
Rhea Barton Professorship of Surgery at the Univer-
sity. The resignation of his chair followed inevitably
the resignation of his surgical practice four years ear-
lier. He was only sixty, and full of potential force. It
seemed too soon to step outside the ranks in which
he had risen to supreme command. Had he foreseen
what four more years would bring upon the world, he
would have stood by his guns, and bided his chance
to give his skill and experience to the great cause of
justice and civilization.

There was the usual melancholy round of last
words, and presentations, and regrets. Dr. Edward

FOUR BUSY YEARS 189

Martin succeeded him as John Rhea Barton Profes-
sor. The D. Hayes Agnew Surgical Society held a
meeting at Dr. Martin's house, and presented Dr.
White with a loving cup. The students of the third
and fourth year medical classes gave him a farewell
reception in the amphitheatre of Logan Hall, pre-
sented him with a very handsome hall-clock, and
shouted themselves hoarse in his honour. He had al-
ways been popular with his classes, and they had
recognized the keen and generous character of his re-
gard. Years had passed since Dr. William Pepper,
whose name should be forever honoured by the city
which he served, had rescued the University of Penn-
sylvania from the state of coma into which it had
fallen, and had breathed new life into its shrunken
veins. In this work of revivification Dr. White had
bravely helped. Less philosophical and less imper-
sonal than Dr. Pepper, less patient under injury, and
less lenient to a blundering world, he was moved to
wrath by provocations over which the older physi-
cian would have shrugged tolerant shoulders. But he
could no more have been alienated from the college
by such provocations than he could have been alien-
ated from the United States by an Administration,
or from Philadelphia by its politicians, or by the
"social inbreeding" he astutely recognized and de-
plored. "The people think they are moving, but they
are like sticks in an eddy." His country was his coun-

190 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

try, his birthplace was his birthplace, his Alma Mater
was his Alma Mater, and he stood ready to serve all
three while breath was left in his body. The notion —
borrowed from Germany — that criticism spells dis-
loyalty was less common then than now.

At the students' reception. Dr. White made a brief
and highly characteristic speech. It had been his rare
good fortune to inspire confidence in those whom he
taught. His enthusiasms were apt to be contagious.
*' There was no resisting the exhilaration of his spirit,
or the impetus of his example," said a keen observer.
Now that he was speaking to these students for the
last time, he admitted that his greatest pleasure and
pride lay in the fact that, during the thirty years in
which he had lectured, only one man had — to his
knowledge — gone to sleep in class. "I did not know
who this man was," he said, "I should not know him
if I saw him now awake. But I shall never forget the
shock of that sleeping face."

There spoke the spirit of the man. I recall, by way
of contrast. Dr. Horace Howard Furness saying to
me that the person whom he most liked to see at his
Shaksperian readings (readings which stirred the
heart and set the blood a-tingling) was a mutual ac-
quaintance who seemed to me strangely unworthy
of this preference. "Yes," he added, in answer to my
unspoken question, "I'd much sooner see her than
you, because she sleeps two thirds of the time, and I

FOUR BUSY YEARS 191

have the satisfaction of knowing that there is at least
one person in the audience who is thoroughly enjoy-
ing herself."

There was none of this altruism about Dr. White.
He liked his students to attend to his lectures, not
only because there were many things which it be-
hooved them to know, but because he was speaking
to them. It takes a good deal to galvanize college
classes into life, and to rivet their attention. This he
was able to do. He was not a tranquillizing speaker
upon any subject. You liked, or you did not like,
what he had to say; but in either case you stayed
awake and listened.

CHAPTER X
FREEDOM

THERE is a story of Kipling's about a Scotch
sea-going engineer who came into a fortune, for-
sook his engine-room, and spent his long-hoped-for
freedom in doing for love the work he had formerly
done for pay. Dr. White was now a free man. He, too,
had abandoned his life's work. But there remained
the work of other people, and those odds and ends
of employment which consume leisure, and are war-
ranted to keep our interests and irritability from de-
cay. For one thing, he was elected a member of the
Board of Trustees of the University of Pennsylvania.
It was a hotly contested election, for this, being a
year of changes, was also a year of disputation. Few
boards welcome a dynamic force into their slumber-
ous bosoms. They like a man who can be put on the
difficult jobs; but the worst of such a member is that
he will seldom let sleeping dogs lie, and there is a
deal of disturbance attendant upon their awakening.
When Dr. White held the chair of surgery, he had al-
ways striven to get the men he wanted under him.
Now that he was a trustee, he was as full of fight as
ever. "Uncertainty about anything close to my
plans and wishes always was killing to me," is his

FREEDOM 193

naive admission. "I know you for the ruthless Ter-
rorist you are," is Robins's more forceful fashion of
describing the situation.

Provost Harrison resigned his position after six-
teen years of faithful and strenuous service, and Vice-
President Edgar Fahs Smith succeeded him. On the
22d of February the University conferred the degree
of LL.D. on our good friend. Count von Bernstorff,
who was received with tumultuous applause. The
prayer delivered by the Reverend Dr. William Henry
Roberts, Clerk of the Presbyterian General Assem-
bly, held special petitions for the Emperor of Ger-
many and the King of England. Count von Bern-
storff made a most interesting speech in praise of all
things German, and expounded to us the "Science of
Social Government," about which we were destined
to be later on more fully and freely enlightened.

That Dr. White's labours as a trustee were ulti-
mately crowned with success, and that his highest
hopes were realized, is shown by a letter sent early in
June to announce the glad tidings to Thomas Rob-
ins. "As to the University, everything has gone my
way," he writes triumphantly. "I haven't lost a
trick yet. The Governor has signed our bill for $995,-
000, which is $515,000 more than we ever before suc-
ceeded in getting from the State. It makes us easy
for two years, if there is n't another dollar begged
or given. We've raised many salaries, adding about

194 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

$75,000 to the salary list, and diffusing an atmos-
phere of content and prosperity. Several of our best
men, who were on the point of going elsewhere, are
now fixed; and others will give cheerful instead of
reluctant work."

One break for liberty Dr. White made in the win-
ter of 1911. He and Mrs. White went to Bermuda,
being urged thereto by doctors and friends. The trip
was like all similar trips, — a replacing of ordinary by
extraordinary exertions, and of vital interests by arti-
ficial ones. Dr. White bicycled all day, except when
he was swimming. He had the usual assortment of
accidents, and reports them with the usual acrimony.
"I picked up on the water's edge a beautiful blue,
soft, translucent creature, to show it to Letty," he
writes in the diary. "I'm not sure whether it was a
jelly fish or a nautilus. Anyhow it stung my finger,
which is now red, swollen and aching. I think I can
be stung by more kinds of animals than any one else
on this planet. If an apple-dumpling were floating on
the sea, and I picked it up, it would sting — if it
did n't bite me."

Three days later he reports that he has a cold, from
getting alternately over-heated and chilled; and also
a sprained ankle. "Moreover, I twisted my back a
little in diving, and have a sore spot over the lumbar
spine. My stung finger still aches, and my shoulder
and arm are annoying me. My bicycle saddle came

FREEDOM 195

off (from the breaking of a bolt), and I bruised my-
self on the bare wires. I broke a finger-nail against
the edge of a table I was moving, and that finger is
sore. The salt water (from diving) has made me deaf
in one ear. Otherwise I am in splendid condition."

Thus fortified he returned to Philadelphia, to be
met by evil tidings. Abbey was ill. He had been suf-
fering increasingly for months, but continued to la-
bour upon the Harrisburg decorations; "putting work
of the very first and finest order into those bottom-
less (or topless) spaces," wrote Henry James, and
striving vainly to outspeed the stealthy step of Death.
As the spring deepened, his malady laid a stronger
hand upon him; and, early in June, Osier and Mrs.
Abbey cabled to Dr. White, begging him to come to
London at once, and be present at an "exploratory"
operation upon his friend.

The doctor snatched the first sailing he could get,
stowing himself away in a lower cabin on the Mau-
retania, and leaving Mrs. White to follow with her
sister and her brother-in-law in a fortnight. He ar-
rived in London to find it in the throes of the Coro-
nation, and Mrs. Abbey urged him to occupy one
of their seats in front of the Reform Club. Heavy-
hearted, and out of tune with the gaudy pageant,
he shuffled through the crowded, scaffolded streets.
"The Londoner's one idea of decorating his city,"
said Whistler, "is to cover it up and sit on it." The

196 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

figures of burning interest to him were Lord Roberts
and Lord Kitchener. The spectacle he enjoyed was
the marching of the splendid British and Colonial
regiments. Had he been gifted with second-sight, he
would have beheld these men swathed in their wind-
ing sheets. Three years more, and their graves yawned
for them. Germany's plans were maturing; her stra-
tegic railways were built; her arms and ammunition
were stored; she was waiting her hour to strike. And
England was self-blinded. Lord Roberts had given her
warning. In the plainest words he could use, he had
foretold the invasion of the Huns; and he had received
the reward meted out to prophets, — discredit and dis-
trust. Liberal statesmen had decried his suspicions of
a "friendly power," and the Liberal press had feelingly
rebuked "the crude lusts and fears that haunt the sol-
dier's brain."

On the 25th of June the exploratory operation was
performed by an English surgeon, Mr. Moynihan, —
Dr. Osier and Dr. White being present. It revealed a
situation so hopeless that there was nothing to be
done but tell the truth to Mrs. Abbey (a harsh duty
which devolved upon Dr. White), and make the sick
man as comfortable as possible for the remaining
months of his life. W^en the old friends parted, one
feared and the other knew they would never meet
again. Sargent, with superb generosity, gave up his
summer's plans, and returned to England to superia-

FREEDOM 197

tend the completion of several of the Harrisburg pic-
tures which were so nearly finished that assistants
could deal with them; and also to arrange for an
exhibition of the artist's work at Shepherd's Bush.
Abbey died on the 1st of August, and Henry James
wrote to Dr. White, lamenting his loss, but adding,
**He had a pretty big and glorious life." It is a com-
ment which recalls Mr. Brownell's summing up of
the novelist's own career: *'If any life can be called
happy before it is closed, that of Mr. Henry James
may certainly be so called." This was written in 1909.
There were still five years of calm.

The remainder of Dr. White's summer was spent,
without keen enjoyment, in Switzerland, and on the
Italian lakes. No sooner had he returned to Philadel-
phia in the autumn than he began his memorable
contest for the abolishment of motor races in Fair-
mount Park. As a member of the Park Commission,
he offered on October 12th the following resolution:
"Resolved, that in the opinion of the Fairmount
Park Commission it is unadvisable to continue the
automobile races in the Park, and that, to avoid dis-
appointment and misunderstanding, this opinion be
transmitted to the persons heretofore chiefly con-
cerned, and be made public."

It was a bold stand, determinedly upheld. The
races were popular with sporting motorists; with the
public, which gathered in crowds at the most danger-

198 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

ous curves on the track, in the hope of seeing a smash;
and with that large body of citizens whose plea for all
happenings, from a presidential nomination to a cir-
cus, is that it brings trade to the town. Grave pro-
tests against "reactionary Philadelphia" were heard
from every side, and scornful critics asked mockingly,
"Was this White the athlete, the lifelong champion of
all dangerous sports, who now proffered the ignoble
plea of 'safety first'?"

To these assaults Dr. W^hite presented an un-
broken front. He had always taken a utilitarian view
of motors, as vehicles for transportation; and he
pointed out that, while most sports worth consider-
ing hold an element of danger, this danger should be
incurred by, and confined to, the sportsman, — not
shared by spectators. There had been accidents at
Syracuse and at St. Louis which had resulted in se-
vere injuries to lookers-on, as well as to the racing
motorists. This he held to be unsportsmanlike and
uncivilized.

The Park Commissioners were equally reluctant to
pass the resolution, or to reject it. They wanted natu-
rally to be let alone, and spared such burning ques-
tions. They tried postponement, hoping it would die
a natural death, but they reckoned without Dr.
White's sustaining power. He had kept too many pa-
tients alive, to let a resolution die. They tried refer-
ring it to the sub-committee on Police and Superin-

FREEDOM 199

tendence; and that acute body sent it back to them
without action or comment. They tried to show they
lacked jurisdiction, and the doctor promptly pro-
cured the legal opinion of Mr. George Wharton Pep-
per, which was to the efiFect that the authority to per-
mit or forbid the races within the Park confines lay
with the Park Commission. On December 13th, the
postponed resolution was brought up for considera-
tion. Dr. White again spoke briefly in its defence:

"There is no form of physical competition or stren-
uous sport," he said, "which is wholly devoid of dan-
ger to the participant; and sometimes, as in mountain
climbing, or in the pursuit of man-eating game, the
element of danger is a justifiable stimulus. But the
moment the peril is excessive, or extends to lookers-
on, or, worse still, grows to be the chief element of
interest, the usefulness of the sport is gone, and it
becomes harmful and demoralizing.

*'I must frankly admit that I have attended and
enjoyed these motor races in the past, and I have a
keen admiration for the dexterity and fearlessness of
the drivers. When I realized, however, my own re-
sponsibility in the matter, my pleasure was marred,
because spectators, who were encouraged by this
Commission, of which I am a member, to be present,
might be instantly killed in one of the races, and be-
cause no conceivable precaution could eliminate this
possibility."

200 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

He won out. On May 8, 1912, the Commission
passed the Resolution with only one dissentient vote.
Much indignation was expressed by motorists. Some
regret was felt by sight-seers. There was vague talk
of "legal action." Then the press dropped the matter,
the public forgot it, and the world moved uncon-
cernedly on.

On the 30th of March, a medallion in commemo-
ration of Dr. Crawford Williamson Long, of the class
of '39, was unveiled in the University of Pennsylvania.
It was the work of Dr. Tait McKenzie. Dr. Long, it
was claimed, was the first practitioner who, seventy
years before, had used ether as an anaesthetic in sur-
gery. Dr. W^hite made the address at the unveiling,
and dwelt long and lovingly on the hard fortune
which always attends the innovator. He told with
relish the experiences of that stout-hearted Scotch
surgeon. Sir James Simpson, who got himself into
a world of trouble by using chloroform in cases of
childbirth. He quoted the letter of an Edinburgh
minister, who censured Simpson for employing a drug
which was but "a decoy of Satan, apparently offering
itself to bless women; but, in the end, destined to
harm society, and rob God of the deep earnest cries
which arise in time of trouble for help."

The sins of the pulpit were balm to Dr. WTiite's
soul; but in this instance the laity was as deeply
impressed by the immorality of chloroform as was

FREEDOM 201

the dourest cleric in Scotland. An Edinburgh mob
went so far as to smash Dr. Simpson's windows, by
way of signifying its disapproval of his interference
with what they piously designated as "the curse of
Eve." A male mob evidently. Men have always mani-
fested a broad tolerance for this particular curse. It
is about the only ruling of Providence which has their
full and free concurrence.

The presidential nominations were now darken-
ing the horizon, and Dr. White's hopes for his beloved
Roosevelt ran higher than did the hopes of more
astute adherents. On the 12th of April the Colonel
addressed two Philadelphia meetings, and was re-
ceived with that tumultuous enthusiasm which is as
a fire of straw. No man understood this better than
he; and his suggestion that his audience should
not "take it all out in shouting," betrayed his wide
knowledge of humanity. Owen Wister presented him
to the five thousand men and women packed into
the Metropolitan Opera House; while to the fifteen
thousand men and women on Broad Street he pre-
sented himself in the homely fashion so dear to the
heart of democracy. The nomination of Wilson failed
to shake Dr. White's confidence. He wrote to Tom
Robins that there was some satisfaction in it, xnas-
much as it meant the defeat of the forces that had
betrayed their trust in Chicago. "The machine pol-

202 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

iticians cannot hold the organization together. I con-
sider Taft is as well out of it as if he were dead."

What wounded his spirit past healing was the con-
tumacy of friends. Some there were who, like Robins
and Sargent, gave Roosevelt an adherence as loyal
as his own. Henry James, whom he rashly attempted
to convert, had an invincible distaste for all presi-
dential nominees. E£Bngham Morris, for whom his
afiFection was strong, constant, and curiously out-
spoken, was the associate whom he most wanted to
see the light, and who dwelt permanently in dark-
ness. The friends would argue until they quarreled,
and Dr. White hated to quarrel with the few men
whom he loved, as much as he liked to quarrel with
the many men to whom he was indifferent. There is
something profoundly wistful in the way he pleads
with Mr. Morris during the heat of the presidential
campaign: "If I could only have you and one or
two others — but especially you — singing ' Onward
Christian Soldiers!' by my side, on the same plat-
form — both political and wooden — with the Colo-
nel, my cup would overflow."

It is strange how deep his feelings ran, how irre-
sistibly the tide of a few strong emotions swept him
through life. When, instead of mounting the Pro-
gressive platform, Mr. Morris sent him some ribald
rhymes on his great leader, he comments more in
sorrow than in anger: "It's funny, of course. But

FREEDOM 203

that it should represent the serious view of men
whose intelligence I had until recently considered as
far above the average is a continual surprise."

In truth he could no more tolerate a jest at the
expense of Roosevelt than he could tolerate a jest at
the expense of his profession. The Colonel himself
often enjoyed such thrusts hugely. I have heard him
roar with laughter over " Dooley's " amended title for
his volume on "The Rough Riders." "If I was him,
I'd call th' book 'Alone in Cubia.'" But though Dr.
White admired this hardy sense of humour, this free-
dom from the peevish vanity which cannot forgive a
personal affront, he would not, even on this occasion,
join in the laugh. His loyalty was too staunch, his
allegiance too undivided.

The summer found him still full of hope. He wrote
in July to Mr. Edward Van Valkenburg, propos-
ing three planks for the platform. First: A constitu-
tional amendment giving the President power to veto
items in appropriation bills. Second: A proviso that
at least one member of the Cabinet shall have the right
ex officio to participate in the debates of the House
and Senate. Third: The establishment of a Federal
Bureau of Health. "The first would stop the iniqui-
tous business of adding riders. The second woukl put
definite clearness into much legislation. The third
would contril)ute to the safety, and therefore to the
prosperity and happiness, of the whole nation."

204 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

All of which is true, provided you are sure of your
president, sure of your cabinet, and sure of your
bureau. Of course no one is ever sure of Congress.
But that is an old story.

In October, Colonel Roosevelt's candidacy came
near being closed by an assassin's hand. The bullet,
deflected by a steel spectacle case, lodged between
the third and fourth ribs, and stayed there. When
the patient was strong enough to be taken home (he
was fired at in Milwaukee), Dr. White accompanied
him to New York; and joy that life was spared went
far to solacing his faithful heart in the dark Novem-
ber days. After the battle was over and lost, Roose-
velt, who had foreseen no other issue, wrote a few
words of comfort to his less prescient follower:

"Looking back, I think I can say that we won
more than we had a right to expect. My dear fellow,
I very earnestly hope that we shall be able to develop
some other leader who can do better than I have
done in the fight for social and industrial justice,
and that I shall never again be a candidate for the
Presidency.'*

The summer of 1912 was spent in the fashion of
other summers, — a little of it in London, a great
deal of it in the Engadine. Dr. Agnew used to say
that at seventy a man should not break even a bad
habit. Dr. White was only sixty-two; but his holiday
habits were set. Now and then he admitted to Robins

FREEDOM 205

that flower-shows and German princelings palled on
his jaded fancy; but there was always an avenue of
escape. When hard pressed socially, he and Mrs. White
retreated to their mountain fastnesses, and were safe.

This season St. Moritz gave him little rest, be-
cause a young American, a Harvard student, lay
desperately ill in the hospital, and Dr. Bernhard
implored his aid in a difficult and dangerous oper-
ation. It was not the first time such help had been
asked and given; but never before had he been so
deeply interested, so gravely anxious. It was the old
story of fighting with death, and, while that duel
was on, Dr. White knew no respite from concern. He
would leave the hospital late at night, and be in it
again by seven in the morning. He kept a minute
record of the case. "I am afraid that boy will slip
through our hands after all," is his frequent and de-
spairing report. He helped to dress the wound twice
a day. "I could give them all lessons in surgical
dressing to their advantage. They lack delicacy of
touch and attention to detail. But, of course, I've
seen and dressed a hundred cases where any doctor
here has seen and dressed one."

When at last the patient was pronounced out of
danger, and the Whites fled to Menaggio, it was only
to be pursued by a telegram, urging their immediate
return. Fresh complications had arisen, and there was
fresh need for help. "I've agreed to go, d il!"

206 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

groaned the doctor, and go he did. The poor lad,
who clung so desperately to life, greeted him with
joy. He was cheerful and full of jokes. "Joking won't
stop that fever," is the diary's grim comment; but
perhaps it helped. Once more he was pulled out of
the abyss, and his feet set upon the paths of earth.
" If I ever get through with this case, I shall try to
keep out of others," wrote Dr. White soberly, and
Mrs. White added "Amen."

The only conflicting interest that St. Moritz of-
fered was the arrival in August of Prince Adalbert,
the Kaiser's third son. He was a friend of the Orth-
weins, and took enough of a fancy to Dr. White to
confide to him many of his opinions, noticeably his
liking for Americans, and his detestation of Jews.
Also — but this was accidental — his views upon a
more abstruse subject. Meeting the doctor one morn-
ing in the corridor of the Kulm, he showed him an
X-ray photograph of a skull, saying, "That's good
of a monkey, is n't it?"

Dr. White looked at the paper, and then at the
young man. "Many human skulls are exactly like
that," he answered.

The Prince laughed. "As it chances, it's mine,"
he said.

Again the doctor glanced at the royal conforma-
tion, and observed cheerfully, "The resemblance to
a monkey takes us back to our common ancestors.'

j»

FREEDOM 207

*'Not to my ancestors," said the Prince quickly.

"I was not alluding to the Hohenzollerns," ex-
plained Dr. White; "but to the common ancestors
of the human race, millions of years before there
were any class distinctions."

"I don't believe in that kind of thing," said the
Prince.

"But surely," protested Dr. White, "you believe
in evolution. All your scientific men believe in it, as
do scientific men the world over."

"Well, I don't," said the Prince, and the subject
was dropped.

No sooner had the travellers returned to Phila-
delphia in October than they began to plan their
long meditated trip around the world. The time
seemed ripe for its accomplishment. Germanjs with
sinister patience, bided her hour, and the nations
which she so easily hoodwinked saw the years before
them mellow with peace, and brimming with pleasur-
able activities. All of the doctor's letters in the winter
of 1913 are full of allusions to this cherished project,
and all of his friends' letters to him are full of that
qualified assent which is as far as friendship lends
itself to enthusiasm. "I can only gape, and admire,
and oh, so detachedly, applaud," is Henry James's
method of expressing this familiar and discomfiting
attitude.

Dr. White really stood in need of a little moral

208 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

support, because, though he wanted to go, he hated
to leave. There was nothing which imperatively de-
manded his presence, but there were many things
which would suffer from his absence. He was toiling
very hard over the needs of the University this win-
ter, and he wrote and published in the spring an ex-
haustive resume of the work done in the various
departments. The paper is so singularly impersonal
that it reads more like a bulletin than a eulogy; but,
being designed as a basis for begging (an endowment
fund of thirty millions was the writer's golden dream),
no word which could be of service is left unsaid. "We
do not seem to attract bequests as I think we should,'*
is his anxious comment in a letter to Provost Smith.
"This is a matter which will slowly right itself, but
I may not live to see it."

A matter of less moment, but one which had long
vexed his mind when he had leisure to think about
it, was the dismal decay into which Rittenhouse
Square had been permitted to fall. In my youth this
beloved but melancholy little park was shut in by
tall iron railings which protected its gravel walks,
dead turf, and moribund trees from the too careless
incursions of the public. When the English sparrows
had performed their appointed task, and had eaten
up the measuring worms which were wont to descend
upon us adroitly from every tree, the caterpillars
took their place, and used the railings for nurseries.

FREEDOM 209

They were old established tenants with whom no
one interfered. It was a shock to conservatism when
the unsightly barriers were removed, and lawless
citizens could step upon what was by courtesy called
the grass.

An effort had been made to have the Philadelphia
squares put under the control of the Fairmount Park
Commission, which might possibly have done some-
thing for them; but it was clear to all concerned that
only private enterprise could, or would, deal success-
fully with what the newspapers were beginning to
call "the city beautiful." The Rittenhouse Square
Improvement Association met for the first time on
the 19th of February, at the house of Mrs. Edward
Siter, Dr. White acting as chairman. Big reforms
were planned, and money was liberally subscribed.
Dr. White was elected the first president of the As-
sociation. To Professor Paul Cret of the University
of Pennsylvania, and to Dr. Oglesby Paul, was en-
trusted the work of transformation. The chief of the
Bureau of City Property offered any cooperation
which did not involve expenditure. Philadelphia had
no money to give, but was gratifyingly rich in good-
will.

It would have been hard to find a man, in or out of
town, who knew less about landscape gardening than
did Dr. White; but no one was better fitted to bring
any enterprise to a successful close. Moreover, since

210 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

he had become a landed proprietor, he had gradually
assumed the "nature hates a farmer" tone, common
to his estate. It angered him when a transplanted
tree languished and died, as it had angered him in the
old days when a patient, who had been operated
upon, gave up the fight for life. Locusts, he scornfully
pronounced to be "weed trees," easy to grow and
hard to kill; yet even locusts, planted with the nicest
tenderness and care in Rittenhouse Square, took it
upon themselves to assume delicacy of constitution,
and withered away because he had an interest in
their survival.

Yet when the time came for him to start on the
long voyage around the world, it was to his country
home that his affections clung. The mangel-wurzels
had so far fulfilled Sargent's prediction, and cast
their spell upon him. "I hated to say good-bye yester-
day to the farm, and the horses, and the dogs," he
wrote wistfully to Thomas Robins. "I was much flat-
tered by learning that the farmer's second boy was
in tears in the farmhouse on account of having said
good-bye to me. Farmers and their families have
been, in my experience, scarcely human, and this is
both touching and encouraging."

Once on his way, the old adventurous spirit laid
hold of him, and also the old assurance that what he
was doing was the best thing in the world to do. Mrs.
White was as unwearied a traveller as Sinbad, and

FREEDOM 211

parting from the mangel-wurzels cost her no pang of
regret. She was also better able to bear up under the
depressing baseball news which followed them to Eu-
rope. The few hours spent at Gibraltar were over-
cast by a report that the Athletics had lost three out
of their first five games. At Menaggio — "throwing a
gloom over what would otherwise have been a very
happy day " — came the melancholy tidings that
they had been beaten in New York and in Cleveland.
It was not until the tourists reached Athens in Oc-
tober that Dr. White's fears were permanently re-
lieved. "As Letty came upstairs last night," he
writes on the 16th, "she captured a Herald of the
10th, with the inspiring, uplifting, and exliilarating
news of the eight to two score in our favour in the
third game. We've now used three pitchers, and
they 've used six. I think it 's a three to one bet on the
Athletics. I'm surprised no one has cabled me."

It was inevitable that the diary kept this autumn
and winter should be far more minute than those of
earlier years. Turkey, India, China, and Japan ofTered
fresh fields of adventure. Dr. White wanted to be less
expansive, he would have liked to spare himself fa-
tigue; but he simply did not know how. "I've got

this d d diary business so fixed on me that I can't

tell when to stop," he wrote querulously from Greece.
"I'm always thinking of my later, invalid, semi-se-
nile years, when it will be the little things, the jokes.

212 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

the unimportant trifles, which will bring back the ex-
periences I shall then be tremulously trying to recall.
... I swear, however, I'm going to write less. It's an
awful habit. When once it has you in its vice-like
grip, only the iron will, and the determination and
endurance of a Christian martyr can break it. But
I've got them. So now you know."

Many of the descriptions of people and of places
are marvellous in their vigour and veracity. What
Dr. WTiite looked at, he saw, and what he saw seemed
to be indelibly impressed upon his memory. He ac-
centuated every detail because he remembered every
detail, and because he was not squeamish in delinea-
tion. In Venice, he and IVIrs. White went to an eve-
ning party given by Mr. Anthony Drexel in the Pa-
lazzo Balbi Valier. It was an unusual assemblage, and
there is a series of pen pictures in the diary, proving
that no single personality was lost upon the attentive
American. The guest who offered him the keenest

diversion was the Marchesa , the daughter of an

English Parliamentarian, who spent his life in finding
fault with things as they were, and in taking his coun-
trymen to task for their shortcomings.

"She deserves a page to herself. If it were a page of
letter paper, it would make most of the clothes she
wore. Her gown was of an X-ray sort, cut down and
slit up, and I don't think she had on any underwear,
though I did n't make sure. If she had been dressed

FREEDOM 213

in a one-piece, cream-coloured, wet, close-fitting
bathing-suit made of mosquito netting, she 'd have
been about as much clad. Her black hair was brought
down in great curves to her eyebrows, and over her
ears, out on her cheek, and down her neck. Her eyes
were blacked, her lips scarlet, her face powdered, her
cheeks rouged. She sat in a studied pose, holding a
flower in her hand. During the singing she never
changed her attitude except to roll her eyes at the
man she was talking to, or to smell her flower, or to
get a little mirror out of her hand-bag, look at her-
self, and touch up with powder and rouge. She may,
of course, be a model mother and housewife, who
mends her own clothes — it would n't take her long —
and teaches the children their A, B, C's; but she is a
corker for gall. How she ever made up her mind to
wear that costume outside of her bath-room gets me."
No part of their stay in Egypt pleased the travel-
lers half so well as a five days' ride through the des-
ert. Their little caravan consisted of thirteen men,
including Mahmoud the dragoman, eight camels, and
Mahmoud's donkey. "I certainly am stuck on cam-
els," comments Dr. White. "I always liked them,
now I love them. They are so well fitted to their busi-
ness, and know it, and attend to it. I think they are
extremely intelligent. The Bedouins seem very kind
to them. One boy cried yesterday morning because
he thought they were overloading his special charge."

Q14 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Next to the camels and the great stretches of sand,
which filled his soul with a sort of ecstasy (he re-
sented Lake Kerun and the green tract of the Fay-
oum as intrusions on their monotonous splendour),
the doctor's heart went out to the Arab boys who
walked with swift light strides alongside of their
beasts. He envied them — being sixty-three — their
supple youth and endurance. "They are all bare-
foot, and go over the pebbles and rocks without the
least evidence of discomfort. My lad covered nine-
teen miles the first day, and eighteen miles the sec-
ond, often running to keep up, chattering half the
time, and minding it as much as Sam would mind a
stroll around Rittenhouse Square."

India and China afford so many thrills, even to
indifferent tourists, and breed in them such a lust
for description, that people who stay at home are apt
to resent any allusion to these amazing countries.
"What I have seen I do not need to hear about, and
what I have not seen I do not want to hear about,"
is the common and pardonable attitude of humanity.
But there was something in Dr. White's frenzy of
enthusiasm, united to his very unusual gift of narra-
tive, which conquered the most reluctant reader and
listener. Now and then interesting things happened
to him, and he told about them in a forceful and
amusing way. At Bombay he and Mrs. WTiite were
invited to visit the Gaekwar of Baroda, a very rich

FREEDOM 215

and very powerful native prince, who had scandal-
ized England and India by refusing to withdraw
backwards from the presence of King George and
Queen Mary when he came to offer fealty to his
suzerain. He wheeled around and strode out of the
audience hall 'aS if he were every whit as good as a
Hanoverian,

Dr. White, however, found him far from awe-
inspiring. A short, stout, jovial Indian gentleman,
very much interested in the United States (he had
sent a son to Harvard), in physical education, and in
Theodore Roosevelt. He presented his guests with
his photograph, and entertained them with sports
which began with trained parrots, progressed to
wrestlers and acrobats, and wound up with fighting
buffaloes and elephants. The most extraordinary
thing about him was the extent of his useless pos-
sessions, ranging from a gold cannon which could n't
be fired, and which was mounted on a silver gun-
carriage, to the famous diamond. Star of the South,
once the property of Napoleon the First, and valued
at $1,200,000. Being the wealthiest ruler in India,
the Gaekwar could afford unprofitable investments.

The sights which of all others in the Eastentliralled
Dr. White's fancy were the Burning Ghats of Ben-
ares. The combination they presented of pictur-
esqueness, loathsomeness, and unique rejection of
the world's theories of sanitation, so fascinated the

216 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

American surgeon that he returned again and again,
to spend hours in rapt contemplation of their horrors.
It is impossible to quote more than half of a single
morning's experience; but this is enough to show
that he missed no detail, and spared none to his
readers.

"Every Hindu is burned, — completely if the
family can afford to buy enough wood, but partially
anyhow, and, in Benares, the ashes or scraps are
flung into the Ganges. It is a sanitary stream. What
we actually saw, lying in our boat ten or twelve
feet from the biggest of the ghats, beggars descrip-
tion. One body lay on a pile of logs, and was covered
with wood, a single foot protruding. Another was
wrapped in a shroud. A third we knew to be a woman
by the red cloth that covered her. A fourth was a
very pretty little girl with long hair. She was about
seven or eight years old.

"While corpse number one was beginning to burn,
and make a fine fat crackling, two men undressed
the little girl, washed her with Ganges water, laid a
strip of white cloth over her middle, and wrapped
another around her. They then carried her up to the
pyre built for her on a platform fifteen or twenty
feet higher. By this time corpse number one was well
under way. Now and then a toe from the protruding
foot would burst, some melted grease would sputter
and flare up in the fire, and there would be an un-

FREEDOM 217

pleasant whiff. The men who sold fire-wood, the
priests who say — for a consideration — when the
auspicious moment has come for the application of
the torch, the men who furnish the fire, the men who
wash the bodies and put them on the pyres, all stood
about joking and laughing, as well they might. They
make their living by taking the petty coins — the
pice, of which it takes two to make a cent — from
the poorest people in the world who have any coins
at all.

"While this was going on, ten yards away, at the
foot of the next ghat — the Manikarnika — were
many devotees scooping up the water that went
from us to them (the Ganges flows to the north),
sprinkling their heads with it, and drinking it out of
their hands. Just at our feet an old hag was washing
out the dirty sacking which had been the little girl's
grave clothes. To our left, almost near enough to
touch, a Pariah dog had made a great find. He was
dragging from the water, up on the mud where he
could eat at leisure, the remains of a body only half
burned. It will be remembered that the poorest
people are unable to buy enough wood to make a
good job of it. They do the best they can, and what
is not burned goes into the river. While the dog was
at breakfast, and while the worshippers were drink-
ing the water which came to them from liis break-
fast table, and from the old hag's laundry, and while

218 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

corpse number one was blazing merrily, a man ap-
peared above with a lot of thin burning sticks in his
hand. He walked five times around the body of the
little girl, touching her head each time, and then set
fire to her pyre. The men on the steps of the ghat
were joking and laughing loudly. Nearby two boys
were wrestling. At the further end of the steps, a long
file of washerwomen went up with enormous baskets
on their heads, carrying clothes that had just been
cleaned in the same current that was running past
the burning ghat, and the dog and his meal, and the
old hag with the child's coarse shroud, down to the
worshippers who were always there, one succeeding
another, and always drinking.

"We pushed off and went with the stream, and, as
we did so, we saw another contribution to the sacred-
ness of the beverage. A new procession came down
the river, but this time it was of dead animals,
chiefly cats, swollen until they were as big as goats,
and a donkey that looked like a young elephant.
Mercy ! what a thirst that must have given the dev-
otees when they saw it!"

Christmas was spent on the train going to Rangoon,
and there is this characteristic entry in the diary:

"If when I was a very small boy, getting up Christ-
mas mornings in the dark, and catching croup by
reading Christmas books in my nightshirt and bare
feet, I could have seen myself riding across the plains

FREEDOM 219

of Burmah, and going to golden pagodas, and star-
ing at hundreds of gigantic idols, and shaven-headed
Lamas with their chelas carrying their begging bowls,
and crowds of black, yellow, and copper-coloured
natives in robes of every hue of the rainbow, and
priests ringing bells and beating gongs and burn-
ing incense, and flower-decked girls bowing before
shrines, and all the picturesque and barbaric rest of
it, — well, I'd have been delirious with delight."

In Colombo came word of Dr. Weir Mitchell's
death. Two lines in a local paper announced the tid-
ings; but even two lines in the Colombo press spell
fame for a Philadelphia doctor; and it was bad news
for the Philadelphian who read it.

After the "dear old ghats" of Benares, no spectacle
afforded Dr. White a more acute interest than did
the narrow streets of Canton, and the broad expanse
of the Pearl River, with its hundreds of thousands of
inhabitants, living and dying on the boats on which
they were born. He delighted in the little painted
pigs — blue and yellow and purple spots decorating
their fat sides — which roamed unmolested through
the byways; in the agile night watchmen who pa-
trolled the roofs instead of the streets; in the sinister
old Place of Execution, where more fX'ople have been
put to death than on any equal area of the earth's
surface. The Chinese children, who never begged,
gave him the impression of good-humour, common

220 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

sense, and stability; and in the Chinese restaurants
he was charmed with his own skill in using chop
sticks, contrasting the ease and grace of his perform-
ance with the clumsiness of Mrs. White, who was
sometimes reduced to the necessity of conveying her
food to her mouth with her fingers.

The University of Pennsylvania Settlement in Can-
ton impressed Dr. WTiite profoundly. His former stu-
dent and old acquaintance. Dr. Joseph McCracken,
was at the head of the hospital, which was run by
half a dozen graduates of the University Medical
School. All of these men had married college grad-
uates, and all were striving to accomplish herculean
tasks with the scanty resources at their command. A
codicil in Dr. White's will, bequeathing five thousand
dollars to Dr. McCracken, or to his successor, for the
use of the hospital, proves the practical nature of his
regard. It was the old story of his undying interest
in all things connected with his Alma Mater. He
was ill when he reached Yokohama, and the doctors
warned him against exposure; but he went in a blind-
ing snow storm to Tokio, to attend a dinner given
by the University of Pennsylvania Alumni Associa-
tion of Japan.

"They were all Japs of course. There was a speech
by Tosui Imadate, C.E. Class of 1879, laudatory of
me, and welcoming me to Japan. There was a speech
by me, laudatory of the University, and thanking

FREEDOM 231

them for their welcome. There were many little
speeches — most of them by me — and some inter-
esting reminiscences."

To visit Japan in mid-winter is a hazardous ex-
perience. It insures discomfort, and it affords gen-
erous opportunities for disease. Dr. White tried to
solace himself with the reflection that freshly fallen
snow is as beautiful as blossoming cherry trees; but
no aesthetic appreciation of the ice-bound scenery
could keep the travellers warm. Nikko in February
was as cosy as Lapland. They had soft coal fires in
their grates, and in their worthless little Japanese
stoves; they had brass vessels with smouldering
charcoal embers over which to hold their frozen
hands and feet; but the rooms remained "colder —
much colder than Hell," and Dr. White speedily de-
veloped influenza. He had himself carried around to
temples and mausoleums, he missed no sight that
Nikko offered; but he was well aware of his own
unutterable folly.

" If I had a patient as ill as I am, and he said : ' May
I go out on a mountain-side among snow fields, walk
on slushy paths, climb hundreds of ice-cold stone
steps, stand around draughty, windy temples, sit
down occasionally on a frozen board, and take off my
shoes, and walk about in slippers for a half-hour, and
then put congealed shoes on my frosted feet?' I'd
reply: 'You belong in Kirkbride's.' "

232 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Fortunately the "distant sights," lakes, water-
falls, and the like, were all iced over or snowed under,
and the roads leading to them were impassable, so
they were left out of the programme.

The spring was well advanced when the travellers
returned to their native land, and to their native
town. There was a noisy demonstration of welcome
at the Pennsylvania station. Dr. Martin had staged
the show, and had engaged a band, so that the home-
coming was a little like a Roman triumph. The stu-
dents cheered, the engines puffed, the band brayed
and fluted, and the few words which Dr. White tried
to say were lost in the uproar. It was an animated
scene.

The months that preceded the Great War were
marked by unrest without prescience, and by a feel-
ing of insecurity which had no sense of direction. In
England, a wave of hysteria had swept women past
the border line of sanity. They did strange deeds
of violence, and their lawlessness was the childish
and terrifying lawlessness of fanaticism. Among
other pitiful and purposeless acts of destruction, they
slashed Sargent's admirable portrait of Henry James,
then hanging in the Royal Academy. Mr. James had
written to Dr. WTiite of his profound pleasure in this
masterpiece, and of his desire to show it to his friend.

"Yes, J. S. S. has finished the loveliest portrait of
me, the loveliest, but one, he has ever painted of any

FREEDOM 223

mere male. It 's just done, and will be doubtless var-
nished and framed by the time you come around to
see it. I am quite ashamed to admire it as I do.
It makes me feel as if I were smirking before the
glass."

The connection between a portrait painted by an
American artist of an American novelist and the ex-
tension of the British franchise was hard to trace.
The picture was reported to be injured beyond re-
demption, and the peculiar inconsequence of the
crime deepened the anger and disgust which were felt
on both sides of the Atlantic. Mr. James's regret over
the "bloody gashes" was equalled by his delight
when the canvas was so adroitly mended that not a
cicatrice was visible. He was pleased, too, at the
indignation expressed in the United States; and he
suggested, with some show of reason, that the sym-
pathy of his countrymen might find fitting expression
in a more generous purchase of his books. Sargent
wrote to Dr. White, sending him a photograph of the
portrait, and telling him that it would be hung in its
old place as soon as the restoration was completed.
"It looked hopeless," he added, "as if several boml)s
had burst through it; but now there is no trace of the
damage."

If Dr. White had not been the true Wandering
Gentile, the summer of 1914 would have seen liim
recovering serenely from the excesses of his eight

224 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

months' journey, and contenting himself with coun-
try life, — until the breaking of the war-cloud de-
stroyed the contentment of the world. But his habits
were too firmly fixed to admit a change. He did a
thing because he had always done it; and as he had
always spent a portion of his summer at St. Moritz
and Menaggio, he could not conceive the possibility
of passing these months elsewhere. "On account of
the threatened European war we were a trifle uneasy
about sailing," he writes July 31st, "but had no
serious thought of any derangement of our plans."
He and Mrs. White were actually in New York,
ready to sail on the Princess Irene, and they waited
four days before realizing that the ship would never
put to sea. By August 3d all hopes of peace had
vanished, and, on the 4th, the relentless travellers
— determined to go somewhere — started for Can-
ada and Alaska. For over a month they pursued the
beauties of nature at Banff, or dawdled through mo-
notonous days on Alaskan waters, while, at home,
men waited tensely hour by hour for news which,
when it came, filled all hearts with apprehension.
They were at Sitka the day that Aerschot was bar-
barously sacked; they watched a "panorama of
mountains and forests" while the Germans entered
Liege; they had reached Seattle when Louvain was
fired. News came to them tardily, or not at all. They
might have been sleeping beauties in the wood, so

FREEDOM 225

remote they seemed from a world seething with hor-
rors, and hatreds, and crimes which cried out to
Heaven for vengeance. It was not until they returned
home on the 12th of September that Dr. White awoke
to the full and bitter realization of what was happen-
ing in Europe. From that hour until death struck
him, he never ceased to work with all the vigour
of his resolute nature for outraged civilization and
humanity.

CHAPTER XI
THE GREAT WAR

THE heart," says Lord Shaftesbury, "cannot re-
main neutral, but takes part constantly one way
or the other." Individual neutrality was to Dr. White
a form of mental and moral cowardice. He held that
no rational being has a right to plead ignorance when
knowledge is attainable, or to be indifferent to mat-
ters of right and wrong. Despite a temporary irrita-
tion at England's behaviour in the complicated busi-
ness of the Panama Canal, his sympathies had always
been soundly British and democratic. He could never
have ranged himself with Imperial Germany, or with
Austria, steeped to the lips in crime. The ultimatum
to Serbia seemed to him the epitome of bullying;
and the grossness with which the Central Powers
disturbed the peace of Europe angered him, as it an-
gered all law-abiding men. But it was the invasion
of Belgium, and the ferocity of Germany's campaign
in that unhappy land, which changed him from a
moderate to an extreme partisan of the Allies. He was
like a man who knows that behind closed doors a
child is being butchered, a woman is being violated,
and who cannot break through and interpose. To ask
such a one to be neutral in deed is to cripple his man-

THE GREAT WAR 227

hood; to ask him to be neutral in thought is to bid
him be accessory to sin.

Two things were made clear from the start to this
acute, though not dispassionate, observer. He knew
that the war was the greatest moral issue ever pre-
sented to a quibbling world; and he knew that it was
from its first inception a logical and consistent ex-
pression of Germany's national creed. He saw it one
and indivisible in every fresh development. The
curious process by which the Teuton's warm apolo-
gists became in time half-hearted opponents had for
him neither sense nor sincerity. He did not separate
a conformable and harmonious whole into jarring
phases. The sinking of the Lusitania, — Germany's
whip-lash across our nation's face, the surpassing
insolence of Count von Bernstorff and other officials,
left him unchanged. He needed no fresh proof of
German malevolence because he had never sought
to deceive his own soul.

The amiable illusion of a good German people,
misruled and misrepresented by a bad Prussian mili-
tarism, is, and has always been, foundationless.
There was no class in Germany untainted bj' na-
tional avarice. One and all they were eager for the
spoils of war. One and all they stood ready to defend
any method by which these spoils might be secured.
The German professors who lied glibly for their
Kaiser, the German clergy who preached his bloody

228 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

doctrine from their pulpits, the German socialists
who bent their supple knees, the German tradesmen
and artisans from whose serried ranks no word of
protest ever issued, the German women who shamed
their sex by coarse insults to wounded prisoners, —
what was there to condone in this nation-wide guilt?
Dr. White wasted no sentiment upon a people who,
if they had not ordered the war, gave to its every
crime their full concurrence. He fought with the
weapons at his command the poisonous propaganda
tolerated and encouraged in the United States during
the first months of the contest. The hectoring tone
adopted by German-Americans, their threats, their
treachery, and their violence, wounded his pride,
and outraged his sense of decency. That they should
have held us to be capable of cowardice, and incapa-
ble of understanding, was a double-barrelled affront
he could never bring himself to pardon.

His first ardent hope was that he might be per-
mitted to raise a corps of American surgeons who
would work in the Allied ranks. He wrote to Dr.
— now Sir William — Osier, and to the French
ambassador, M. Jusserand, proffering his services.
Pending their replies, he busied himself in prepar-
ing his "Primer of the War for Americans," and in
collecting funds for the Louvain professors, who,
after the destruction of their University and of their
homes, had fled to England, and found a temporary

THE GREAT WAR 229

refuge in Oxford. Osier had written to him early in
October, begging him to interest himself in these
victims of German barbarity. "We have here now
seven or eight Belgian professors and their families.
Many of them are charming people, and some are
destitute. If you can squeeze a few hundred dollars
out of any of your friends, we shall be much obliged."

Dr. White squeezed five thousand dollars with
such amazing ease and rapidity that the first cheque
reached Oxford on October 28th. By that time the
number of professors had increased to fifteen, and
there were twenty more in Cambridge. The Rocke-
feller Foundation proffered help. "What an angel
you are!" Osier wrote his friend. "It is perfectly
splendid. I wish you could look in here, and see how
comfortably Grace [Lady Osier] and young Mrs.
Max Miiller have settled these people. Our house is
nothing but a junk shop. We have packing cases
arriving every week, and our drawing-room is now
a sewing-room for the wives of the professors, most
of whom are making baby clothes. They are an
extraordinary lot."

So many cares and labours engrossed the great
Canadian doctor's time, and so many diflioulties
beset his path, that it was a relief to turn lo Dr.
White for sympathy and support. "I am trying to
stir up the anti-typhoid inoculation," he wrote in
October, "and have been addressing open-air niocL-

230 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

ings of the men in camps. I wish you could have seen
us at the King Edward Horse Camp, near Slough. I
spoke to the soldiers from beside a big oak tree, they
sitting about on the ground, and afterwards all the
oflRcers were inoculated as an example. Those sons of
Behal, the 'antis,' have been preaching against it."

In November Dr. White went to Washington to
receive an honorary fellowship in the American Col-
lege of Surgeons. It was the only break in a breath-
less month. He was working hard on his *' Primer of
the W'ar for Americans," and harder still to raise
money and collect supplies for the Philadelphia ward
of the American Ambulance Hospital in Paris. The
"Primer" was published in early December. In his
brief preface to this brief handbook he stated that
he began it to clarify his own thoughts, to ascertain
distinctly his own convictions, and his reasons for
cherishing them. Twelve plain questions are plainly
answered. "WTierever my answers have involved
matters of fact, I have taken pains to attain accu-
racy. When they have related to matters of opinion, I
have endeavoured to give the basis for such opin-

ions.

The book, with its many apt and illustrative quo-
tations, is clear, incisive, and systematic. Germany
has been, from start to finish, so amazingly liberal in
furnishing evidence against herself, she has talked so
loudly and so blatantly, that she can be, and has

THE GREAT WAR 231

been, condemned out of her own mouth. ^ Dr. White's
brochure is in no wise comparable to such masterly
arraignments as "The Evidence in the Case," and
*'The War and Humanity," works of weight and elo-
quence, which made clear to thousands of American
readers the tortuous diplomacy of the Central Powers,
and the depth and breadth of their brutality. Its
author had neither Mr. Beck's knowledge of inter-
national law, nor his skill in marshalling arguments;
but he made his appeal in straightforward, manly
fashion to the decency and justice of a world which
had witnessed the supreme frightfulness of vandalism.
The "Primer" was well received by the American
press, upon which Dr. White placed an unshaken
reliance, went through three American editions, had
a fair sale in England, and was translated into five
languages by the Publicity Committee of the British
Foreign OflBce. That it made its way to remote allies
is evidenced by a long and able review which ap-
peared in the " North-China Daily News," printed
in Shanghai, February 2d. Two weeks after its pub-
lication, Dr. White was at work on "Germany and
Democracy," a reply to the amazing statements of
Dr. Demburg, one of the most active and vociferous
members of the Kaiser's "foreign legion." It seems
incredible now that these publicists, press agents,
and professors, so liberally paid to undormino the

* William Iloscoe Thayer: Out of I'heir own Mouths.

233 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

honour and honesty of the United States, should
have been encouraged to spread their propaganda
throughout the land. Many of them were plotting
shamelessly against our trade and our safety, and
some succeeded in doing us grievous harm; but a
credulous and bewildered people could not be
brought to believe in such duplicity. Herr Heinrich
Friedrich Albert told us strange tales of Belgian in-
humanity to Germans. Dr. Dernburg, relying too
securely on our ignorance, told us of France's viola-
tion of Belgium's neutrality, and of her attempted
invasion of the Fatherland. What wonder that in
this monde bestourne there were men who did not
know whether the wolf was eating the lamb, or the
lamb was eating the wolf; whether St. George or the
dragon was defending assaulted humanity. M. Jus-
serand pointed out in a very amusing letter to Dr.
White the discrepancies in two of Dr. Dernburg's
articles which were published simultaneously. The
worthy Teuton did not mind giving himself the lie.
It was part of his profound contempt for the intelli-
gence of the American periodicals which sought his
words, and of the American public which read them.
Dr. White wrote the pamphlet, "Germany and
Democracy," wholly and entirely that he might
have the pleasure of proving Dr. Dernburg's men-
dacity. He called in my help, and I was glad to give
it; but the speed and fury with which he worked left

THE GREAT WAR 233

a collaborator toiling far behind. It was my first in-
timate acquaintance with his literary methods. He
wrote three fourths of the pamphlet rather than
wait for me to do my share. I could no more have
kept pace with him in composition than I could have
climbed a mountain by his side.

His championship of France and England won him
many enemies. Hyphenated Americans and pacifists
united in assailing him, and agitated ladies wrote
letters to newspapers, deploring the violence of his
language. Ex-Governor Pennypacker, a warm sym-
pathizer with Germany's aims and methods, criti-
cised him bitterly in an address to the German So-
ciety of Pennsylvania, and the audience howled its
reprobation every time his name was mentioned. A
Germanic Sherlock Holmes divulged this dreadful
secret: "I hear from good authority that Professor
White is the closest friend of Lord Treuves, the phy-
sician of King George, and visits him frequently.
Now may I ask Professor White what it was worth
to him to be persuaded by his friends, George and
Treuves, to stir up Americans by false and lying
misstatements.'* May I ask what was the price?"

So persistent was this abuse that it became one of
Dr. Martin's cherished pastimes to call his friend up
on the telephone, and in guttural German accents,
which deceived the listener for a moment, threaten
him with dire retribution. "The Little Brothers of

234 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Germany," to use a phrase of Mr. Chapman's, were
so loud-voiced in 1915 that one wonders their silence
in 1917 did not choke them. Month after month an
ever-increasing list of savageries made more difficult
their defence of the fatherland. The wisest of them
fell back once and for all upon the solid support of
General von Disfurth's pronouncement: "Germany
stands as the supreme arbiter of her own methods,
which must be dictated to the world."

From Henry James, to whom Dr. White had sent
the pamphlets, came an incandescent letter of de-
light and relief. '*With passion I desire that those
who surround you should range themselves intel-
ligently on the side of civilization and humanity
against the most monstrous menace that has ever,
since the birth of time, gathered strength for an
assault upon the liberties, the decencies, the pieties
and fidelities, the whole liberal, genial, many-sided
energy of our race."

Sargent, painting tranquilly in the Dolomites
when the war-bomb burst upon the world, had been
caught without passport, without money, and with
"every symptom of being a spy." He made his diffi-
cult way back to England; and James wrote to Dr.
White in the early spring that a noble desire to be of
service had driven the emancipated painter back to
the work he had forsaken.

"You will no doubt have seen how, at a great

THE GREAT WAR 235

auction-sale of artistic treasures sent by the benev-
olent for conversion into Red Cross money, Sir Hugh
Lane bid two thousand pounds for an empty canvas
of John's, to be covered by the latter with the portrait
of a person chosen by Lane. What a luxury to be able
to resolve one's genius into so splendid a donation!
It is n't known yet who is to be the paintee, but that's
a comparatively insignificant detail."

On March 4th, Dr. White was able to announce
that he would sail in June with the surgeons, physi-
cians, and nurses chosen from the staff of the Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania to take charge of the hundred
and eighty beds consigned to their care in the Amer-
ican Ambulance Hospital in Paris. His first plan of
raising a corps of army surgeons had been frustrated
by the reluctance of the Allied Powers, of France
especially, to admit the American doctors into their
service. He therefore turned his time and attention
to the one hospital he could help, and which was
always in need of assistance. A month before his
public announcement, he wrote to Tom Robins that
the generous response of the public kept pace with all
demands.

"We have now opened a Philadelphia ward of
forty beds in the American Ambulance Hospital in
Paris — the very best ward hospital in Europe —
and have the money to sui)port it for six months. W^e
are trying to get enough money for a year, and are

236 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

within $7000 of it. The fund for the University
representation must, however, be entirely separate,
as people of all aflSliations, including some of the
Jefferson men, have been active in raising the general
fund.

"Pennsylvania must do, not only good work, but
work which will compare well with whatever is done
by the Western Reserve and by Harvard. Dr. Crile
is over there now with an entire floor of a hundred
and fifty beds under his care. He took with him a
party of twelve, at a cost of eleven or twelve thousand
dollars. His term of service includes January, Feb-
ruary and March. Harvard has secured April, May
and June. I accepted in behalf of Pennsylvania for
July, August and September, trusting that in some
way I should secure the funds.

"Jim Hutchinson will go and take his assistant. I
shall pay my expenses, and Jim will pay his; but the
younger men and the nurses, while willing to give
their services, and run whatever risk there is about
it, have no money to spend on themselves."

On the 8th of May came word of the sinking of the
Lusitania. It was an event which harmonized with
Germany's avowed principles, and fulfilled her avowed
intentions. She went as mad with delight when the
deed was done as if it had been dauntless and danger-
ous. The immediate result in Great Britain was a
hardening of the national fibre, a conviction that it

THE GREAT WAR 237

was better to die fighting than to yield to a power
capable of such inhumanity. In the United States,
German-American societies, and their affiliated Irish-
American societies, received the news with delight,
and cheered the drowning of American women and
children. Pacifists, like Henry Ford, sprang to speech,
assuring us we had nothing to resent. We were
officially bidden to be calm. Twelve months after
the crime was committed, the American Rights
Committee was refused permission to hold a Me-
morial meeting in New York. It seemed for a time
as though the dead were dishonoured by our indif-
ference, as though Germany were right in her calcula-
tion that we would take her blow kneeling. Yet none
the less that wholesale and cowardly murder of
noncombatants was her death-warrant. Americans
neither forgot nor forgave. There smouldered in the
heart of the nation a fire which gave little out-
ward token of its intensity, but which slowly atid
steadily burned its way to the surface, and hurst
into a flame that purified the land.

To Dr. WTiite, this supreme act of piracy was the
natural and inevitable outcome of all that had gone
before. When Dr. William II. Furness wrote to him:
"Don't you believe that now, with the sinking of the
Lusitania, we can say, as did my grandfather wIumi
Fort Sumter was fired on, 'The long agony is over'?"
he had no answer to give. The agony was eating into

238 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

his soul. Every month that Germany was suffered to
flaunt her foulness in the face of civilization was a
month of painful endurance. Like many other Amer-
icans, he sought what comfort he could find in the
hardest of hard work. As the sailing of the University
contingent drew near, he had no hour which he could
rightly call his own; but when he was urged to pre-
pare a new and enlarged edition of the "Primer,"
which should deal with more recent conditions and
events, he took up the task, and toiled at it day and
night with that concentrated intensity which so per-
ilously consumed his strength.

The "Text-Book of the War for Americans" is a
closely printed volume of five hundred pages, show-
ing signs of the haste with which it was compiled,
and lacking the coherence of the earlier pamphlet.
Its heaped-up evidence makes it valuable as a book
of reference. Its transparent honesty, the hatred for
cruelty, and contempt for cowardice, which kindled
every page, gave it weight in that sad season of doubt
and indecision. It was one of the forces which helped
to strengthen our sense of moral obligation, and
prompted us to the great sacrifice.

Having launched this last offensive against Ger-
man barbarism, Dr. WThite's whole attention was
turned to his approaching departure. For the first
time in twenty-seven years he was to sail without
Mrs. White, believing that conditions were too

THE GREAT WAR 239

dangerous to warrant a woman's crossing the sea
unless she had definite and useful work to do. It was
a sane and unselfish decision, because he knew that
he wanted her companionship; but what he did not
know was how much he was going to want it as the
solitary months sped by. To all reporters and news-
paper men he made this clear statement: "I should
like it fully understood that Dr. James P. Hutchin-
son is assuming the chief responsibility for operative
work. As a surgeon, I am now a back number. More-
over I have tasks to do in England this summer, and
at home next autumn. I shall therefore return when
I have been of all possible use, leaving the ward in
the exceptionally able hands of Dr. Hutchinson."

The surgeons sailed June 12th, on the St. Louis.
Dr. White's diary bears testimony to the compre-
hensive dirt and discomfort of the ship, as well as
to the intelligence and friendliness of the passengers.
There were several Canadian officers on board, and
they gave him the benefit of their experiences. One
of them told him he had seen the body of a two-year-
old Belgian child, a little girl, pierced by a lance, and
hung naked on a meat-hook in a butcher's window.
The incident was no worse than countless other in-
cidents in Germany's campaign. It was not so bad
as many things that happened daily. But Dr. Wliite
loved children, and the image of that little brutalized
body, exposed as a legitimate joke to appreciative

240 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

German eyes, destroyed his peace of mind. He wrote
about it in a white heat of grief and rage to Effingham
Morris. He never forgot it while he lived.

The week spent in London was crowded with
social happenings. "Of course I had lots of old
friends here," wrote the doctor to Provost Smith,
"but now I seem to have hundreds of new ones."
He lunched with Mr. and Mrs. Asquith, and warmly
admired General Henderson, Chief of the British
Aviation Corps, who was one of the guests. He dined
with Anthony Hope, and was amused, though not
unduly dazzled, by Mr. Wells. He dined with Mr.
Fisher Unwin, who was publishing the English
edition of the "Text-Book," and spent a burning
hour in discussing the Lusitania with Sir Sidney Lee.
More happily he dined with Sargent and Henry
James, and the three friends had what James called
"a perfect orgy of indiscretion." Sargent wrote to
Mrs. White, assuring her he was looking after her
"absconding husband" to the best of his ability,
though it was no easy matter to keep track of any
one so popular. James wrote to her that he also was
engaged in this pious duty, and was fulfilling it
"with a zeal and tenderness which you and Miss
Repplier rolled into one could n't surpass. . . . Wil-
liam has done more than he came for," added this
affectionate chronicler, "and his ability and effect
will now be splendidly enhanced. He is the delight

THE GREAT WAR 241

of our circle, besides being that of other circles in
which we do not presume to feel that we move."

Those were dark days for the Allies. Germany was
putting forth her utmost strength, and displaying
her utmost ruthlessness. Her arrogance kept even
pace with her resourcefulness. She challenged the
civilized world to stay her hand. Dr. White, temper-
amentally hopeful, but beset by heavy fears, was
strengthened in spirit by this visit to England, and
by the tenacity of purpose he beheld on every side.
He summed up his convictions the night before his
departure in the following characteristic paragraph :

"I am leaving London, depressed as to the im-
mediate outcome of the war, but not as to its final
results. The British are still making mistakes. Some
of them — not a few — are hardly awake yet to their
own danger. But they are all splendid in one thing.
They don't brag or blow about it. They don't talk
about it much. But they have n't the slightest idea
of being beaten finally. They intend to win if they
have to finish the war ten years from now, and alone.
They believe (as they have a right to believe) in the
justice of their cause. They believe (as they have a
right to believe) that they and their Allies are fight-
ing, not their own battles only, but tlie battles of
every civilized nation, of every real democracy. They
think, though they don't say it in so many words,
that this moral supremacy over Ihcir enemies, Ibis

242 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

innermost consciousness that they are defending
humanity at large, is bound to have more and more
weight as time goes on, and that it will sooner or
later become overwhelming in its influence."

In Paris, Dr. White spent most of his time at the
American Ambulance Hospital. It was inevitable
that he should now regret (as Treves had bitterly
regretted) his retirement from surgical practice. "I
wish I had n't stopped operating some years ago,"
he wrote to Mr. Edward B. Smith. "I make myself
of what use I can, and I try to preserve my self-
respect by remembering that I assumed at once the
responsibility for accepting the offer to come over,
that I effected the organization, and — with your
help — the financing of this unit."

His admiration for the bearing of the wounded
soldiers was unbounded. That brilliant playwright,
Hubert Henry Davies, who nursed for months in a
London Hospital, recorded his conviction that "the
nearest thing on earth to an angel is the British
Tommy." Dr. White stood ready to say as much for
the Poilu. "Men and oflScers," he wrote to Mr. Smith,
"I never saw such a cheerful, contented, hopeful lot.
Some of them shot half to pieces, but never a grumble
or complaint. It's wonderful. Their chief anxiety
seems to be to get back to the front again."

The diary bears the same testimony to this un-
varying heroism. "A finer, more uncomplaining,

THE GREAT WAR 243

more cheerful lot of men I Ve never seen. They really
are splendid, and their readiness to go back to that
Hell from which they have escaped with their bare
lives is amazing."

The hospital itself satisfied all the requirements of
this exacting critic. He has nothing but praise for
surgeons, doctors, nurses, and attendants. "I am
glad," he wrote, "to have something that, as an
American, I can be proud of. We are now settled and
hard at work, with a hundred and eighty to two hun-
dred wounded in our care. The organization of our
unit is excellent. I have no fear but that the results
will compare favourably with those of preceding
units."

To Thomas Robins he repeats the same enthu-
siasms and the same regrets. "The hospital takes a
large part of each day, though I do no real surgical
work, and sometimes feel like a senile, decrepit, dod-
dering old ass, who ought to be dozing away my last
days in Philadelphia, instead of being here where
everything is war, war, war. But it 's fine, — and the
finest thing of all is the cheerfulness, and optimism,
and unquenchable ardour of the poor fellows who
have been shot to pieces. They never grumble, and
they all want to get back to the front."

The five Philadelphia wards, with eight and ten
beds in each ward, gave him especial satisfaction. He
has much to say of their inmates. One of them was a

244 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

young French surgeon with the rank of lieutenant.
He had been tending the wounded during a bombard-
ment, and heard the groans of a Zouave lying, hurt
and helpless, in No Man's Land. He called for vol-
unteer stretcher-bearers, and went to the rescue
under a Red Cross flag, which immediately drew a
well-directed fire from the enemy (a Red Cross is to
a German what a red scarf is to a bull), with the re-
sult that the Zouave and the four bearers were killed,
and the surgeon badly wounded. He managed to
crawl back to shelter, and was then wearing the
croix de guerre, as a reward of his fruitless valour.

There were weekly entertainments at the hospital
for the amusement of convalescents, and the array
of talent they presented was rich in variety. On one
occasion Dr. White heard the baritone of a Buenos
Aires Opera company, some French actresses from
the Opera Comique, and Anna Held, who sang " Tip-
perary " three times because the wounded men could
not get enough of it, but begged for it again and
again.

When not in the hospital, the doctor wandered
about his old haunts in Paris, went to some public
dinners, heard some amazingly dull speeches (he
failed to understand how they could be so dull under
such circumstances), and spent a few happy hours
with Edith Wharton. Their mutual affection for
Henry James, their mutual admiration for Theodore

THE GREAT WAR 345

Roosevelt, gave them grounds for sympathy; and to
find his views so keenly and comprehensively shared
by this most distinguished of American women was
a very great delight to her compatriot.

Two things he ardently desired, two favours he
asked and obtained. He was permitted to make an
ascent in a French military biplane (an experience
less common then than now), and he was permitted
to visit "the front." For the first adventure he was
consigned to the care of M. Caudron, constnicteur
d'aeroplanes, who professed his pleasure at being
able to oblige so good a friend of the Allies and of
Mr. Roosevelt. A biplane was placed at his service, a
young pilot was assigned to him, a heavy coat, a cap
and goggles were lent him, and in a driving storm he
circled Paris, and flew up and down the Seine. "I
never did want to be a chauffeur, but I certainly
should like to be an aviator," he writes in the diary;
"and if I could drop a few bombs on the Rhine
bridges, and the Krupp Works, and Potsdam, and
Unter den Linden, it would be delirious happiness."

On the 20th of July he visited Rheims, then under
heavy bombardment, and, as it chanced, he had the
benefit of a particularly lively morning. In an hour
and a half, more than five hundred shells, costing at
an easy estimate nine thousand dollars, were rained
upon the town. "Every few seconds there would be
a dull roar, then almost instantly the scream or

246 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

shriek of a shell overhead, and then another closer
shattering roar, as it struck and exploded. Some-
times there was no shriek between the first — dis-
tant — roar, and the second — close — one. This
meant that the shell was a No. 130 (130 millimetres
in diameter) which is the smallest the Huns usually
employ, and which goes at so high a velocity that it
reaches its aim and bursts, before the sound it makes
in the air has time to strike the ear. The 150 and 210
millimetres do not travel so fast."

By afternoon the firing ceased, and Dr. White was
given an opportunity to see the havoc it had wrought.
The devastated Cathedral had been, as usual, the
principal target for the guns. The centre window of
one of the chapels in the apse, the third from the
south transept, had been blown in. The altar lay
crumbled into fragments. There was a hole four feet
deep and ten feet in diameter in the Cathedral yard.
The buildings that surrounded it had sunk more com-
pletely into ruin. Throughout the city there were
rubble heaps that had been homes at sunrise. A
dozen townspeople, most of them women, lay dead
under humble roofs. Nine thousand dollars' worth
of frightfulness had done its appointed work.

A week later Dr. White went to Boulogne, then in
the war zone, where he had permission to remain for
several days, and where he was the only civilian in
the hotel. The second day, Colonel Sir George Makins

THE GREAT WAR 247

motored him to St. Omer, the headquarters of the
British army, which was being intermittently shelled,
and to the Clearing Hospital, No. 10 (in Belgium),
where he saw some three hundred men — shot and
burned — who had been brought in from the field
hospitals that morning. The desire of his heart was
to get into Ypres, but there seemed little likelihood
of its fulfilment, until by rare good fortune he en-
countered Captain R. J. C. Thompson, "ex-football
player, ex-ofl5cer in the Egyptian army, and a good
fellow without any ex," who was in command of a
motor ambulance convoy, and who promised that,
if the doctor would dine and spend the night at the
farm which was his headquarters, he would motor
him into Ypres at dusk.

The alacrity with which this offer was accepted
can be well imagined. It was a "hot night," — not
so registered by the thermometer, but in the British
lines, where an attack upon the enemy's trenches
was under way. Sir George and Major Irvine accom-
panied Captain Thompson and Dr. \\Tiite; and the
party reached Ypres in time to see by the waning
light that picture of uttermost desolation. There were
ruined streets, and the battered walls of the Ca-
thedral, and broken bits of masonry that had once
been part of the incomparably beautiful Cloth Hall,
marked by the Germans (as they marked the Ca-
thedral of llheims) for complete destruction. Shells

248 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

whizzed above their heads, and one of them bursting
perilously close, showered dirt and rubble over the
incautious visitors. "If Ypres ever again becomes a
city," wrote Dr. White, "it will have to be rebuilt as
completely as if no town had ever stood there. How
many hundreds of thousands of shells it took to
accomplish this demolition, only God and the Huns
know. They'll probably say they fired six shells to
dislodge a Belgian observer from the roof of the Ca-
thedral."

After making this melancholy round, the doctor
was taken to the nearest field hospital, where sadder
sights awaited him. The fight was going on between
Ypres and Hooge; and all night long came an endless
file of wounded British soldiers, some unconscious
on stretchers, some hideously burned by liquid fire
(Germany's latest invention), some walking feebly.
"One chap, who ought himself to have been tenderly
and carefully carried, had the arm of another, worse
hurt, around his neck, the two of them barely ""able to
crawl." All were indomitable, uncomplaining, brave,
cheerful, and grateful. "Think of a poor fellow with
his head bound up in a blood-stained bandage, a
hand and arm riddled with shell splinters, his face
so covered with clotted blood mixed with dirt that
it looked like a mask, — think of that man wait-
ing his turn to be dressed, and actually grinning as
he said: 'Our artillery are doin' fine. They've got

THE GREAT WAR 249

the range of their trenches to a foot. Every time one
of our shells struck, I saw four or five of the swine
goin' up in the air, and in pieces, too.' — I could
have kissed him, blood and dirt and all."

For hours and hours Dr. White stayed in that field
hospital, admiring the speed and precision with
which the British surgeons did their work, the order
and cleanliness which reigned in such rough quarters,
the unvarying heroism of the wounded. And every
hour his desire to help grew stronger. It was dreadful
to stand there idle, while those other men, worn and
spent, saw the work ahead of them exceed their ut-
most powers. Finally he could bear it no longer, and
made a tentative offer of his services. But it might
not be. Even in those cruel straits, even in that wel-
ter of blood and agony, red tape bound the oflScial
world. Dr. Hays, the surgeon in charge, grinned
pleasantly, but would accept no aid; and Sir George
explained later that to have done so "would have
been subversive of discipline and a bad precedent."
"I understand, and agree as to principle," wrote Dr.
White wistfully; "but I think that if I could have
gotten to work, I might have helped to save some
lives."

By the 4th of August he was back in I ondon, and
attended the great anniversary service at St, Paul's,
objecting characteristically to the sermon preached
by the Archbishop of Canterbury, because it was

250 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

"mixed up with religion." On the 7th he went to Sir
William Osier's at Oxford. There was a houseful of
guests of various nationalities, but not a neutral soul
among them; and the talk had a quality of insight, and
a sustained intensity of feeling, which suited his own
angry and heroic mood. The only amusing thing he
had to relate was a story told him by Osier of King
Edward showing a photograph of himself to Lord
Salisbury, and asking, "What do you think of that.'^"
Salisbury, always unobservant and absent-minded,
regarded it with a pitying eye. " Poor old Buller ! " he
said, " I wonder if he really is as stupid as he looks."
One task Dr. White set himself to perform in Eng-
land. Henry James had asked for British citizenship,
and, believing the matter to be of no interest or
concern to the public, had declined, save for a few
lines to the "Times," to give any reasons for his
action. He would not even discuss the subject among
friends, being always reticent about his own af-
fairs. The doctor, however, felt that some statement
should be made, and as nothing would induce Mr.
James to make it, he valiantly asked for and ob-
tained permission to send a communication to the
"Spectator." Li this brief analysis he outlined the
events of the past year, the repeated violation of
American rights by Germany, the repeated insults
and injuries suffered by Americans at the hands of a
nation which took a brutal delight in flouting them.

THE GREAT WAR 251

It was, he asserted, no lack of loyalty to American
ideals which had actuated Mr. James, but a desire
to line up with the fighting people, with those who
were doing their level best to save an assaulted world.
It was his sense of individual responsibility in a great
moral crisis, when every man must stand for right or
wrong. The "Spectator" printed Dr. White's com-
mentary without elimination, and added a line of its
own, courteous, temperate, and sane. Sargent wrote to
Mrs. WTiite that he was glad the word which needed
to be said had been well said. Mr. James maintained
a suave silence. There was no need for him to speak.
On August 20th that venerable dining-club, the
"Kinsmen," gave a dinner in honour of Dr. White, —
a brilliant affair, although the chairman. Sir Sidney
Lee, had forgotten a number of people who should
have been asked, and had given wrong dates to
others. The men of letters who had succeeded in
being present were full of friendly feeling for their
guest. There were but three speeches. Sir Sidney's,
Dr. White's, and a very good one from Sir Alfred
Keogh, Surgeon-General of the British Army. W^hat-
ever pleasure Dr. White might have had in the enter-
tainment was hopelessly marred by the news which
had just reached London of the shameful sinking of
the Arabic. She was an unarmed ship, westward
bound, carrying civilians only, and no munitions.
She was torpedoed without notice, and sank in eleven

253 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

minutes. Two Americans were reported to be missing.
What wonder that the American who sat at an Eng-
lish board was heavy of heart and speech. His coun-
trymen at home were every whit as sorrowful.

Upon one point he was determined. The sinking of
the Arabic should not prevent him from returning,
as he had planned, on the Adriatic. The St. Paul
sailed the same day; but, apart from the fact that
his experience of the St. Louis had inspired him with
a reasonable distaste for the American line, he felt
very keenly that to change his ship would be a per-
sonal surrender of his principles, and of his just de-
mands. Mr. Bryan's advice to Americans, to avoid
the risk of British vessels, rankled in his breast. He
hated everything which could be construed into sub-
mission to Germany's insolent dictates. "It seems
to me," he writes in the diary, "that it is now the
duty of Americans, if they are unaccompanied by
women and children, to insist on the rights of safe
travel at sea on merchant ships. These rights their
country should secure for them. Every man who does
so insist is, to that extent, an example to others."

The Adriatic would have been a rich haul for sub-
marines. Sir Robert Borden, Premier of Canada,
General Sir Sam Hughes, Minister of Militia and
Defence, Sir Herbert Holt, President of the Royal
Bank of Canada, and Colonel Carrick were among
the passengers. There was also a "dear little Cana-

THE GREAT WAR 253

dian girl of three" for Dr. White to play with.
The child's father was in command of a cavalry
regiment. Her baby brother and her grandmother
had been lost on the Lusitania. With such com-
panions, and with the creature comforts which, it
must be confessed, the doctor valued highly, the
voyage was a singularly agreeable one. He was glad
to be nearing home. The summer had been brimful
of honours and adventures ("bombarded towns, and
toppling houses, and shells blazing all around me
were new and thrilling experiences," he wrote to
Edward Smith) ; but there had also been lonely hours
in which he knew too well what was wanting. The
last page of his London diary contains a candid, and
most unusual, avowal of error.

"I made one mistake, — not bringing Letty with
me. Against it, however, must be urged her freedom
from all risk — especially now — and also the oppor-
tunities I've had (which her affection might have
prevented) of learning much from actual experience,
which ought to make me able to think straighter,
write better, and altogether be more useful to the
cause as long as the war continues. That helps to
balance the account, though it does n't console me
in hours like these for her absence. If I had realized
how much I should miss her, I'd have let her take
all the risks and come along. So there's a frank con-
fession of having, for once, been wrong.'*

CHAPTER XII
THE END

WHEN Dr. White returned from this exciting
and exhausting summer, he was, though he
did not know it, an ill man. He was not prepared to
make any concession to his increasing weakness and
pain. He attributed them to fatigue, to exposure, to
prolonged immersion in his swimming-pool during
the warm September days, to rheumatism, to neu-
ralgia, to any and everything except the ineradica-
ble disease which his physicians recognized, but were
unwilling to name. His courage was undaunted, his
energies unclogged. It seems grotesque that, after
his great experiences in Europe, his months of high
adventure, he should have been immediately en-
gulfed by an academic tempest which attracted more
attention than it deserved, and consumed more time
and strength than should have been wasted upon
it. But anything to be done for the University of
Pennsylvania was to him worth doing, and the Uni-
versity had involved itself in a particularly lively
row by summarily dismissing an instructor in the
Wliarton School of Finance, on the charge of in-
cendiary language to his students.

The incident gained importance from the fact that

THE END 255

faculties and alumni all over the country were sharply
resenting the arbitrary measures of college presidents
and trustees. The University was accused of sup-
pressing academic freedom of speech. All the space
in Philadelphia papers, which was not taken up by
war news, was given over to earnest colloquies upon
this little local cause celehre. The New York press
devoted august attention to the matter. The "Trib-
une" opined that scant confidence could be placed
in the sincerity of a college which sought to muzzle
its teachers. The "New Republic" likened Dr. Scott
Nearing (the inflammatory instructor) to Martin
Luther, nailing his thesis to the church door. The
"Sun," always inclined to skepticism, pointed out
that, while the telling of unwelcome truths is right
and praiseworthy, the presentation, as truths, of
points which are open to doubt, is less deserving of
esteem. "Life" was of the opinion that a salaried
official is bound by the conditions of his employment,
and that a man who desires untrammelled liberty of
speech ought not to hire himself out to an organized
institution with a responsible directorate.

Echoes of this commotion had reached Dr. White
in Paris, and he confided both to his diary and to
Thomas Robins that the episode was assumuig "pre-
posterous proportions." He doubted the wisdom of
the dismissal, and he doubted the wisdom of the
dismissed. When he returned home, and was called

256 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

upon to defend bis assaulted Alma Mater, he found
himself in a curious and difficult position. He was,
and he had been all his life, enamoured of free speech.
He was, and he had been all his life, intolerant of
foolish talk. He had no respect for orthodoxy, but a
great deal for the settled order of society. He loved
bold and outspoken views, but he valued common
sense above all things. It was a divided allegiance.

For these reasons, perhaps, there is an unwonted
gentleness in his vindication of the trustees, pub-
lished in the "Old Penn Weekly Review." Like
Carlyle, he was always disposed to stand for men
rather than for measures; but he recognized that
many of Dr. Nearing's adherents stood for measures
rather than for men. W^ith them it was a matter of
abstract principle, and they were wholly indifferent
to the man who represented the principle they up-
held. With him it was a matter of practical expe-
diency, and all that concerned him was the fitness
or unfitness of this particular man to be a teacher of
youth.

Dr. Nearing had announced that, having served
three weeks on a jury, he had left the panel with his
faith in courts and the law "utterly destroyed." This
was to Dr. White a matter of no moment. He did not
care a rap what Dr. Nearing believed or disbelieved,
nor by what process of elimination he had reached
his conclusions; but he objected to the immature

THE END 257

student mind being muddled with crude revolution-
ism on the strength of this somewhat inconclusive
evidence. Dr. Nearing's hostility to "private wealth"
neither interested nor repelled him; but he failed to
see its place, as a basis for instruction, in a School
of Finance.

The paper of ten thousand words, in which Dr.
White analyzed and defended the action of the trus-
tees, was the last piece of sustained work he ever did.
Dr. Nearing was called to the University of Toledo,
where he had a brief and stormy career. The entrance
of the United States into the war tested him, as it
tested better men, and proved of what metal he was
made. He was indicted under the Espionage Act for
obstructing government measures. The ranks of pro-
German pacifism opened to receive him, and in its
friendly arms he found his comfort and support.

Throughout the autumn, letters and reviews
praising the English edition of the "Text-Book"
followed Dr. White over the sea. The "Spectator"
said truly that its author was, if not a leader, at least
a "challenger of opinion." Lord Sydenham, who still
cherished the generous vision of good Germans, un-
tainted by militarism, dwelling in some unknown
corner of the Fatherland, wrote that he hoped these
blameless anchorites would read the "Text-Book,"
and be enlightened. Mr. James's congratulations
related chiefly to the safe passage of the Adriatic,

258 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

which had reheved his heart of a heavy load of care.
*'I see," he wrote, "the glory of your return only
bedimmed a little by damnably dreary things; the
Arabic, the Hesperian, the offensive ass of a Dumba,
and the so zealously co-operating knave of a Bern-
storff."

At home. Dr. White was called upon so often to
gratify public curiosity that he lived his life in a
state of perpetual siege. Moreover, the Great War
had brought to him, as to thousands of his country-
men, new sets of sympathies and estrangements; it
had made and unmade friendships and enmities.
Nothing seemed the same, because nothing was the
same, while Europe rocked in the blast. Social inter-
course was dominated by this overwhelming fact. No
other points of agreement or disagreement counted
in the scale.

Two years before the war. Dr. White, indignant at
"Life's" travesties of the medical profession, and at
its insistent vilification of Colonel Roosevelt, — whom
it always pursued in a spirit of sustained hostility, —
dropped his subscription, and refused to allow the
paper to enter his house. He wrote to the editors a
frank and not unfriendly letter, giving them his rea-
sons for this step, and also his reasons for telling
them why he took it. *'I do not suppose," he said,
"that either my subscription or my opinion is of
any importance to you; but I have a feeling of regard

THE END 259

for *Life' which leads me, in parting from it, to make
some explanation, as I should do if — for what ap-
peared to me a good cause — I decided to drop the
acquaintance of a man who had once been a friend."

"Life" published this letter with the following
graceful comment: "On the contrary, the loss of an
intelligent reader is always important to 'Life,' and
doubly important when we lose an old friend be-
cause of a difference of opinion."

The years sped by, and the war was fourteen
months old when Dr. White wrote again to "Life,"
asking that the quarrel should be made up. The
paper's courageous unneutrality, its defence of hu-
man and civilized justice, its unremitting attacks
upon German propaganda, had won his heart.
"Life," he said, might continue to call doctors
quacks, and Colonel Roosevelt an impostor. He
would summon his philosophy, and utter no word of
protest. He would remain, even under such provo-
cation, its enthusiastic admirer, and its grateful
debtor. He asked humbly to be restored to the sub-
scription list. After all, what did anything matter
save the supreme struggle between right and wrong
on the battle-fields of Europe?

This letter established the last friendship of his life.
Mr. Edward Sandford Martin answered it at length,
admitting his own share of guilt, but claiming abso-
lution, because events had remodelled his standards.

260 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

as they had remodelled the standards of many honest
men. All the staff of "Life," he said, were wild with
enthusiasm over France (the paper's editorials had
proved this much), and all were ready for war. They
were even then planning the famous "John Bull"
number, — a heartfelt, humorous, noble tribute to
Britain's matchless valour. Mr. Martin's unshaken
belief that the war would end, not only aright, but
so very well as to have been worth its cost, was a
tonic to Dr. White's mind, and balm to his soul.
There was a power of vision in Mr. Martin which
strengthened many minds and souls. Saint Michael
could no more have doubted his final victory over
Lucifer, Saint George could no more have doubted
his final victory over the dragon, than this New York
gentleman could have doubted the final victory of
France and Britain over Germany. "This is a world
of promise beyond all the promise of a thousand
years," he wrote prophetically; "a world in which
whoever is strong in the faith may hope everything
that saints foresaw, or martyrs died to bring."

All this time Dr. White was raising money for the
Philadelphia Wards of the American Ambulance
Hospital, and all this time he was fighting the disease
which manifested itself more pitilessly day by day.
He lingered in the country until November, and was
then brought back to town, the wreck of his old gay,
dominant self. By the close of the month a second

THE END 261

sum of fifteen thousand dollars had been sent to
Paris. "Let me take this opportunity," he said in his
announcement, "of reiterating and emphasizing my
former statement, made after weeks of personal ob-
servation of the workings of the hospital, — namely,
that no money sent from America to relieve suffering,
and to aid the cause of the Allies, does more good
than that contributed to this institution. It is so
eflSciently and economically managed that, with a
progressive decrease in the per capita expenses,
there is a corresponding increase in the care and at-
tention given to the wounded, and in the comforts
supplied to them.

"It is, moreover, the most conspicuously useful of
the attempts that America has made to repay in
some slight measure the debt of gratitude which she
incurred to France more than a century ago."

In December, Dr. White was taken to the Uni-
versity Hospital. Here he spent his Christmas; and
on Christmas eve, while he was under treatment in
the laboratory, his friends invaded his room, and set
up a tree hung with gifts, droll, fanciful, charming,
as the taste of the donors prompted. Miss Marian
Smith, the superintendent of the hospital, lent her
affectionate co-operation to the scheme. Everything
had to be done in haste, for the time was short. Every-
thing was ready before the invalid returned. Fruits
and flowers and books and boxes were heaped up in

262 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

the big, spare hospital room. The tree, with its loving
remembrances, towered to the ceiling. The decorators
assumed a gaiety they did not feel. When the last
touch had been given, Mrs. White glanced around
the pretty, glittering scene, and said sadly: "If
friends could cure."

With the New Year came the last determined
effort of a resolute life, the last flicker of the flame
which was burning low in a wasted body. Colonel
Roosevelt was expected to speak in Philadelphia,
January 21st, on the stern necessity of military pre-
paredness; and Dr. Wliite announced his intention
of being taken home, and of receiving the Colonel as
his guest. It seemed sheerly impossible, but his mind
was made up. The house on the Square was opened
wide, as in the old happy days. Its master, showing
no sign of his mortal illness, lay on a couch in the
library, welcoming his visitors, and watching with
the clear eyes of unalterable devotion the friend who
had been his beacon light through life. Political ani-
mosities were buried deep that day, for no one who
knew and loved the sick man failed to respond to
this, his last call on their regard. I remember Colonel
Roosevelt saying: "It would have seemed strange to
me to come to any other house than this"; and Dr.
White replying: "It is a house of pain, but it is always
yours."

So absolutely did strength of purpose triumph

THE END 263

over bodily infirmity, that to some of us it seemed as
though the sufferer had renewed his hopes and his
vigour in this brief contact with the world. Before
the strange buoyancy had faded, he wrote to Effing-
ham Morris: "I think the Colonel's visit has really
done me good. After his speech, he returned here
immediately, and we had a talk until 12.45 a.m. He
spent another hour with me before he went to the
Montgomery luncheon. I can scarcely expect you to
see him through my spectacles; but he is one of the
very best. The afternoon was for me a great success,
and your cheerful and affectionate presence was by
no means the smallest factor in it."

After Colonel Roosevelt's visit. Dr. White never
again left his bed-room; but his interest in all that
appertained to his friends, his profession, the Uni-
versity, and the war, remained unimpaired through-
out the winter. He wrote a self-forgetful letter to
the alumni of Pennsylvania's Medical School, on the
occasion of their annual dinner, regretting his inabil-
ity to be with them:

"I do not forget that among my most pleasant and
cherished memories are the hours I have spent in the
company of men whom you will have at table to-
night. I should find among them former co-workers
in every department of University activity, and es-
pecially in the department closest to our hearts —
the Medical School — which came to us with a

264 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

reputation, a distinction, a history, that entitled it
to our devoted services.

"Unimportant as my personal share in this work
has been, it had for me the inestimable advantage of
throwing me into close and intimate contact with
successive circles of University men, and led to the
formation of changing, but always enlarging, groups
of very dear friends, with whom, in one way or an-
other, a close and affectionate relationship was
established, and has continued ever since. To these
friends, — former students, fellow alumni, faculty
brothers, and to all the boys, I send my best wishes
for a successful and hilarious reunion, and my con-
gratulations on the present abounding health and
prosperity of our Alma Mater."

Dr. John Mitchell read this letter to the diners,
and wrote to Dr. White that it would have done his
heart good to have heard the cheers which greeted
it. Three weeks later, on University Day, came the
annual dinner of the General Alumni Society, an-
other gathering which he had been wont to love, and
to which his mind strayed longingly. That he was
not forgotten is shown by this line from Mr. Horace
Lippincott :

Dear Dr. White:

The large and enthusiastic body of alumni, gath-
ered together for their annual dinner on the evening

THE END 265

of University Day, heard with distress the news which
the Provost brought them of your suffering. Stilled
by the recital, they rose to their feet when he had
finished, and broke into three long hurrahs for you.
It was decided by acclamation to send you our greet-
ing, and our sincere hopes for your speedy recovery.
It is my privilege to write you this with the heartiest
and best wishes of your fellow alumni.

From England came loving letters, — cheerful, op-
timistic letters from Sargent, and Lord Sydenham,
and Mr. Arthur Potter, who could not be brought to
believe that their friend was near to death; troubled
letters from Osier and Treves, who knew, or divined,
the truth. "There is something unusual in having
to write to you with a bedside manner," grumbled
Sargent; "instead of hurling jokes at you, — jokes
that I warn you are merely delayed until a terror
treatment is prescribed." "You must cheer up,"
wrote Mr. Potter affectionately. "We want you to
rejoice with us in our final victory, as you have helped
us in our hour of need."

From one friend. Dr. White was never to hear
again. Henry James lay very ill in London, his keen
mind dimmed, his eager spirit gropmg in the dark.
The English Government had conferred upon him
the Order of Merit, and Lord Bryce carried it to his
bedside on New Year's Day. Happily, the sick man

266 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

was fully conscious of the honour done him. "He
knew his old friends," wrote Miss Emily Sargent
to Dr. White, " and said a few words of thanks and
appreciation, quite in his old style. We are so very
glad he could grasp and enjoy this pleasure."

Osier, writing a few days later, expressed the same
generous satisfaction in this final recognition of great
qualities. "Was it not splendid that they gave Henry
James the O.M., — really the highest literary dis-
tinction in England? Everybody is delighted. Mrs.
Asquith was asking for you the other day. Your
martial spirit made a great impression upon those
politicians. I wish you and Roosevelt were in the
Cabinet. This house is still a junk shop. A hundred
and ninety barrels of apples, and two thousand dollars,
came to Grace at Christmas from Canada and the
United States. We had the house full of men from
the front, chiefly relatives. Eighteen members of my
family are serving."

In February, Henry James died. His death was a
signal for a renewed attack upon him on the score of
his renunciation of American citizenship. Again Dr.
White came to his friend's defence. In grave and
measured words he repelled the flippant insinuations
of critics who betrayed more irritation than they
would confess to cherishing. His letter to the " Phila-
delphia Ledger " had in it a quiet depth of feeling, a
sincere and sorrowful understanding of the situation.

THE END 267

He at least knew that no man was more passionately
loyal than Mr. James to the ideals which the United
States, in common with all free and democratic
countries, stood pledged to cherish and support. He
knew that it was the great novelist's cheerful and
unvarying acceptance of all the responsibilities of
life which made it hard for him to retain, among old
associates, and in the face of Germany's threats, the
safety and privileges of a neutral citizen.

Mr. James's death was the last break in Dr.
White's circle of intimate associates. He felt it
acutely, though he knew that his own end was near.
For eleven years these two men had been firm and
happy friends. They were as unlike as men could be.
The "rude imperious surge" and the deep land-
locked lake could offer no greater contrast. "I am
such a votary and victim of the single impression,
of the imperceptible adventure, picked up by acci-
dent, and cherished, as it were, in secret," wrote
James to Dr. White in the spring of 1914, "that your
scale of operation and sensation would be for me the
most choking, the most fatal of programmes, and I
should simply go ashore at Sumatra, and refuse ever
to fall in line again. But that is simply my contempt-
ible capacity, which doesn't want a little of five
million things, but only asks three or four, as to
which, I confess, my requirements are inordinate."

It was the war which showed how closely akin in

268 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

elemental qualities, in all the attributes which make
for simple, self-sustaining manhood, were these con-
trasting types. To no heart did this titanic struggle
strike more deeply than to Mr. James's, and to no
mind, outside of diplomatic circles, was it given to
see more clearly its true and final issues. He was not
eager to beckon his own country into the combat;
but he knew that, in the end, there could be no
escape from the "bitter-sweet cup"; and he knew,
too, being an American, that, when it was once pre-
sented to our lips, we should drain it to the dregs.
His spirits were not buoyant enough to bear the
burden of grief; but the breadth of his human sym-
pathy, the depth of his exhaustless compassion, were
a revelation to the world. In this regard, he and Dr.
White were indivisible. The counsel, old as life and
base as sin,

**Let us endure awhile, and see injustice done,"

carried no persuasion to their souls. They knew their
helplessness; but there was not in the life of either
one minute of cowardly acquiescence.

The near approach of death was powerless to dull
Dr. White's human interests, to weaken his affec-
tions, to moderate his just resentments. On the 3d
of March, less than two months before his death, he
sent the following characteristic letter to Provost
Smith :

THE END 269

Dear Edgar:

I have received a book by David Starr Jordan,
which, I regret to say, bears the imprint and motto
of the University of Pennsylvania. I think it a dis-
grace to the University to have the work of such a
man pubHshed under its patronage.

I am not yet aware whether or not he was invited
to give this lecture. I suppose, if he were, it was in-
cumbent upon us, under the terms of the Founda-
tion, to publish it. But if the date of his invitation
was later than eighteen months ago, I shall be ready
to vote for a censorship.

A man who, writing to-day, could put, as the first
of the duties now before the world, the keeping of
Americans out of the "Brawl in the Dark, in which
Europe is bleeding to death," with no mention of
the paramount duty of trying by every possible
means to see that, as a result of the "brawl," might
does not triumph over right, or barbarity over civi-
lization, is not entitled to speak before a University
audience, or to have what he says published by a
University. I regard him as one of the most mis-
chievous and harmful of the pacifist agitators.

It was Professor Jordan who ventured to say in a
college commencement address, given in the sum-
mer of 1909: "France is, by its own admission, deca-
dent." The remark was considered even then to be

270 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

in questionable taste, and of questionable accuracy.
The events of the past five years have proved it as
false as it was foul. "War," says M. Halevy, "speaks
with authority. It lays the foundations of history. It
consecrates and dominates it forever."

On the 18th of March, less than six weeks before his
death. Dr. W^ite sent his last letter to Effingham
Morris. Throughout the long months of his illness
— longer they seemed to him than all the vigor-
ous years that had preceded them — he had shared
with this friend the hopes he could not relinquish,
and the doubts that beset his soul. "When the pain
is bad, I know I am as ill as ever. In the blessed
moments when I am out of pain, I think I am going
to get well in a couple of weeks. And so it goes."

All hope was dead when he wrote for the last time,
and his concern was not then for himself, but for a
young physician whom he liked and trusted, and
for whom he sought a post on the visiting staff of
the Presbyterian Hospital. Enclosed with this letter
was a more formal communication, addressed to the
Board of Managers of the Hospital, in which he set
forth with all his old energy, and with more than
his old kindness. Dr. Carnett's fitness for the ap-
pointment. The shadow of death fell across his bed
when he made this brave effort to help a man whose
life lay bright before him; yet in April he roused
himself to write twice again. The first letter was

THE END 271

to Provost Smith, urging him to interest himself in
Dr. Carnett's behalf, and ended with these pregnant
words: "I really want you to do this for me, and at
this juncture shall make no excuse for not doing more
myself."

The second letter was to Mr. Samuel Rea, and its
dictation must have cost the dying man a great and
painful effort:

"I have just heard, in reference to the candidacy
of my friend, Dr. J. B. Carnett, for the surgical
vacancy of the Presbyterian Hospital, that he has
been handicapped by the statement, widely made,
that Pennsylvania Railroad influences have been
lined up in his behalf through my individual efforts,
and that they are not to be taken at their face value
as testimony to Carnett's real ability, experience, and
general fitness for the place.

"I write at once to call attention to the impropri-
ety of this attitude so far as I am concerned. As the
Pennsylvania Railroad has done me the honour of
giving me an important position on its staff, and of
accepting my judgment in many surgical matters, it
is apparent that its directors think enough of my
knowledge and experience to justify the expectation
that they would also value my opinion of the work,
professional character, and standing of a man brought
up under my own eye, and whose career I have
watched with especial interest and attention."

272 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

Nine days after writing this letter. Dr. White died.
He had suffered such appalling pain, he was so worn
and so profoundly helpless, that those who loved
him best were least desirous to prolong that brave
and broken life. To the end he was keen to see his old
associates, and to hear news of the world which was
slipping fast away from him. Every morning, Tom
Robins, his brother, and his cousin, Sam White, the
unchanging friend of his boyhood and his youth,
came to his bedside, and brought some breath of a
happier life. Every day, as the end drew near, Dr.
Alfred Wood, Dr. Martin, and Dr. Stengel issued
bulletins which were posted in the vestibule of his
home, and read by throngs of anxious visitors. At
the close, pneumonia intervened, and death came
mercifully to the man who had waited for it so long,
and whose only hope lay in its healing hand.

Dr. White died in a time of supreme national de-
pression. He had seen nearly two years of war, and
every month had brought fresh evidence of Germany's
cruelty in Europe, her treachery in the United States,
her ruthlessness (punctuated by broken promises and
suave explanations) on the seas, her profound and
brutal contempt for the laws of civilized nations.
He had lived through the period when cranks of
every description proposed ingenious — and blood-
less — plans for bringing the struggle to an end;
when delegations of children were sent to Washing-

THE END 273

ton, to ask the President to keep us out of war;
when every fresh outrage was met by fresh apologists.
There were, indeed, Americans of a different type,
men who never consented to neutraHty, who never
beheved that a purifying ocean cleansed them from
all sense of human obligation. In December, 1914,
Mr. James M. Beck, speaking before the New Eng-
land Society of New York, urged that the United
States should call a conference of the neutral powers,
and voice a protest which would have stayed Ger-
many's bloody hand. "But I confess," wrote this
great lawyer to me, "that I did not advocate a
declaration of war by the United States until after
the Lusitania was sunk. Dr. White did. And as this
subjected him to a storm of ridicule at the time, it is
only just to his memory to note that he was, so far
as I am aware, the first wholly courageous soul in
America, the first with full vision."

There is no "full vision" in this darkened world.
Dr. White would have died more serenely had he
known what no one could know, that the soul of
the nation, seemingly inert under provocation, was
slowly hardening itself to meet an incredible situa-
tion. It was ready for the fight before the call came,
and the glad rush to the colours showed how bitter
the waiting had been. That we had no idea how to
wage war was natural enough; wc had to learn, as
Britain learned, taught by our own blunders. But

274 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

through the unutterable confusion of those first
months there was no faltering of the spirit. The
sense of relief was too profound, the escape from the
pit was too blessed. Alas, and alas, for the brave and
honest men who died before the day of deliverance.

It was a shadow of heroic grief resting upon the
close of a life which had been happy and prosperous,
dignified by achievement, crowned by success. Dr.
White had risen to eminence in his profession. He
had held for twelve years the John Rhea Barton
Chair of Surgery, in the University of Pennsylva-
nia. He had performed many delicate and dangerous
operations, and his patients had survived to call him
blessed. He had made important contributions to
the literature of surgery. He was an authority in his
chosen field. His enthusiasm for athletics triumphed
over the prejudice of teachers, and the indifference
of the public. He was a pioneer in this great move-
ment which has revolutionized and reformed student
life. The University Gymnasium stands as a per-
manent monument of his wisdom and devotion, of
his generous sympathy with youth, and his healthy
understanding of what it means to be young.

He was girt by inflexible limitations. There are pro-
found emotions which have moved the world, and
there are delicate nuances which define areas of
thought and taste, to which he held no clue. But the
essentials of manhood — the things without which

THE END 275

there is no man — were all his. He was brave, truth-
ful, sincere, loyal to his friends and to his country,
and pitiful to the suffering. His personal feelings, his
likings and animosities, were very strong.

"A hedge around his friends,
A hackle to his foes."

Perhaps the number of foes was increased by the
fact that he never struck in the dark, no matter how
easy the chance; but waged an open warfare, pre-
senting himself as a shining target for missiles. On
the other hand, his friends loved him heartily and
tenaciously; his patients knew his kindness and his
worth; nurses and internes in the hospital were keen
— for all his imperiousness — to work under him ;
and close professional associates, like Dr. Alfred
Wood, gave him unstinted devotion.

Above and beyond all other qualities must be
reckoned his courageous acceptance and enjoyment
of life. He feared it as little as he feared death. He
never held back his hand from its favours because
they carry danger in their wake. He never inquired
too curiously if the game were worth the candle. He
took royally what was his, and paid the price in full.
There is a matchless sentence of Mr. Chesterton's
which describes, as no words of mine can ever de-
scribe, this sane and valorous ath'Uide: "The truest
kinship with humanity lies in doing as humanity has
always done, accepting with sportsmanlike relish the

276 J. WILLIAM WHITE, M.D.

estate to which we are called, the star of our happi-
ness, and the fortunes of the land of our birth."

These gifts Dr. White took unshrinkingly from the
hand of fate, and of them he built the strong and
splendid fabric of his life.

THE END

INDEX

INDEX

Abbey. Edwin Austin. 73, 107. 108,

109, 148, 165, 166. 168, 184, 185,

186, 195
Abbey, Mary Gertrude Mead, 195,

196
Adalbert, Prince, 206, 207
Adams, Charles Francis, 175
Adams, Robert, 42, 45, 46
Agassiz, Elizabeth Cabot Gary, 10,

17,24
Agassiz. Jean Louis Rodolphe. 8.

13, 14. 17, 23, 24
Agnew, Dr. David Hayes, 39, 40,

41, 56, 64, 65, 71, 88, 189, 204
Albert, Heinrich Friedrich, 232
Alexandra, Queen, 108
Ashbridge, Dr. R. William. 42
Asquith, Emma Alice Margaret

Tennant, 240. 266
Asquith, Hon. Herbert Henry. 240
Audubon, John James, 11
Austen, Jane. 120

Baldwin, Edward, 33
Barbauld, Anna Letitia, 3
Bartholow, Dr. Roberts, 68
Beck, James Montgomery, 231, 273
Bell, John, 75
Bcrgraann, Dr. von, 56
Bcrnhard, Dr., 205
BernslorfF, Joliann Heinrich, Count

von, 19.S, 227. 258
Biddle, Hon. Craig. 187
Biddle, Katharine. 18H
Birrell, 111. Hon. Augu.stine, 44
Bodley. Dr. Rachel L , 40
Borden. Sir Robert Uird. 252
Brown. Benjamin H , 52
Browneli. Wiiliani Crury, 53. 107
Browning. R<jbert, 22

Buller. Gen. Rt. Hon. Sir Redvers

Henry. 250
Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 93

Cffisar, 93

Carlyle, 256

Carnett, Dr. J. B., 270, 271

Cassidy, Michael, 32

Cato, 93

Caudron, M., 245

Chambers, James S.. 40

Chapman, John Jay, 234

Chesterton, Gilbert Keith. 275

Cicero, 93

Clark, Dr. John G., 181

Cleeman, Richard A., 68

Clement XI H. Pope, 154

Cret. Paul, 209

Crile, Dr. George W.. 236

Cross, J. W.. 185

Daly, Charles, 98

Darwin, Charles Robert, 18

Davidson, Most Rev. Randall
Thomas, Archbishop of Canter-
bury, 249

Davies, Hubert Henry, 242

Delaune, Gidi-on. 163

Delm(''-Rulclitle, Urig.-Gen. Charles.
114, 115

DeiniL-Rudcliffe. Enid Margery.
103. 115

Deniburg, Dr. Bcrnhard. 231. 232

Dickens, Charles. 93

Di.sfurth. General von. 2.34

Drex.-I, Anthony. 212

Du Cane, Col. Sir Edmund. 09

Dumbu. Dr. Constanlin Theodor,
2. OH

Duuue, Peter Fiuiey, 2U3

280

INDEX

Eakins, Thomas, 40, 113

Edward VII, King, 99, 108, 151,

184, 193, 250
Eliot, Dr. Charles William, 91
Eliot, George, 185

Fagon, Gui Crescent, 54

Fisher, Alice, 48, 49, 50

Fitler, Mayor, 67

Foote, Samuel, 44

Ford, Henry, 237

Franklin, Benjamin, 71, 80, 81

Frazicr, Dr. Charles H., 140, 181

Fuller, Thomas, 169

Furness, Horace Howard, 144, 149,

158, 159, 190
Furness, Dr. William H., 237

Gaekwar of Baroda, 214, 215
Garretson, Dr. James E., 66
George V, King, 109, 215, 233
Gibbon, Edward, 53, 93
Gilbert, Sir William S., 94
Gladstone, Wilham Ewart, 93
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 93
Goodell, Dr. William, 71
Guiteras, Dr. John, 70

Halevy, Daniel, 270

Hals, Frans, 111

Hardy, Thomas, 164

Harrison, Alfred, 57

Harrison, Charles Custis, 117, 123,

193
Harte, Francis Bret, 77
Havemeyer, Theodore, 75
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 53
Hays, Dr., 249
Heinemann, Dr., 130, 132
Held, Anna, 244

Henderson, Lt. Gen. Sir David, 240
Hill, Dr. Thomas, 8, 10, 14, 15, 24
Holland, Dr. J. W., 66
Holland, Hon. Sydney, 99
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 22, 69
Holt, Sir Herbert S., 252
Hope, Anthony, 240

Horner, Edith, 49
Howell, James, 53
Hughes, Gen. Sir Sam, 252
Hutchinson, Dr. James P., 236,
239

Imadate, Tosui, 220
Irvine, Major, 247
Ivens, Marion L., 141

James I, King, 163

James, Henry, 118, 119, 120. 129,
133, 144, 146, 151, 155, 161, 163,
169, 180, 184, 186, 195, 197, 202,
207, 222, 223, 234, 240, 244, 250,
251, 257, 265, 266, 267, 268

James, William, 184

Johnson, John G., 182, 183.

Johnson, Capt. Philip C, 24

Johnson, Samuel, 44, 169

Jordan, David Starr, 269

Joseph, Sister Mary, 142

Jusserand, Jean Adrien Aubin JiJes,
228, 232

Kant, Immanuel, 93

Kauffmann, Maria Angelica, 163

Keen, Dr. William Williams, 71, 181

Kempis, Thomas a, 58

Keogh, Sur.-Gen. Sir Alfred, 251

Kernochan, James, 75

King, Mayor, 50

Kipling, J. Rudyard, 192

Kirk, John Foster, 133

Kitchener, Horatio Herbert, Earl

Kitchener of Khartoum, 196
Koch, Dr. Robert, 69
Kuhn, Hartman C, 55

Laking, Sir Francis Henry, 108, 163

Lambert, John, 113

Lane, Sir Hugh, 235

Larrey, Jean Dominique, Baron, 39

Lawson, Thomas William, 31

Lee, Richard, "Beaver Dick," 62,

63
Lee, Sir Sidney, 240, 251

INDEX

281

Lesley, Station-Master, San Pablo,

23
Lippincott, Horace, 264
Lister, Joseph, Lord, 53, 55, 57, 144
Littre, Maximilien Paul fimile, 93
Long, Dr. Crawford Williamson,200
Louis XIV, King, 54
Luther, Martin, 255

Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 5,

22
McCracken, Dr. Joseph, 220
McKenzie, Dr. R. Tait, 117, 118,

200
McLean, Billy, 33, 121, 122
McMurtrie, Richard, 68
McNally, Peter, 74
Mahmoud, dragoman, 213
Mahomet, 157

Makins, Col. Sir George, 246, 247
Maris, John M., 30
Marshall, Dr. Clara, 66
Martin, Anna Withers, 181
Martin, Dr. Edward, 88, 136, 140,

147, 167, 181, 182, 189, 222, 233
Martin, Edward Sandford, 259. 260
Mary, Queen of England, 215
Masefield, John, 82
Max Miiller, Wanda Maria, 229
Mayo, Dr. William J., 139, 141, 142
Meynell, Alice, 110
Mitchell, Dr. John Kear.sley, 264
Mitchell, Dr. S. Weir. 92. 113. 161.

219
Montaigne. Michel Eyquem de, 184
Montgomery, Col. Robert, 263
Mordkin, Mifhacl, 185
More, Hannah, 168
Morris, Effingham B., 104, 166,

173, 176. 177. 202, 240, 263, 270
Morris, Harri.son S., 131
Morton, Mary P., 119. 120, 121
Moynihan. Sir Berkeley George

Andrew. 196
Munyon. James M., 178
Miirilld, Barfolomr Estoban, 72
Musscr, Dr. John Herr, 70

Xapoleon Bonaparte, 215
Nearing, Scott, 255, 256. 257

Oelrichs. Charles, 74

Orthwein. W. J.. 106. 107, 116, 171,

206
Osier, Grace Revere, Lady, 229,

266
Osier, Sir William, 104, 126. 131,

132, 133, 136, 162, 168. 195. 196,

228, 229, 250, 265, 266

Page, S. David. 5i
Page. William Bird, 52
Paine, John, 106, 107, 116, 171
Pappenheim, Maximilian, Count

von. 55
Paul, Oglesby, 209
Pavlova, Anna, 185
Peirce, Benjamin, 7
Penn, William, 94, 166
Pennypacker, Samuel WTiitakcr.

233
Penrose, Boies, 2d. 177, 178
Penrose, Dr. Charles Bingham, 59,

61. 167, 177
Penrose, Katharine Drexel, 61
Pepper, George Wharton, 75. 199
Pepper. Dr. William, 64, 65, 70, 189
Peter the Great, 6
Phelps, William Lyon. 83
Pitkin. Dr.. 25, 26
Pius X, PoF)e, 142
Potter, Arthur, 265
Pourtal^s. Count Francois de, 8

Ralston, Robert. 74

Hea. Samuel. 271

Roberts. Frederick Sleigh Robert-s.

I.ord. 1!)((
RolxTts. Rev. William Henry. 193
Robin.s, Marie Uingold, UT)
Robins. Thomas. 36, 91. 99, 123,

124, Mr,, i;{2, 134, l;55, 136. 137.

142. 148, ir,-i. 101, 166, 167. 170,

174. 1!)3, 201, 202. 204, 210. 235,

243, 255. 272

282

INDEX

Roosevelt, Theodore, 5, 97, 98, 99,
123, 124, 174, 175, 176, 201, 202,
203, 204, 215. 245, 258, 259, 262,
263, 266

Root, Elihu, 183

Rush, Benjamin, 2

Salisbury, Robert Arthur Talbot
Gascoyne Cecil, Marquis of, 250

Samson, 93

Sargent, Emily, 266

Sargent, John Singer, 72, 73, 109,
113, 132, 144, 152, 162, 168, 169,
178, 179, 180, 184, 186, 196, 202,
210, 222. 223, 234, 235, 240. 251.
265

Scott, Sir Walter, 64, 93

Selkirk, Alexander, 19

Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley
Cooper, Earl of, 226

Silly. General, 39

Simpson, Sir James, 200, 201

Sims, John Clark, 100

Siter, Mrs. Edward, 209

Smith, Edgar Fahs, 193, 208, 265,
268, 271

Smith, Edward B., 175, 242, 253

Smith, Marian E., 261

Smith, Rev. William, 149, 150

Socrates. 92

Stanford, Leland, 19

Steindachner, Dr. Franz, 24

Stengel, Dr. Alfred, 125. 140, 181,
272

Sternburg, Baron von, 123

Stevenson, Sara Yorke, 94

Stockton, Mary. 1

Stockton, Richard, 1

Sydenham, George Sydenham
Clarke, Lord, 257, 265

Taft, William Howard, 174, 202
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 92
Thackeray, William Makepeace, 92
Thayer, William Roscoe, 231
Thompson, Capt. R. C, 247
Townsend, Charles H., 42

Townsend, Edward, 82

Treves, Annie Mason, Lady, 102,
115. 164

Treves. Sir Frederick, 53, 55, 58,
59, 76. 77. 81. 82. 99, 101, 102,
103. 107. 108, 114, 115, 134, 140,
144, 148. 150. 161, 163. 164. 168,
233. 242, 265

Tyson, Dr. James, 70

Unwin, Fisher, 240

Van Dyke, Henry, 91

Van Valkenburg, Edward, 203

Vaux, Richard, 30

Velasquez, Diego Rodriguez de

Silva Y., Ill
Verne, Jules, 12

Waller, Edmund. 89
Walpole, Horace, 97
Washington, George, 123
Weightman, William, 117
Wells. Herbert George, 240
Weston, Edward Payson, 172
Wharton, Edith, 98, 244
Wharton, Dr. H. R., 68
Whistler, James McNeill, 195
White, Henry, 1

White, Dr. James William, 1, 67
White, Katherine E, 85, 187, 188
White, Letitia, 52, 53, 58, 59, 61,
72, 81, 83, 103, 104, 105. 106, 107.
Ill, 113, 116, 119, 125, 127, 128,
129, 139, 147, 148, 153, 155, 156,
164, 168, 171, 172, 177. 180, 187,
194. 206, 210. 211, 212, 214, 224,
238, 240, 251, 253, 262
White, Louis, 19, 20
White, Mary A. McClarauan, 2,

3 4
White, Samuel S., 272
White, Samuel S., Senior, 39
White, Samuel S., Junior, 143,

272
Whitney, Caspar. 75
Wilhelm (Friedrich Wilhelm Victor

INDEX

283

Albrecht), German Emperor, 123,

193, 206, 227, 231
Wilson, Alan, 170
Wilson, Thomas Woodrow, 201
Wister, Owen, 113, 175. 201
Wood, Alexander, 42

Wood, Dr. Alfred C . 139, 140, 141,

272, 275
Wood, Dr. Horatio C, 7, 71
Wordsworth, William, 93

Young, Brigham, 27

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