The Rise of the Medical Profession

By Judith Leask

The medical profession – that is, the role of physician – was one of the few ‘gentlemanly’ professions of the 18th-19th centuries[1]. Was it the prospect of attaining this status in society that attracted so many young men into the profession during this era? Was there an enthusiasm to practise the emerging powers to heal the sick that drew them in, or was it a desire for a place of public prominence at a charitable hospital? For some it may have been a philanthropic ambition to address the shameful living conditions of the poor, in both urban and rural locations; for others, no doubt, it was a hankering to gain access to the drawing-rooms of the wealthy and titled.

Dr Lydgate, the beautifully crafted character in George Eliot’s Middlemarch, was motivated by the need to view himself as a success, and to leave a legacy – to leave his name to some key piece of advancement in medical science; Dr Harrison in Elizabeth Gaskell’s The Cranford Chronicles wished to spread modern medical principles to the sleepy country town.

Whatever their varying motivations, young men were increasingly drawn to the study of this field – prominent centres of learning were London hospitals[2], as well as Edinburgh[3] and Glasgow[4]. In the later part of the 19th century, it was not only the young men who aspired to this profession – women began to question why they should be shut out, and began to break down the door (more on this later).

Anatomy

An improved knowledge in this area was essential for advancing medical science, and a continuous supply of cadavers was required to educate students of medicine, but the public were naturally averse. From the times of Henry VIII, dissection had been associated with the executed corpses of convicted felons or murderers, which were not permitted to be buried, and therefore did not receive the proper religious rites[5]. To have one’s body dissected was therefore an added punishment, and was a mark of an utter lack of respect, even ignominy. It’s easy to imagine, therefore, that doctors who pursued this form of study were held in suspicion – why would any person of respectability wish to do such a thing? Who could tell what such a doctor, so lacking in a sense of moral rectitude, may do to gain a further supply of cadavers to study?

The increasing demand for cadavers that outstripped the supply of executed bodies had somewhat ghoulish, if perhaps predictable, results – the practice of grave-robbing began to flourish. The trade of the Resurrectionists paid quite well: a gang of 15 grave robbers operated in the vicinity of Lambeth, using 30 burial grounds, until they were rounded up in 1795[6]. Families who were wealthy enough would have their deceased relative entombed in a metal coffin or had a mortsafe of iron bars placed around the grave.

Illustration of resurrectionists at work - Credit

While disturbing a grave was a criminal offence, the taking of the corpse was not – a corpse was not considered property, therefore could not be stolen[7]. However, engaging in this act was very ill-advised, given the strength of public feeling against dissection, and many medical students were lucky to escape with their lives from the angry crowds when suspected of being involved.

Others found a more direct source of cadavers to sell – famously Burke and Hare killed 15 of the lodgers who stayed at Hare’s Edinburgh lodging house over the course of about a year, until they were discovered in 1828. Before embarking on this killing spree they had taken the body of a man who had died of natural causes to the university and sold it for £7 10s; it seemed they could not resist engaging in a further trade[8].

This grisly trade resulted in the Anatomy Act of 1832, which gave physicians, surgeons and medical students the legal right to corpses that were unclaimed after death, in particular those who had died in a hospital, prison or workhouse [9].

Burke and Hare circa 1850 - Credit

Hospitals

The setting up of charitable hospitals also flourished through this period.

To take London as an example, in the early 18th Century St Thomas’s and St Bartholemew’s hospitals were the only two hospitals, endowed by Henry VIII and Edward VI respectively, and were supported by estates confiscated from the church at the time of the reformation. Then came Guy’s Hospital, founded in 1721 and supported by the large estate of Thomas Guy – these three ‘endowed’ hospitals could survive independently without the need for public donations[10] .

Further hospitals were set up in the 18th century via charitable associations. Coinciding with advancements in medical knowledge, hospitals became places where one might seek a cure, rather than simply receiving refuge and comfort. Many were also institutions for medical training, with some being set up specifically to serve close-by medical colleges.

This sounds as though people who could not afford to pay for their chosen doctor to treat them at home were well catered for – that multiple hospitals that served the growing urban population would provide for their needs. The reality was unfortunately quite different; in most cases it took some time and effort to gain admission – and often time was not on the patient’s side. To receive charitable treatment a patient would have to seek a letter of recommendation from a governor, who would be limited to the number they could recommend, and could pick and choose who they agreed to support.

Admissions were also only possible on one or two days a week[11].  Imagine falling ill with a dangerous fever on a Tuesday, if admissions at your local hospital occurred on Mondays only. Fortunately from the 1820s, institutions began to appear that did not require such a recommendation, or any payment – they would treat in case of need. Prince Albert was the supporter of one such hospital.

In addition to general hospitals, a number of lying-in (or maternity) hospitals were established.

Initially these were for married women only; perhaps the controversy that arose from these hospitals related to taking this activity into a more public sphere rather than existing only in the domestic – certainly the attendants were women only at first. One can only imagine what was said by genteel folk of the General Lying-In Hospital’s policy of admitting single as well as married women, when it was established in London 1767[12] .

Women in Medicine

In the 18th and early part of the 19th century, women’s role in the medical world extended to midwifery only, an occupation for a skilled low-born female.

As far as education was concerned, schools that admitted girls equipped them to be considered ‘accomplished’ and to at least know a little history, and so on; after all, what genteel man would want a wife who could not hold a reasonably intelligent conversation with their dinner guests, or play the pianoforte in the drawing-room? The story of women educationalists is a fascinating one – of women who defied convention to set up schools that taught a full curriculum, such as the Cheltenham Ladies’ College, founded in 1858[13] .

No university in this country awarded degrees to women until the University of London in 1878[14]  – and the London School of Medicine for Women, established in 1874, formed an association with this university in the late 1800s[15]  to enable women to train as doctors. To put this into context – Oxford did not award degrees to women until 1920[16], and Cambridge in 1921 began to acknowledge the studies of women but only with a ‘diploma’[17] . The first woman doctor in this country (registered in 1859) did not gain her degree here – Elizabeth Blackwell studied in Geneva, New York, gaining her medical degree in 1849, the first woman in America to do so[18].

Elizabeth Blackwell Postage Stamp - Credit

Can you imagine what it must have been like, as a young woman with aspirations, to attempt to break through the beliefs so firmly rooted throughout society at the time? To persuade the world to break with the centuries-old convention that prohibited their having an education and a professional role?

Nursing

While this post is about medicine, I couldn’t possibly neglect to mention Florence Nightingale in a discussion on healthcare and women’s roles in the 19th Century. She is described as the founder of modern nursing, and after her famous role as ‘the lady with the lamp’ in the Crimean War, she set up the nursing school at St Thomas’s hospital in 1860[19]. At a time before germ theory was accepted as the cause of disease, Florence instilled more sanitary conditions in hospitals and transformed nursing care.

Florence Nightingale - Illustrated London News, 1855 - Credit

But it is her determination to pursue her passion despite her family’s opposition that fascinates me – her refusal to have her life shaped by the conventional roles dictated by society. It was my admiration for her approach that led me to preface my book with this quote:

‘The world is put back by the death of every one who has to sacrifice the development of his or her peculiar gifts to conventionality.’ – Florence Nightingale.

Notes

 [1] http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/gentlemanly-professions.html
 [2] https://www.medsci.ox.ac.uk/about/history/oxford-medical-sciences-through-the-centuries/1800s
 [3] http://www.electricscotland.com/history/medical/medicine8.pdf
 [4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_historical_medical_schools_in_the_United_Kingdom
 [5] http://www.leeds.ac.uk/chb/lectures/anatomy1.html
 [6] http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1046/j.1440-1622.2001.02127.x/pdf
 [7] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burial_Act_1857
 [8] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burke_and_Hare_murders
 [9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anatomy_Act_1832
 [10] http://www.nhshistory.net/voluntary_hospitals.htm
 [11] ibid
 [12] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/General_Lying-In_Hospital
 [13] https://www.cheltladiescollege.org/about-clc/history-of-college/
 [14] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_women%27s_education
 [15] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_School_of_Medicine_for_Women
 [16] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/only-in-britain/oxford-university-allows-women-to-graduate/
 [17] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Cambridge#Women.27s_education
 [18] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Blackwell

 [19] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Nightingale

~~~~~~~~~~

Judith Leask is a long-term reader of historical and classical novels, and began writing fiction when dared to do so by a fellow wordsmith in her project management office. Six years, many writing group sessions and several re-writes later, her first novel Her Peculiar Gifts has now been released – a contemplative tale of James, a shy doctor, and his daughter Laura, who possesses unused talents. A further historical novel, set in Jamaica, is underway, and for her dragon-loving children she wrote The Silver Shell, to be released soon. Her story about the ghost of Charles Dickens can be found in the anthology Haunted. She has discovered a passion and a talent for developmental editing, and is now a freelance book editor with Just Right Editing. This gives her the chance to read and help to refine all manner of books – which is heaven for a bookworm.

https://judithleask.wordpress.com/
https://judithleask.wordpress.com/just-right-editing/

The Tragedy of Jenny Morris

by Phillip Brown

Jenny Morris was born in January 1861, 18 months after Jane married William Morris in a low key ceremony in Oxford. Her rags to riches story is well known now. How she and her sister Bessie met Dante Rossetti and Edward Burne Jones in an Oxford playhouse in 1857 but she was courted by William Morris (after Rossetti left to look after Lizzie Siddal). By 1860 the couple were living at the Red House, built for William by Philip Webb.

Although the couple were not religious, Jenny had a conventional christening in Bexley parish church. Edward and Georgia Burne Jones were there plus their friends Rossetti, Web and Algernon Swinburne. Lizzie was heavily pregnant and stayed in London, and Georgia was pregnant too. The house was so crowded, Swinburne slept on the soffa. No members of Jane’s family seem to have been present.

Jenny at 7

We start to see Jenny in her own right when the family moved to Queen Square in London for William to be nearer his work. At only 7 she is recorded as making a ‘kettle-holder; for Philip Webb and Henry James on a visit to the family records Jane and the girls (Mary ‘May’ was born about a year after Jenny and they were always treated rather like twins) helping their father with embroideries.

As Jenny and May grew older as for most middle-class Victorian children they had a Governess but at Kelmscott in particular they loved to play outside in the fields and on the river (we know May at least learned to punt).

Margaret Mackail (née Burne-Jones); May Morris; Jenny Jane Alice Morris; Sir Philip Burne-Jones by Frederick Hollyer (1838-1933) taken in the garden of Edward Burne-Jones’s home, The Grange, Fulham, 1874

The girls stood out dressing in a sort of medieval dress with beads, free of ‘fripperary’ and stays. Jenny was regarded as studious, and May remembered her sister as a ‘virtuous and amiable child’. Rossetti used them as models, particularly May who was his favourite. William brought back a horse, called Mouse from his travels in Iceland, and the girls shared him. The girls were firm friends with the Burne-Jones children, Margeret and Phil. In the Summer of 1874 all of the children went with their parents to Belgium. When they returned, Phil went off to Boarding School (which he hated) and Jenny and May started at Notting Hill High School. Jenny was considered really clever and in the 1875 Inspectors report commended her knowledge of Lain and English Literature. Within two years of starting at the school she passed the Cambridge Local Exam and was talked of to go to University (probably Oxford or Cambridge where the first women’s colleges were beginning)..

And then in 1876 it was all over. Jenny developed ‘grand mal’ epilepsy, triggered probably by a boating accident. At that time there was no cure and no reliable way to control the seizures which gradually caused physical and mental damage (apart from Bromide whose long term effects were terrible, and only helped to alleviate some seizures).

Like any family they hoped (falsely) for a recovery but the main burden of looking after Jenny, arranging nursing etc. fell on her mother. Jenny’s seizures were unpredictable and it made entertaining anyone but very close friends impossible. Epilepsy was simply not understood at the time and not mentioned in polite society. Both Philip Webb and Sydney Cockerell tried to prevent it even being mentioned in Mackail’s biography of William.

Oct 12 1892
To Wilfred Scawen Blunt

My dear Mr. Blunt,
It is not that Jenny is much worse (indeed she is as well as usual) but that my nerves have given way under the great pressure of being continually in the house with her. … Jane Morris

Jenny at the time she developed epilepsy.
She later became rather fat and had a vacant
look with the treatments

May was taken out of school at the same time as her sister. There is some evidence to believe that potential suitors were put off May by the belief that epilepsy was hereditary. May also may have worried it could happen to her.

Jenny could never be left alone as a fit could come on at any time and damage her.

We have no letters from Jenny relating how she felt about it all [though there are said to be letters from her, but I can‘t trace these]. But she lost all hope of further education or marriage. Her parents seem to have felt responsible, particularly William who‘s Mother had it in a mild form. Epilepsy was often considered as a form of insanity. At one point Jenny, probably out of despair, tried to throw herself out of a window. She was treated like a child again and not considered to be able to make any major decisions.

In a merciful lull in the attacks in 1878-9 Jenny produced a home magazine called ‘The Scribbler’ which amounted to seventeen issues. It included some juvenile pieces from Rudyard Kipling, a cousin to the Burne-Jones children. Jenny herself, drawing on a trip to Italy they had all been on wrote a long serialised story called ‘Queen of the Adriatic’. She also wrote on dress with wit and humour about fashionable dress.

Both sisters loved amateur dramatics and the theatre and it is interesting that Jenny managed to attend the theatre and took part in home plays, including Cymbeline in ‘Mrs Morris’ drawing room at Hammersmith’.

Jenny must have been taught embroidery, probably by her Mother and Aunt Bessie (who lived with the family) and a cushion cover of 1893 was designed by May but worked in a chain-stitch by Jenny. Together they embroidered a white dress in 1916 which was exhibited.

Jenny was never put away as happened to many epileptics at the time. To give Jane a rest she stayed in Malvern under medical supervision. She stayed with William in London at times and he reported on her success with the housework!

Though little is known of Jenny’s participation, May was actively involved with her father’s Socialist activities and William commented that his daughters were ‘very sympathetic with me as to my aims in life’. Both girls certainly went to hear him speak at public meetings.

But by 1884, Jenny’s attacked considerably worsened until ‘she was almost out of her mind’ [Wilfred Blunt]. He describes a bad attack where she suddenly fell backwards hitting her head against a cupboard. The attacks put a considerable strain on Jane, but William refused to have her sent put in an asylum, though she did go to Malvern. Jane wrote “Everytime the thing occurs it is as if a dagger were thrust into me” (letter to Blunt).

In February 1894 Jenny was despaired of with two nurses attending her round the clock. She seems to have gone temporarily mad, believed she had murdered her Father and tried to jump out of the window. At times she had to be tied to her bed.

William was ill too and given the closeness between them, there may well be a connection. Its quite possible Jenny was ill but also very depressed both by the loss of a meaningful life and what she was doing to her family. But as they started to feel better, Jane describes them wandering the South Downs together ‘like two happy babies’.

By 1901, Jane describes her daughter, ‘Jenny is so much slower in speaking and apparently in thinking than she was a year ago’ … ‘She never speaks without being spoken to or almost never and seldom smiles’. These are symptoms of long term use of Potassium Bromide.

After William’s death, Jenny seems to have lived in the country, nursed an heavily sedated with bromide. She was comfortably off financially and occasionally went to Kelmscott Manor. But it upset her and she seems to have wandered the grounds looking for her Father. But she became friends with Marie Stillman’s daughter Lissa. Before Jane’s death Jenny made a will leaving her money to The Society of Antiquaries (that look after Kelmscott to this day) and her treasured possessions (including her Father’s books inscribed to her) to May to leave to a museum.

She lived in a series of homes in southern England where she paid to be looked after. She died at Over Stowey (in Somerset) on 11th July 1935 at the age of 74 of diabetic complications (like her Father). May died three years later.

---

It’s easy to forget now when so many conditions that blighted humanity can at least be controlled, the devastating effect that such conditions had in the past. Although she had craft skills, I suspect Jenny had academic skills that would have led her into writing, including drama. We’ll never know now of course.


[This post was originally published on 24th November 2012 and is today's Editor's Choice]

Regency Redundancy: The Walcheren Expedition

by Regina Jeffers

In engineering terms, "redundancy" refers to the duplication of critical components of functions of a system with the intention of increasing reliability of the system, usually in the case of a backup or fail safe. In linguistics, "redundancy" refers to the construction of a phrase that presents some idea using more information, often via multiple means, than is necessary for one to be able to understand the idea. In military operations, "redundancy" could easily refer to the British expedition known as the Walcheren Expedition.

During the War of the Fifth Coalition (fought between Britain and the Austrian Empire and France and Bavaria in 1809), Britain sent an expedition, consisting of 40,000 soldiers, 15,000 horses, two siege trains, and field artillery, across the North Sea to open another front in support of Austria's struggle against France. The campaign was meant to destroy the French fleet thought to be in Flushing, whilst providing a diversion for the hard-pressed Austrians. Unfortunately, it was an effort in futility. Napoleon had already defeated the Austrians at the Battle of Wagram only a month prior, on the 5th and 6th of July.

Viscount Castlereagh had first proposed the scheme to take the island of Walcheren to Prime Minister William Pitt in 1797. Castlereagh saw the island as the key to controlling the Scheldt and the port of Flushing, a potential launching point for an attack on England. He reopened discussions on the scheme when he joined the British cabinet in April 1807 as Secretary of State for War and the Colonies.

By 1809, the Scheldt estuary had become the second largest French naval arsenal after Toulon. Castlereagh had the right of it: Napoleon meant to Antwerp into an arsenal, opposite the Thames estuary. Two squadrons were kept off the coast of the Netherlands. One was to prevent a surprise attack, while the second was to keep new ships passing to other ports. From as early as 1808, Napoleon had spent a small fortune fortifying the port of Antwerp.

In early 1809, spies informed the British that there were 10 French ships in the port of Flushing and 9 ships of line under construction in Antwerp. Originally Sir David Dundas, newly appointed chief of the British army, was summoned to appear before Castlereagh on 9 March 1809, but Dundas pleaded he could not muster the required army because of the recent retreat from Corunna in Spain.

Dundas was summoned again in May, but the military consultants dampened Castlereagh's plans with reports of the difficulty of the operation, saying speed of execution would determine success or failure. Finally, the news of Austrian success at Aspern-Essling eliminated any governmental doubts. Spies also reported that the garrison at Flushing was poorly manned by untested Dutch, German, Irish, and Spanish soldiers. It was estimated at the time that only about 8,500 French troops remained in the area. On 22 June, Castlereagh received permission from George III for the expedition.

From the beginning, the expedition was doomed. The senior military and naval staff were less than effective. The Commander in Chief of the operations was General Lord Chatham (John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, the eldest son of William Pitt the Elder and an elder brother of William Pitt the Younger), who was nicknamed "the late earl" because of his love of sleeping in, and while more competent than Chatham, Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Strachan knew little success in the shallow waters of the Scheldt.

Chatham had served in both the American War of Independence and the Russian/British expedition to the Helder in 1799, but he was very much a "desk jockey," having spent the previous 7 years in such a position. In 1794, the Younger Pitt had removed his elder brother from his position as First Lord of the Admiralty because of complaints regarding his laziness.

From Napoleon.org, we find:   "On the same day [22 June 1809], Dundas communicated the total numbers of troops ready for embarkation - 35,000 infantrymen and 1,900 cavalry. As for the direction of the naval side of the affair, this had been given to Rear Adm. Sir Richard Strachan. He was appointed on 9 June, and he was the exact opposite in temperament to Chatham, 'an irregular and impetuous fellow, possessing [...] an uncommon share of sagacity and strong sense.' Strachan was also affectionately known to his men as 'Mad Dick' because he would occasionally lose his temper and swear fiercely. And so these two completely incompatible leaders were to lead the largest ever British expeditionary force to leave the British isles, numbering 618 vessels in total, comprising 352 transports and 266 ships of war."

Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte commanded the French forces. Bernadotte had been stripped of his command for disobeying orders at the Battle of Wagram. He had returned to Paris in shame after being dismissed from Napoleon's Grande Armée, but was sent to defend the Netherlands by the Council of Ministers. Bernadotte lost Flushing to the British, but he competently ordered the French fleet to Antwerp and heavily fortified the city, leaving the British's main objective out of reach.

Even if Chatham and Strachan had had been more strategically minded, their eventual downfall had nothing to do with the French forces and everything to do with the onset of malaria. Over 4,000 British troops perished between 30 July and 9 December 1809, but only 106 died in combat.

Initially, success was known. The British army met little French resistance and quickly set up encampments on the neighboring islands of Walcheren and South Beveland, both in present-day the Netherlands. The British had stifled the attempts of the French to flood the islands by breaching the dykes, but by late August (according to several accounts of the soldiers involved) an epidemic had overtaken the encampments.

From the National Center for Biotechnology Information website, we find the following descriptions of Walcheren: "When the troops first landed, they saw a 'flat fen turned into a garden.' William Keep of the 77th Regiment wrote home, 'The more I see of this country the better I am pleased with it.... Here we frequently spread our table under the shade of luxuriant fruit trees, and enjoy all the pleasures of rustic life.' Another officer thought the capital, Middleburg, one of the most delightful towns he had ever seen. However, a British expedition to the region in 1747 had been largely destroyed by an illness well described by the respected military surgeon John Pringle."

Early August had reports of 700 men suffering from what was termed "Walcheren Fever." By 3 September, 8000 were hospitalized. Even those who were evacuated to England could find little relief. The English hospitals were unable to handle the large influx of patients. Even six months after the campaign ended in February 1810, 11,513 officers and men remained upon the sick lists. Less than two years later, many of these troops were still so weakened by the disease, Wellington requested that no unit which had served in the Walcheren Campaign be sent to him.

"This disease comes on with a cold shivering, so great that the patient feels no benefit from the clothes piled upon him in bed, but continues to shiver still, as if enclosed in ice, the teeth chattering and cheeks blanched. This lasts some time, and is followed by the opposite extremes of heat, so that the pulse rises to 100 in a small space. The face is then flushed and eyes dilated, but with little thirst. It subsides, and then is succeeded by another paroxysm, and so on until the patient's strength is quite reduced, and he sinks into the arms of death."

Obviously, malaria was one of the sources of "Walcheren Fever," as the soldiers described the large number of mosquitoes upon the island and the numerous bites they suffered. Dysentery was also a likely culprit.

Needless to say, this debacle received little attention, with British historians focusing more on the successes of Wellington's armies in the Peninsular Wars and at the Battle of Waterloo. However, in early 1810, Charles Philip Yorke insisted on the exclusion of strangers from the House of Commons during the debates on the Walcheren expedition. That debate resulted in the arrest of the radical orator, John Gale Jones, which resulted in the arrest of Sir Franis Burdett, 5th Baronet, who questioned the House of Commons' authority to arrest Jones. Burdett issued a revised edition of his plea to have Jones. William Cobbett in the Weekly Register published Burdett's speech, which caused the House to vote this action a breach of privileges and to issue a warrant for Burdett's arrest. (Oh, what a tangled web we weave...).

The Times called the expedition a national disaster and blamed Chatham's incompetence for the debacle. Caricatures and lampoons peppered the press, with the most popular one being a caricature published in the Ghent Journal du commerce, which showed Chatham driving a chariot pulled by two turtles and six snails and shouting "Not so fast!"

The medical board and the Cabinet also heard the "voices" of dissent. At the time, Foreign Secretary George Canning had been maneuvering for Castlereagh's removal from the Cabinet. In the midst the chaos surrounding the debate and Portland's  paralytic stroke on 11 August and his resignation on 6 September, Canning (who reportedly wanted Chatham as prime minister and Wellesley to replace Castlereagh) resigned on 7 September, with Castlereagh following on 8 September.

"The famous duel between the two men [Canning and Castlereagh] took place on 19 September, during which Canning was wounded in the thigh. The new administration led by [Spencer] Perceval, but which included Wellington's arrogant elder brother, the Marquess of Wellesley, was to be forced to face an inquiry into the failure of the Walcheren Expedition after a close vote in the House of Commons (195 against 186)."

During the February-March 1810 enquiry, Castlereagh defended the plan's necessity and disclaimed all responsibility for Chatham's incompetence. Chatham was found to have breached constitutional convention by submitting his report on Walcheren directly to the King. Chatham was forced by the Marquess of Wellesley to resign. Castlereagh was no longer a member of the government but was taking his seat on the back benches and therefore received no further censure. Parliament did not find any of those involved in the fiasco as responsible for the failure.

In response, The Times said, "If the Walcheren expedition is to pass unmarked by the general censure, then can no calamity happen on which the British nation will deserve to be heard?"

Again according to the NCBI:  "Remarkably, the army medical department had not been informed of the expedition's destination before its departure.... The medical arrangements were complacent. There were too few doctors, inadequate hospital provision, not enough transport for the sick, and a shortage of vital drugs and supplies. Peruvian bark, one of the few drugs with real efficacy, had to be commandeered from a passing American vessel. The physician general, Sir Lucas Pepys, seemed as much a caricature as his military peers. When asked why he had not attended the sick in Walcheren, he arrogantly replied that he had no personal experience of military medicine. The surgeon general, Thomas Keate, was quick to point out that he was not the appropriate person to visit Walcheren as the matter was 'entirely medical.' The old army medical board had proved itself incompetent, divided, and overly preoccupied with private practice. Its demise and replacement by an improved 'new medical board' was predictable after the disaster of Walcheren...."

The British did destroy the port of Flushing, costing 50 million francs in damage, but it spent some 8 million pounds to know defeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Regina Jeffers loves all things Austen and is the author of several novels, including Darcy’s Temptation, Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion, The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy and Second Chances: The Courtship Wars .
Her website is: www.rjeffers.com