Hawaii - James Michener [396]
On December 12, 1899, as the old century lay dying, an old man named Chang also lay dying with a dreadful fever that seemed to spring from large, purplish nodules in his armpits and groin. When young Dr. Hewlett Whipple from the Department of Health picked his way through the alleys to certify that the man had died of natural causes, he studied the corpse with apprehension.
"Don't bury this man," he ordered, and within ten minutes he had returned, breathless, with two other young doctors, each of whom carried a medical book. In silence the three men studied the corpse and looked at one another in horror.
"Is it what I think it is?" Dr. Whipple asked.
"The plague," his associate replied.
"May God have mercy on us!" Whipple prayed.
The three doctors walked soberly back to their Department of Health, trying to mask from the general public the terror they felt, for they knew that in Calcutta the plague had once killed thousands in a few weeks; there was no known remedy, and when this dreadful disease struck a community, the epidemic had to burn itself out in frightful death and terror. When they reached their Department office, the three doctors closed the doors and sat silent for a moment, as if trying to muster courage for the things they must now do. Then Dr. Whipple, who had inherited his great-grandfather's force of character, said simply, "We must burn that house immediately. We must set aside a special burying ground. And we must inspect every house in Honolulu. It is absolutely essential that not a single sick person be hidden from us. Are you agreed?"
"There will be protests against the burning," one of the other doctors argued.
"We burn, or we face a calamity of such size that I cannot imagine it," Dr. Whipple replied.
"I'd rather we talked with the older doctors."
They did, summoning them in fearful haste, and the older men were sure that their junior colleagues must have been panicked by some ordinary disease with extraordinary developments. It's unlikely that we have the plague in Honolulu. We've kept it out of here for seventy years."
Another argued: "I think we ought to see the body," and four of the established physicians started to leave for the grimy little shack in Chinatown, but Dr. Whipple protested.
"You'll create consternation among the Chinese," he warned. "I went and hurried away for my associates. Now if you appear, they'll know something is wrong."
"I'm not going to announce that we have the plague in this city until I see for myself," a big, solidly built doctor said, "and I want two experienced men to come along with me."
"Before you go," Whipple asked, seeing that they were leaving without medical books, "what symptoms would convince you that it is truly the plague?"
"I saw the plague in China," the older doctor evaded haughtily.
"But what symptoms?"
"Purplish nodules in the groin. Smaller ones in the armpits. Marked fever accompanied by hallucinations. And a characteristic smell from the punctured nodules."
Dr. Whipple licked his lips, for they were achingly dry, and said, "Dr. Harvey, when you go, take a policeman along to guard the house. We must burn it tonight."
An ominous hush fell upon the room, and Dr. Harvey finally asked, "Then it is the plague?"
"Yes."
There was an apprehensive silence, a moment of hesitation, followed by Dr. Harvey's stubborn insistence: "I cannot authorize the required steps until I see for myself."
"But you will take a policeman?"
"Of course. And you can be talking about what we must do next ... in the unlikely event that it is indeed the plague." He hurried off, taking two frightened companions with him, and it was a long time before he returned; and during this interval the three young doctors on whom the burden of a quarantine would fall were afraid that their older confreres would refuse to sanction emergency measures until the plague had established itself, but in this uncharitable supposition they quite underestimated Dr. Harvey.
After an hour he rushed into the Department of Health, ashen-faced