The American Plague - Molly Caldwell Crosby [80]
Once again, Reed had not been alone in his cabin on his sail to Havana. This time, Robert P. Cooke, a young contract doctor recently out of the University of Virginia, shared his cabin. Reed and Cooke were already acquainted; Cooke had been one of the doctors in charge of the yellow fever ward at Pinar del Rio that summer when Agramonte and Reed found horrible conditions and an unreported epidemic of fever in the camp. In fact, Cooke had nearly lost his contract with the army as a result of Reed’s formal reprimand. The acting chief surgeon had written a letter to Cooke: “Let this awful experience be a lesson to you . . . While you are not as culpable as your associates, do not flatter yourself that the authorities will hold you guiltless.”
It was decided that Cooke’s mistake was due to youth and inexperience above all else, and he kept his job. Cooke took the criticism and reprimand without argument, and his modest nature impressed his superiors. Reed took a liking to him as well on board the Crook, and the two doctors—one just beginning his medical career, the other approaching the highest peak of his— discussed the potential of the yellow fever work and the tragedy of Jesse Lazear. Perhaps Cooke felt some guilt about his mistakes at Pinar del Rio, or maybe he was inspired by Reed and the martyredLazear. As the two men left the ship, those conversations onboard settled like silt into the conscience of Robert P. Cooke.
Once back at Camp Columbia, Reed went almost immediately to visit Carroll. A full month had passed since he first contracted the fever, and Reed was shocked to find Carroll still so weak and depressed. It would take another week for Carroll to be strong enough to travel, and then Reed insisted that he return to Washington to spend some time with his family while he recovered. Agramonte was still on leave in the U.S., and that left Walter Reed without his Yellow Fever Board on the brink of one of medicine’s greatest discoveries. Usually slow, methodical and deliberate, Reed was kinetic in those first few weeks—he spread out paperwork and books across his oak mess table and worked nonstop. Reed had been given Lazear’s lab notebooks immediately upon his return, and he scoured the pages trying to find the right combinations linking the infected mosquito, when it bit the feverish patient and when it bit the healthy one, to the onset of yellow fever. The biggest question in his mind was why on those three attempts, Carroll’s, Dean’s and Lazear’s, the mosquito had been able to pass the virus, when it had failed in all other experiments. Unfortunately, the cases of James Carroll and Jesse Lazear were useless as scientific evidence—both men had been exposed to yellow fever in various other circumstances that could negate the mosquito theory. The only possible pure case was that of Dean, their patient XY. Dean denied ever leaving the camp, but Reed could not be certain, so he had Albert Truby wait on the veranda and record their dialogue as Reed casually engaged Dean in conversation.
“My man, I am studying your case of yellow fever and I want to ask you a few questions. Before questioning you, however, I will give you this ten-dollar gold piece if you will say that you were off this reservation at any time after you left the hospital until you returned sick with yellow fever.” Reed fixed his eyes on Dean, who replied, “I’m sorry, sir, but I did not leave the post at any time during that period.” The two men sat down, and Reed listened to Dean’s straightforward version of what happened. He later told Truby that he was willing “to risk his own reputation” on the veracity of the story.
In the following days, Reed relied heavily on his assistant John Neate and Private John H. Andrus, who had been assigned to help in Lazear’s place. Reed contacted Dr. Carlos Finlay, requesting all of his previously published papers about yellow fever, and sent his driver