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Great Fortunes, and How They Were Made by James D. McCabe, Jr.

J >> James D. McCabe, Jr. >> Great Fortunes, and How They Were Made




He gave evidence at an early day of his great surgical abilities. He was
indeed a born surgeon, possessing in a remarkable degree that peculiar
adaptation to this branch of his profession, without which no amount of
study can make a great operator. While a student in the Old World, he
performed leading operations with a skill and natural readiness which
astonished his instructors as much as they delighted them. He was
possessed of a firmness and dexterity of hand, a calm, cool brain, a
quick, unfailing eye, a calmness of nerve, a strength of will, and a
physical endurance which were Nature's gifts to him, and which rendered
him a great surgeon even before he had received his diploma. He did not
trust to these natural gifts alone, however, but applied himself to the
theory of his profession with a determination and eagerness which
nothing could daunt. He was an enthusiast in his studies, and soon
became known as the most profoundly-learned _young_ physician of his
day. As he advanced in life, he maintained his reputation, keeping up
his studies to the last. The great men under whom he studied abroad were
delighted with him, and Sir Astley Cooper was loud in his praise. He
exhibited so much skill as an operator that he was often called upon to
perform operations which the professors would never have dreamed of
intrusting to any one else, and he went through each trial of this kind
with a readiness and precision which few even of his instructors
excelled.

His reputation was unusually flattering to one who had not yet entered
upon the practice of his profession, and upon his return to the United
States, in 1809, he was met with an offer of the chair of surgery in
Columbia College, his _alma mater_. He promptly accepted the position,
and held it until 1813, when the medical department of Columbia College
was merged in the College of Physicians and Surgeons. He was at once
called to the same chair in the new college, and occupied it until 1826.
In that year he resigned his place in the faculty, in consequence of a
misunderstanding between the professors and the trustees of the college
on the principles of college government. Withdrawing entirely from the
school, he united with Drs. Hosack, Mitchell, Francis, and several
others, in founding the Rutgers Medical College. This college, after a
short career of four years, was compelled by the Legislature to
discontinue its operations, in consequence of an alleged invalidity in
its charter.

In 1830, Dr. Mott returned to the College of Physicians and Surgeons as
Professor of Surgery, and in 1840 he became President of the Faculty and
Professor of Surgery and Relative Anatomy in the new University Medical
School. The science of Relative Anatomy is of the highest importance to
the surgeon, and of this science Dr. Mott is generally regarded as the
author. He held his position in the University for twenty years, and in
1860, after a period of fifty years spent in the active duties of his
professorship, retired from the immediate discharge of them, and was
made Professor Emeritus, in which capacity he occasionally lectured to
the classes during each of the remaining years of his life.

As a professor and teacher of surgical science Dr. Mott won a brilliant
reputation, and was considered one of the most thoroughly successful
instructors in the Union. He had the power of winning the attention of
his pupils at the opening of his lectures and of retaining it until the
close. He made even the most difficult operations so clear and simple in
his lectures that the dullest intellects could comprehend them; and his
system of practical demonstration of his subjects was vastly superior
to any thing that had ever been seen in America. He was the first to
introduce into this country the system of delivering clinical lectures,
or lectures at the bedside of the patient, whose ailments were operated
upon during the course of his remarks. This system is naturally the most
repugnant to the patient, but its advantages to the student are so great
that they outweigh all other considerations. Other professors had shrunk
from subjecting their patients to such an ordeal, but Dr. Mott had seen
enough, during his attendance upon such lectures abroad, to satisfy him
that it was the only method by which a thorough knowledge of the
profession of surgery could be imparted, and immediately upon
establishing himself in this country he introduced it. He met with
opposition at first, but he gradually overcame it, and made the
advantages of his system so apparent to all that at length the
opposition entirely ceased.

The greatest difficulty to which American medical schools have always
been subject has been the almost utter impossibility of procuring dead
bodies for dissection. It was this want that compelled Dr. Mott, as it
has compelled so many others, to seek a practical education in Europe;
and when he came back to the college as professor, he was met by the
same drawback to thorough instruction. The law forbade the taking of
dead bodies for dissection, under severe penalties. If a student was
ever found in possession of a limb, he was liable to fine and
imprisonment; and popular sentiment was so strong against the practice
of dissection that those who engaged in it ran serious risk of incurring
violence at the hands of the mob. Dr. Mott was often driven to desperate
expedients in the procuring of subjects. He was fond of relating one of
his adventures of this kind, which will show the reader how he was
enabled to carry on his lectures.

It was in the winter of 1815, and it had been found impossible to
procure a supply of subjects for the season. They could not be obtained
at any price, and it was evident that if any were to be had, the doctor
and his pupils would have to take the matter in their own hands. There
was a grave-yard just outside the city, in which a number of interments
had recently been made, and the doctor resolved upon securing these
bodies for his dissecting-room. It was a dangerous undertaking, as
discovery would subject all engaged in it to the direst penalties of the
law, if, indeed, they should be lucky enough to escape being lynched by
the people. In spite of the dangers, however, the students volunteered
to assist the doctor in the attempt, and at an appointed time proceeded
to the cemetery, properly disguised, and began the removal of the bodies
from the graves. The night was intensely dark, and the wind was high,
both of which circumstances favored their undertaking, but every sound,
every snapping of a twig or rustling of a leaf caused them to start with
alarm and gaze anxiously into the darkness. It was near midnight when
they had finished their task, and, this done, they waited in anxious
silence for the arrival of the means of removing their prey. Their
movements had been accurately timed, and they had scarcely completed
their labors when a cart, driven by a man dressed in the rough clothing
of a laborer, approached the cemetery at a rapid pace. Signals were
exchanged between the driver and the students, and the latter fell to
work to place the bodies, eleven in number, in the cart. Having
accomplished this, they covered them over in such a manner as to make it
appear that the cart was loaded with country produce, bound for the city
markets. When every thing was properly arranged, the students
disappeared in the darkness, each seeking the means by which he had come
out from the city, and the driver, turning his cart about, drove off
rapidly in the direction of New York. It was a long ride, and to an
imaginative man, carrying eleven dead bodies that had been torn from
their quiet graves through the darkness of that winter night would have
been a terrible undertaking. But this man was not imaginative, and,
besides this, he was keenly alive to the tremendous consequences of
discovery. He knew that he was carrying his life in his hand, and that
he needed all the coolness and decision of which he was master. Reaching
the city long after midnight, he drove rapidly down Broadway and turned
into Barclay Street. The lights of the college shone out brightly, and
they had never seemed so welcome as then. The cart was driven rapidly to
the college entrance, where the students were in readiness to receive
it. In a few moments the bodies were removed from the cart and conveyed
to the dissecting-room, and the cart turned over to its owner. The
driver accompanied the students to the dissecting-room, and, throwing
off his disguise, revealed the handsome but excited and eager
countenance of Dr. Mott. He had shared the dangers to which his pupils
had subjected themselves, and had even borne the part in the enterprise
attended with the greatest risk. The affair had succeeded admirably, a
winter's supply of "subjects" had been obtained, and after this the
lectures went on without interruption.

"A story is told of his readiness in the lecture-room. A mother brought
into the amphitheater, one morning, an extremely dirty, sickly,
miserable-looking child, for the purpose of having a tumor removed. He
exhibited the tumor to the class, but informed the mother that he could
not operate upon the child without the consent of her husband. One of
the students, in his eagerness to examine the tumor, jumped over into
the little inclosure designed for the operator and his patients. Dr.
Mott, observing this intrusion, turned to the student and asked him,
with the most innocent expression of countenance: 'Are you the father of
this child?' Thunders of applause and laughter greeted this ingenious
rebuke, during which the intruder returned to his place crestfallen."

He was equally as successful in his private practice as in his labors in
the medical school. His brilliant reputation preceded him in his return
to his native country, and immediately upon opening his office in New
York he entered upon a large and lucrative practice. His skill as a
surgeon was in constant demand, and it is said that during his long
career he tied the common carotid artery forty-six times, cut for stone
one hundred and sixty-five times, and amputated nearly one thousand
limbs. His old preceptor, Sir Astley Cooper, proud of the distinction
won by his favorite pupil, said of him exultingly: "He has performed
more of the great operations than any man living, or that ever did
live."

When he was but thirty-three years old (in 1818) he placed a ligature
around the bracheo-cephalic trunk or arteria innominata, within two
inches of the heart, for aneurism of the right subclavian artery. This
was the first time this wonderful operation had ever been performed, and
the skill and success with which he accomplished it stamped him as one
of the brightest lights of his profession. "The patient survived the
operation twenty-eight days, and thus demonstrated the feasibility of
this hazardous and thus far unparalleled undertaking. He discovered in
this case that, though all supply of blood to the blood-vessels of the
right arm was apparently cut off, the circulation was kept up by the
interosculating blood-vessels, the pulsation at the wrist maintained,
and no evidence of loss of vitality or warmth manifested in the limb.
The patient finally died from secondary hemorrhage."

In 1828 he performed successfully the most difficult and dangerous
operation known to surgery. A clergyman called upon him to remove an
enormous tumor in the neck, in which were imbedded and twisted many of
the great arteries. In this operation it became necessary to take out
entire the right clavicle or collar bone, to lay bare the membrane which
surrounds the lungs, to search for and dissect around the arteries which
ran through the tumor, to make forty ligatures, and to remove an immense
mass of diseased matter. This terrible operation had never been
attempted before, and was performed by Dr. Mott without the aid of
chloroform; yet it was done so skillfully that the patient survived it,
and in 1865 was still living and discharging his ministerial duties. It
was thirty years before it was attempted again in any part of the world.
It was a great triumph of the genius of the operator, and won him
praises from men of science in all countries.

In 1821 "he performed the first operation for osteo-sarcoma of the lower
jaw. In 1822 he introduced his original operation for immobility of the
lower jaw. He was the first surgeon who removed the lower jaw for
necrosis, and the first to tie successfully the primitive iliac artery
for aneurism. Other of his original operations were cutting out two
inches of the deep jugular vein, inseparably imbedded in a tumor, and
tying both ends of the vein, and closing, with a fine ligature, wounds
of large veins of a longitudinal or transverse kind, even where an
olive-sliced piece had been cut out."

It was invariably his practice before attempting an operation on a
living subject to perform it on a dead body, and by the most minute and
patient examination to render himself absolute master of the anatomy of
the parts to be operated upon. He was a thoroughly conscientious man in
the exercise of his profession, and was always on his guard to resist
that greatest danger of the skillful surgeon--the temptation to use the
knife needlessly. It was his practice to investigate his cases
thoroughly, and never to use the knife unless his judgment was satisfied
that an operation was necessary. "That he decided in favor of operating
when some of his associates hesitated, was due rather to his large
experience than to an overweening fondness for the use of the knife." In
his operations he was firm and decided. Gifted with an unusual
steadiness of nerve and strength of muscle, he never allowed his
sympathy for the patient to cause him to hesitate or inflict one pang
less than the case required. He was prompt and ready in the event of
unforeseen complications, and never permitted any thing to take him by
surprise. His manner toward his patients was tender and sympathizing to
a remarkable degree, and his brother surgeons used to say of him, that
he seemed to have the power of cutting with less pain to the patient
than was possessed by most operators. During forty years of his practice
anaesthetics were unknown, and he had to operate with the full
consciousness that his patient was suffering the keenest agony. Besides
attaining such an exalted position as a surgeon, Dr. Mott won an
enviable reputation as a physician. His practice was confined almost
entirely to the best class of the people of New York, and he was for
many years the favorite accoucheur in a large circle of families in that
city.

He was an eminently progressive man. He fully recognized the advance of
science with the growth of the world, and was always prompt to welcome
any valuable discovery in medicine or surgery. He was among the first to
adopt and advocate the use of anaesthetics, for no man had had more cause
to understand the necessity of such assistants. He was himself the
inventor of many valuable surgical instruments, but he gladly welcomed
the introduction of others, even though they superseded his own in use.
To the close of his life he was a diligent student, and watched the
progress of his science with a keen and intelligent eye. He was the
author of several works of merit, including a volume of travels, and the
translator of "Velpau's Operative Surgery," to which he made extensive
and valuable additions and annotations. He received numerous literary
and scientific honors from colleges, universities, and learned bodies in
the United States and Europe.

In 1835 he visited Europe for the purpose of resting from his arduous
labors, and spent several years in traveling extensively in England, on
the continent, and in the East. His great achievements had made him as
famous in the Old World as at home, and he was received wherever he went
with great distinction. He was cordially welcomed by the most eminent
surgeons of Paris, and Louis Philippe conceived a warm friendship for
him. During his visit to Constantinople, he was called upon to attend
professionally the reigning Sultan Abdul Medjid, who was suffering from
a tumor in the head. Dr. Mott successfully removed this tumor, and was
afterwards invested by the Sultan with the order of Knight of
Medjidechi, of Constantinople.

During his visit to Paris, a circumstance occurred which he related upon
his return home, and which will serve to show the extremes to which
professional skill and vanity will sometimes carry men. One of the most
eminent surgeons in Paris asked him if he would like to see him perform
his original operation. Dr. Mott replied that nothing would give him
more pleasure. "Then you shall see it to-morrow," said the Frenchman.
"But stay," he added, "now I think of it, there is no patient in the
hospital who has that malady. No matter, my dear friend, there is a poor
devil in ward No. ---- who is of no use to himself or any body else, and
if you'll come to-morrow, I'll operate beautifully on him." Dr. Mott at
once declined to attend the operation or to countenance in any way so
horrible an outrage.

In person Dr. Mott was a thorough gentleman of the old school. He was an
exceedingly handsome man, and was possessed of an erect and
well-developed figure. His hair was as white as snow, and his dress,
which consisted of a simple suit of spotless black, with linen of
matchless purity, was in the most perfect taste. He was grave and
dignified in his deportment, and polished and courteous in every action.
Even in his most difficult and trying operations the services of the
assistants were always promptly acknowledged with scrupulous politeness.
He was possessed of many friends, and was regarded with pride and
veneration by his profession throughout the world.

During the last winter of his life he had lectured once or twice at the
Medical School, and had performed several operations of importance in
his private practice. Although nearly eighty, he was still erect and
vigorous, and was far from considering himself too old for his work.

On the morning of the 15th of April, 1865, he sent for his barber, as
was his custom, and submitted himself to the hands of the man who had
been his attendant in this capacity for years. He was sitting in his
dressing-room, and, being in fine spirits, began conversing with the
barber, who, during the conversation, asked him if he had heard the
terrible news of the day.

"What is the news?" asked the doctor.

"President Lincoln was killed last night at the theater in Washington,"
was the reply.

The doctor turned as pale as death, and, trembling violently, motioned
the barber aside, and tottered into the chamber adjoining, in which his
wife was dressing.

"My dear," he gasped, scarcely able to speak, "I have received such a
shock. President Lincoln has been murdered."

[Illustration: "PRESIDENT LINCOLN HAS BEEN MURDERED!"]

His agitation had now become so great that he could say no more. He sank
down into a chair, pale and trembling, and so feeble that he could
scarcely sit up. He was seized in a short time with acute pains in the
back, and at the same time his vigor seemed to desert him entirely, and
he became a weak and broken old man. He was obliged to seek his bed,
from which he never rose. He grew feebler every day, and died on the
26th of April, 1865.

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