He made no parade about what he could do, but
only fixed up a plain pasteboard notice, informing the public that
he possessed an infallible remedy for the cholera, and would engage
to cure all who sent for him."
"And was he successful?"
"Successful! It beats all belief; and his remedy so simple! For
some days we all took him for a quack, and would have no faith in
him at all, although he performed some wonderful cures upon poor
folks, who could not afford to send for the doctor. The Indian
village was attacked by the disease, and he went out to them, and
restored upward of a hundred of the Indians to perfect health.
They took the old lean oxen out of the cart, and drew him back to
Montreal in triumph. This 'stablished him at once, and in a few
days' time he made a fortune. The very doctors sent for him to cure
them; and it is to be hoped that in a few days he will banish the
cholera from the city."
"Do you know his famous remedy?"
"Do I not? - Did he not cure me when I was at the last gasp? Why, he
makes no secret of it. It is all drawn from the maple-tree. First
he rubs the patient all over with an ointment, made of hog's lard
and maple-sugar and ashes, from the maple-tree; and he gives him a
hot draught of maple-sugar and ley, which throws him into a violent
perspiration. In about an hour the cramps subside; he falls into a
quiet sleep, and when he awakes he is perfectly restored to health."
Such were our first tidings of Stephen Ayres, the cholera doctor,
who is universally believed to have effected some wonderful cures.
He obtained a wide celebrity throughout the colony.[1]
[1] A friend of mine, in this town, has an original portrait of
this notable empiric - this man sent from heaven. The face is rather
handsome, but has a keen, designing expression, and is evidently
that of an American, from its complexion and features.
The day of our arrival in the port of Montreal was spent in packing
and preparing for our long journey up the country. At sunset, I
went upon deck to enjoy the refreshing breeze that swept from the
river. The evening was delightful; the white tents of the soldiers
on the Island of St. Helens glittered in the beams of the sun, and
the bugle-call, wafted over the waters, sounded so cheery and
inspiring, that it banished all fears of the cholera, and, with
fear, the heavy gloom that had clouded my mind since we left
Quebec. I could once more hold sweet converse with nature, and
enjoy the soft loveliness of the rich and harmonious scene.
A loud cry from one of the crew startled me; I turned to the river,
and beheld a man struggling in the water a short distance from our
vessel.
