Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, fifth series, no. 124, vol. III, May 15, 1886

After a time, the steward appeared and began his preparations for dinner. He was a sandy-haired, foxy-faced man, with a retreating chin and prominent teeth. I went on, pretending to read, and taking but little or no notice of him; when presently I was startled by a low warning ‘Hist!’ and on glancing up, I saw that the man was regarding me with a strangely earnest look. When he perceived that he had attracted my attention, he held up a finger, as if in warning, and then said in a whisper, that was a strange jumble of broken English interlarded with French, such as I cannot attempt to reproduce: ‘Do not appear to notice me, monsieur, nor speak to me aloud, for the love of heaven!’

I stared at him in astonishment, but so far obeyed his adjuration as to remain silent.

‘Monsieur is an Englishman,’ he began again presently, but still in a whisper so low that only with difficulty could I make out what he said; ‘and his kind heart will not allow him to refuse to do a small service for one who is in great extremity. Is it not so?’

‘Before I can promise, I must know what the service is that you want me to do,’ I whispered back.

‘It is only to post a certain letter after monsieur’s arrival in London.’

I could not repress a start. ‘But how soon am I likely to be back in London?’ I asked with an eagerness I could not conceal.

‘If all goes well, in less than twenty-four hours from now.’

Here, indeed, was joyful tidings; but I suppose I must have looked somewhat incredulous, for a moment later the man added: ‘Monsieur will find that what I tell him is the truth.’

‘In that case, of course, I shall be quite willing to post any letter you may intrust to my care.’

‘O monsieur, thanks—a thousand thanks!’ replied the man in a tone the sincerity of which I could not doubt. ‘If Monsieur Karavich could do so, he would thank monsieur in person, because it is he who is the writer of the letter.’

‘Monsieur Karavich!’ I exclaimed aloud. ‘I thought that’——

The clatter of a dozen knives on the table drowned my voice. The steward had turned as white as a sheet. ‘For the love of heaven, monsieur, do not speak above a whisper,’ he said after a pause and a frightened look round. ‘What I am doing now is at the risk of my life—but that matters little. No; Monsieur Karavich is not dead. To avoid any dangerous questions being asked, he was brought down here as if he were a dead man in a coffin made for the purpose. Oh, but it was cunningly contrived! Of all Monsieur Karavich’s friends, no one knew—there was not one to warn him.’

Before I could say anything further, he had left the cabin, but he was back again in the course of two or three minutes. ‘Here is the letter, monsieur,’ he said, still in a whisper. ‘The thanks of ten, of twenty, of fifty thousand brave hearts would be yours, if they knew the service you have promised to do. In less than fifty hours, it will be known in every capital in Europe that Fedor Karavich is a prisoner.’

I took the letter and put it away in an inner pocket of my vest. ‘No eyes but mine shall see the letter. I will post it with my own hands as soon as I reach London. But tell me—who and what _is_ Monsieur Karavich?’

‘One of the greatest and noblest of men, and a true patriot, if ever there was one. Monsieur Karavich is not his real name; he has twenty different names for different occasions. By birth he belongs to one of the noblest families in his native land; but his heart, his life, his fortune, have been given to the poor and oppressed. His real name is a name of terror wherever tyranny hides and trembles.’

‘And what will be his fate, now that his enemies have got him in their clutches?’

‘Who can tell? It is not the first time the Bear has had him in its grip. He passed ten years in Siberia when little more than a boy. _Probablement_, he will disappear—vanish utterly, and be heard of never again.’

‘Is there no way of helping him? Are there no means of rescuing him?’

The man spread his hands with a gesture eloquent of despair. ‘There is no hope—none,’ he answered with a half-sob in his voice. There was silence for a few moments, then I noticed his strange face lighten, and coming close to me, he said in a lower whisper than before: ‘And yet, monsieur, who can tell? Fedor Karavich has friends where none would expect to find them—friends secret, but devoted to the cause, even amongst the highest of the high. All that gold can do, all that powerful influence unseen and working in the dark, can do for him will be done; but after all’—— He finished with a despondent shake of the head.

‘The cause, as you call it, seems to have its emissaries everywhere,’ I remarked. ‘Even you yourself’—— I paused. If an apparition had suddenly stood before the man, he could scarcely have looked more scared. He gave a great gasp, but did not speak.

A moment later, we heard the sound of footsteps. As M. Legros entered by one door, the steward disappeared through another. I became at once immersed in my novel.

The same party sat down to dinner that had met at breakfast. Each of them addressed a few words to me in English, and treated me with the utmost courtesy; but, as before, the chief part of the conversation was kept up in a language of which I knew nothing. When dinner was over, cigarettes and cards were introduced, and I was invited by M. Legros to form one in a rubber of whist. This, however, I declined to do, and went back to my book instead. And so a couple of hours sped quietly away.

At length I said to M. Legros: ‘If you have no objection, and these gentlemen will not think it rude on my part, I will retire to my berth.’

‘Do so by all means,’ he answered. ‘But if I were you, I would only partially undress. It is by no means unlikely that you may be called in a hurry.’

About four hours later, I was called in a hurry. A tap came to my door, and the voice of Legros said: ‘Are you awake, monsieur? If so, be good enough to dress as quickly as possible.’

Five minutes later I joined him in the saloon.

‘I am grieved to say that we are about to lose the pleasure of your company,’ he observed in his blandest tones. ‘Whatever my regrets may be, I am afraid that I can scarcely expect you to share them; but it is just possible that we may have the felicity of meeting again on some future occasion. In any case, we shall hardly fail to remember each other. Wrap this cloak around you; I trust you will accept it at my hands as a slight souvenir of our acquaintance; and put this flask of cognac in your pocket; you will find the night-air cold on the water.—And now for a few last words of caution.’ His brows contracted and his face seemed to darken a little as he went on: ‘For your own sake, and if you value your future welfare—nay, what do I say, if you value life itself—you will not speak one word to any living being of that which you have seen and heard during the past few hours. Should we find the authorities in London setting on foot certain inquiries, we shall feel assured that any information they may have acquired can only have emanated from you. In that case—— But I feel sure I need not say more, except that I wish you to believe that my warning is intended for your good. And now, _cher_ monsieur, if you are ready.’

I followed him on deck like a man in a dream. I had not noticed till now that the screw of the steamer had ceased to revolve and that we were scarcely moving through the water. The night was bright and starlit. ‘Yonder little vessel—what you English, I believe, call a fishing-smack—will be your home for the next hour or two,’ said M. Legros, pointing to a dark object some little distance away. ‘It will convey you to the nearest port, from which you will readily make your way to London.’ He took my hand and held it with a hearty grip. ‘And now, adieu, and _bon voyage_.’ Then in a whisper: ‘Remember my warning. In a pocket of the cloak you will find money to defray your expenses to London.’

They were his last words to me. A moment later I was being transferred in a small boat from the steamer to the smack. Even before I got aboard the latter, the steamer was under way again. We could see her lights for a little while after she herself was lost to view, then they, too, were swallowed up in the darkness.

The crew of the smack consisted of three men and a boy. They were a rough but kindly set, and did their best under the circumstances to make me comfortable. I asked them no questions, nor did they ask me any. No doubt, M. Legros had paid them well for the service they had undertaken to perform. Soon after daybreak they put me ashore at Lowestoft, and by noon I found myself in London. I at once took a cab and drove off to my friend Gascoigne’s lodgings, only stopping for a moment by the way to post poor Karavich’s letter. I had an impression, but it may have been groundless, that my movements were watched and followed both at Lowestoft and in London.

I had not been an hour in Gascoigne’s company before I had so far disobeyed M. Legros’ warning as to have told my friend everything. At my age, it could not well have been otherwise; the burden of such a secret was too heavy for my young shoulders to bear. But I had no desire to share it with any one else: once I had told the story to my friend, I felt that I could hold my tongue for ever.

Three days later, in the dusk of evening, Gascoigne and I strolled down the street to a certain house in which Karavich’s note had been addressed. We found the number readily enough. The ground-floor was a baker’s shop with an unmistakable English name on the sign—certainly not the name on Karavich’s letter. In the window was a card inscribed: ‘First and Second Floors to let Unfurnished;’ and sure enough, on looking up we saw four uncurtained windows staring blankly into the dark like so many sightless eyes. We made no inquiry at the shop, but hurried away, feeling as if we had touched the verge of another mystery.

One evening, early in the following spring, I was standing gazing into a jeweller’s window in Bond Street, when a passing stranger halted, apparently with the view of following my example. I was conscious of his presence, but that was all. I did not even glance at him. Suddenly a voice whispered in my ear: ‘Fedor Karavich has escaped; let his enemies beware!’ I turned with a start, but only to see a tall dark-clothed figure striding swiftly away.

* * * * *

Before these lines see the light, twelve thousand miles of ocean will intervene between me and the readers of them. Had it not been so, in all probability the strange experience embodied therein would never have been made public.

ON PREVENTION OF BLINDNESS IN THE NEW-BORN.

BY A MEMBER OF THE OPHTHALMOLOGICAL SOCIETY.

Among the grandest of our charitable institutions may be counted those for the care and instruction of the blind. Their utility and the benefit they confer are beyond question, and they are in the highest degree deserving of moral and material support. It is fortunate that human sympathy is seldom slow in extending itself to those, be they young or old, who have lost the priceless boon of vision and who dwell in ‘eternal night.’ Whilst this is the case, however, and it is a matter for thankfulness, it is well to remember that ours is peculiarly an age when prevention is held to be better than cure, and when considered in connection with cases that admit of ‘no cure,’ the wisdom of pursuing a course of ‘prevention’ is only too evident.

It is well known that a large number of the inmates of our blind institutions have been rendered fit objects for admission by preventable causes. The purpose the writer has now before him is the consideration of a class of such preventable cases, but which also embraces the largest proportion. It is peculiarly a subject on which the public need information, and by the acquirement and diffusion of which knowledge, it will be within their power to do an amount of good, and which will tend in some degree to lessen the number blinded in the manner to be now described.

The class of cases to which reference is made are those of young babies, to whom, in consequence of a serious inflammation occurring within a few days after birth, the light of the world may be taken away from them, almost, indeed, before their eyes have opened to it. The disease is principally, but by no means exclusively found among the poorer people; and as it is among them that ignorance mostly prevails, the direst results are most frequently witnessed. The affection—setting-in a few days after birth—is characterised by a discharge of matter from the eyes, and attended with redness and swelling, generally, of the eyelids. Whilst on the one hand it must be strongly urged that such a condition is a serious one, on the other it must be equally recognised that if treated sufficiently early it is amenable to remedies. No mother of a babe should, on noticing the appearances indicated, delay sending for or taking her child to a medical man. The grossest ignorance, however, prevails among mothers and those surrounding them, as to the gravity of this affection, at the time and after the births of their children. The writer in his medical practice experiences few circumstances more sad, and calculated to harrow one’s feelings more keenly, than for a baby to be brought for the first medical treatment when the disease has already wrought such havoc as to render a cure an improbability, and too often an impossibility. Such instances are of frequent occurrence in hospital practice. Dr Emrys-Jones some time ago collected statistics as to the condition of the eyes when brought for treatment at the Manchester Royal Eye Hospital; and he found six and a quarter per cent. of the eyes were hopelessly lost, in some cases both eyes, in others one only. There is, moreover, an amazing degree of careless indifference displayed, and when a case in a wretched condition is seen by a medical man for the first time at the end of one, two, or three weeks after the onset of the affection, to the question, ‘What have you been doing all this time for the baby’s eyes?’ will come the reply: ‘Why, nothing, sir;’ as if a special virtue lay in a negative answer.

The importance of preventing blindness being caused by this disease will be evident, when it is asserted that a third or more of all cases in the blind schools of England have been occasioned by it. Nor, indeed, does this in any manner show its entire effects; for those who have only lost one eye through it, would, of course, be omitted from calculation, as well as those whose vision had been affected in a less degree. On the continent, the proportion would appear to be equally large. In Germany, Reinhard, from investigations at twenty-two German blind asylums, found six hundred and fifty-eight blind from this disease among a total of twenty-one hundred and sixty-five, or thirty and a half per cent. Observations among our own institutions would appear to represent as large or a larger percentage of cases. The writer has kept a record of children admitted into a teaching institution with which he is connected, and the number in his notebook is sixty-two. Of this number he excludes seven, as either not having been examined by him, or the cause of blindness not verified; but of the remaining fifty-five, in no fewer than twenty-one is this affection distinctly traceable as the cause of blindness. This gives a percentage of about thirty-nine. No words, it would appear, can be necessary to add to the telling effect of such figures.

It must be recollected, moreover, that the blind are not only shut off from the pleasures of this world, but their unhappy lot too frequently renders them a necessary burden on their more fortunate sight-possessing fellows. It is desirable that a knowledge of the dreadful results following a neglect of this disease should be impressed upon the community. The results mentioned comparatively seldom occur among the well-to-do, for the reason that the doctor is in immediate attendance, and under skilful treatment the affection is cured; but, however, by extending information on this subject, it will, it is hoped, reach the less fortunately situated. A comprehensive plan for attaining such an object was introduced to the notice of the Ophthalmological Society of the United Kingdom, by Dr David M‘Keown of Manchester. He proposed to utilise the poor-law and birth registration organisations. Such a plan would enable every mother of new-born infants to have read to her, and to be put in possession of, or of whoever may be in attendance, a card specifying the characters and dangers of the disease; and again, as the birth of every child has to be registered within a certain number of days, another opportunity would be afforded for giving a card with the desired information. The card, it was proposed, should run in this way: ‘_Instructions regarding new-born infants._—If the child’s eyelids become red and swollen, or begin to run matter within a few days after birth, it is to be taken without a day’s delay to a doctor. The disease is very dangerous; and if not at once treated, may destroy the sight of both eyes.’

The Society, on the Report of its Committee on this subject, adopted, with slight modifications, the series of resolutions suggested by Dr M‘Keown. The first resolution of the Society, and which chiefly concerns us here, was as follows: ‘That the purulent ophthalmia of new-born infants being the cause of a vast amount of blindness, mainly because of the ignorance of the public regarding its dangerous character, and the consequent neglect to apply for timely medical aid, it is desirable to instruct those in charge of new-born children by a card’ (as previously mentioned). This is to be distributed, the resolution adds, by the poor-law and birth registration organisations of the United Kingdom; and details the methods to be adopted for carrying the plan into operation. In a subsequent resolution, the aid of the medical press is solicited, and the attention of the various institutions which train or employ midwives is drawn to this very important subject.

These resolutions, as it has been said, were adopted by the Ophthalmological Society; and they were desired to be communicated to the Presidents of the Local Government Board, and of similar bodies in Scotland and Ireland. A deputation also was appointed to wait upon the Presidents of these bodies, if necessary, to urge the desirability of the plan sketched out being put into practice; and among other members of this deputation were Sir William Bowman, and the President (Mr Jonathan Hutchinson) of the Society.

It is very much to be hoped that the action of such an influential Society will have a good effect. It clearly puts the gravity of the case before the public; and any individual who can in any way spread the knowledge contained in the foregoing Report will be engaged in a really good cause.

For some time, the Society for the Prevention of Blindness has issued and circulated a leaflet entitled, ‘Advice to Mothers who do not wish their Children to be Blind.’ It contains sound directions as to the nature of the disease, its recognition, and hints as to what should be done whilst the doctor is being fetched, which should, however, be by no means delayed. Any one interested in the welfare of the blind, and wishing for further information as to the objects of the Society, should communicate with Dr Roth, Secretary, 48 Wimpole Street, London, W.

The object the writer has had in view in this article has been to draw attention to this affection of babies’ eyes, and to enforce the urgent necessity for prompt and proper treatment. He has not inserted any directions as to remedies parents may themselves employ, because it is essentially a disease that no one but a medical man should treat, and parents should be encouraged to apply at once for relief. For the very poor, in every town is a hospital or dispensary, to which the infant can be taken. The better-to-do should seek the services of their own doctor. Whilst saying this, however, it may be observed that cleanliness is of the greatest importance; and this should be regarded both as to the infant’s surroundings and also as to the eyes, in cleansing them with _clean_ tepid water frequently, of all discharge; and this requires to be done very gently. At the time of the birth of the baby, also, the eyes are the first parts that should be washed clean, and not left until the last, as is not unfrequently the case. If this were done, the disease in many cases would be prevented.