IN A TIME before medical approval boards, health remedies came from a few different sources. First, there were those who could afford doctors whose training would allow them knowledge over certain chemicals. Then, there were the herbalists. These were usually women who used folkloric knowledge to create teas and balms from nature. Finally, there were the snake oil salesmen, who used exaggerated claims to flog their patented “cures” from town to town. This final group of con artists would stop at nothing to line their own pockets.
Although Limerick had its fair share of native snake oil salesmen throughout the centuries, this tale focuses on one William Henry Hartley and his Sequah’s Prairie Flower and Indian Oil miracle cure-all.
In the late 1880s, the American Wild West was all the rage. News of gun battles, gold, and glory was regularly reported in the press. In 1887, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show arrived in England to entertain Queen Victoria for her golden jubilee. This caused the craze to gain even more recognition.
That same year, Hartley, an English man, jumped on the fad by growing his hair out to give the appearance of a Native American.
Hartley claimed that his oils used traditional recipes from the native people of the west coast. He began travelling throughout England selling his wears. He even produced a lavishly-coloured weekly magazine to help promote his product – which he claimed cured rheumatism and any kind of blood disorder.
“The Great Sequah”, as he called himself, would hire a band in each town he visited, who in turn would tell of the benefits of his remedies and play at his shows.
These shows would seem extremely unusual today. One of the audience highlights came when Hartley would pick a member from the audience and pull out their teeth.
Dental work was near non-existent for those below a certain income level. Even for those with funds, dental work was a painful process. If someone could remove a painful tooth easily, they were highly prized.
In November 1890, advertisements of The Great Sequah’s arrival into Limerick started appearing in the local press.
The Limerick Reporter ran an advert from JP Evans & Co, 131 George Street (now O’Connell Street), which claimed to act as the sole agent in the city for the sale of Sequah’s Prairie Flower and Indian Oil. The ointment was advertised at two shillings a bottle.
The same issue was filled with similar “cures”. Holloway’s Pills & Ointment claimed to cure diseases of the liver, stomach, kidney or bowel, skin disease, boils, bad legs, and more. Clarke’s World-Famed Blood Mixture claimed to cure, amongst other things, sores on the neck, blackheads, skin disease, and scurvy. Kendall’s Pyro-Gestine cured biliousness and bloating after meals. Dr Lalor’s Phosphdyne cured depression and loss of appetite.
Those other cures and their creators were content to stay on the page. The Great Sequah arrived in style.
He was already wildly known throughout the country when his gilded caravan travelled through the streets of Limerick. He stayed for a number of weeks, setting up a stall in the pig market on Cathedral Place.
His attire came in three forms: a Buffalo Bill impersonator, complete with a large hat and brown coat with tassels; a Native American dressed in an “Indian feather” head piece and a “gold” cloak; and a medical man, dressed in white, who removed teeth while a band played to drown out the sounds of the screams.
One of those who had their teeth removed was Mamie Howlett, owner of the George Hotel.
Some sixty years later, Howlett still remembered the experience. She recalled it for the Limerick Leader on 3 July 1950:
“The Great Sequah stood before me all in while, a lamp on his forehead that blinded my eyes. I showed him my teeth; he nearly tore my jaw out of my head. Did anyone hear my screams? God no, only the strains of the band full speed; my teeth were out. I was shown down the other side of the caravan; I did not wait for my companions.”
Despite the pain, it was a relief for many to be rid of the rotten tooth. A contemporary report noted that “the markets where Sequah had carried out on his wonderful operations were crowded to inconvenience… Last night he gave a good many comfort who had suffered from troublesome teeth”.
Some of those who were now a tooth lighter brought him gifts as thanks.
On his final night in the city, while he was dressed in his full regalia, he mounted his carriage. One of the sheds in the market gave way from the weight of people trying to catch a glimpse of the man. Two children were injured in the collapse.
This did not stop the excitement as fireworks were shot into the sky. His carriage was pulled through the city to Cruise’s Hotel by satisfied customers.
At the hotel, a civic banquet had been prepared, with Mayor William J O’Donnell presiding. A six course meal arrived at the table, beginning with hare soup and ending with a dessert of grapes, apples, and pears.
During the evening’s proceedings, many speeches were given. Some of the speeches chastised the local doctors for dismissing The Great Sequah as a charlatan.
Over the next few short years, The Great Sequah’s fortunes took a tumble as the Inland Revenue began investigating his profits. His miracle cure oil was exposed as a cheap fish oil mixed with turpentine and camphor.
The doctors in Limerick undoubtedly uttered “I told you so” – at least to their personal acquaintances. Only five years after he received a lavish reception in Limerick, his company went into liquidation.
Further reading:
Schupbach, “Illustrations from the Wellcome Institute Library. Sequah: An English “American Medicine”-man in 1890”, Medical History, Vol. 29, Iss. 3, pp. 272-317, (1985).
