Soil and Water Pollution : Presented to the American Public Health Association at New Orleans, Dec. 1880 — Text and Context
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authorities agree that any well situated within a few feet of a cess-pool or sewer should be regarded with grave suspicion, for the intervening soil may become overdone with filth at any moment, and cease to act as an efficient filter of the polluted water, and allow organic matter to enter the well; or animal filth may be washed into the well at any time by a hard rain.”
A great many citizens of Indianapolis are drinking water exclusively from cisterns. It is difficult to estimate the number of cisterns within the city limits; but a great deal may be said in regard to the general unwholesomeness of the water they contain. Rain water contains a small proportion of chlorine, the amount varying with the condition of the atmosphere, and the purity of the shedding surface.
When pure rain falls upon a roof it carries down with it all the impurities accumulated there during dry weather; these soon putrify in the cistern, and infect the water.
The majority of the cisterns in the city are faulty in some particular—either proper care was not exercised in their construction, or the necessary repairs were not made in due time—and they are found to be seeping, or leaky. Sufficient attention is not given to keeping the cisterns well closed, and the result is that filth in large quantities is to be found on emptying them. During my examinations I have met with many cistern waters in the city so polluted by sewage infiltration, that an immediate interdict on their use appeared to be called for. Owing to the impurity of the soil, sewage matter finds its way into hundreds of cisterns, and contaminates the water. Many of our cisterns contain water rank with vegetable or animal impurity, and the contents of the greater portion of these are not above suspicion. Some of them are neither more or less than shallow wells, receiving more of their contents by percolation than by inflow above.
Last December 458 cisterns in Memphis, Tenn., were examined with the following result: Sound, 209; seeping, eighty-two; and undoubtedly leaking, 167. In the total number, there were 249 condemned as unfit for use. To what extent these leaky cisterns contributed to the epidemic of yellow fever we cannot tell. The probability of sewage contamination in each instance was strong.
In the year of 1879 there were seventy-eight deaths from typhoid and typho-malarial fevers in Indianapolis. It may be stated as a probable fact, that our siege of fevers in 1879 originated and was afterward propagated in polluted drinking water, and ill-ventilated apartments poisoned by sewer gases, or in close proximity to foul and overflowing water closets and cess-pools. Forty-three per cent. of the total deaths in the city in 1879 were deaths of children under five years of age. Among the general causes of the high death rate of infants, may be mentioned poverty and ignorance. These two conditions existing in the parents, are great enemies of the public health and are two important factors which go to make up this startling infantile mortality. But it must be conceded that typhoid fever, scarlet fever, diphtheria, measles, hooping cough and diarrhœal diseases have been endemic in our midst as the result of foul air and polluted water. Deaths from these causes occur more or less at all ages, but distinctively more among children. The influence of filth causes the infants and young children to die at twice, or thrice, or four times their fair standard rate of mortality; and this disproportion seems to mark the young lives as finer tests of soil and water pollution than are the acclimated adults. The board of health of Indianapolis report that hundreds of cellars in this city are full, or partly full of water, the entire year; and that the increase of zymotic diseases is due largely to wet and damp cellars, as well as to the long continued and general practice of covering up foul privy vaults, after they have become full, to save the expense of removing the contents.
Being thoroughly impressed with the facts above enumerated, I commenced to make investigations. I employed a competent chemist, Mr. Jno. Hurty, to make sanitary examinations of water, and assist me in the work.
In the collection of samples of water, special care was exercised in regard to cleanliness and to avoid introducing any errors into our examinations. Below I give a tabular statement of the analyses of waters taken from surface dug wells in the city. Excepting the permanganate of potash test, the quantities are in one litre (22-100ths of an imperial gallon).
Moses T. Runnels opens his 1880 address to the American Public Health Association with a stark numerical claim: over one hundred thousand preventable deaths occur annually in the United States. He immediately anchors this statistic in local evidence, noting that zymotic diseases killed 443 people in Indianapolis in 1879—a 32 percent increase over the previous year. Rather than offering a general plea for sanitation, Runnels frames his argument as a forensic investigation into specific, measurable causes.
Numbers as Evidence
Runnels relies heavily on quantified data to build his case. He cites Dr. Draper's Massachusetts mortality tables, breaks down Indianapolis death records by disease category, and calculates that for every fatal case, twenty times as many people were sick. His own chemical analyses are reported with precision: chlorine measured at 0.05992 grammes per litre, permanganate of potash titration requiring fourteen drops versus eight for distilled water. These figures are not mere decoration; they are the core of his argument that water quality can be objectively assessed and linked to disease.
The Subterranean Flow of Contamination
Runnels incorporates geological reasoning from Professor E. T. Cox, who describes three subterranean water streams beneath Indianapolis flowing from northeast to southwest. Cox asserts that rising chloride of sodium in southern wells is “absolute proof of sewer-pollution.” Runnels uses this spatial logic to argue that pollution moves invisibly underground, making well water from the upper seams “absolutely dangerous.” The report thus treats the city's hydrogeology as a map of preventable risk, not merely a natural feature.
Microscopic Witnesses
Beyond chemical tests, Runnels turns to the microscope. A sample from White River reveals “sand, clay, legs, and other parts of insects, foreign matter of many kinds, and animalculæ.” His verdict is blunt: “This water is but little better than sewage.” The inclusion of such visual evidence—insect parts, living organisms—gives his argument a tangible, almost visceral dimension. It transforms abstract pollution into something the reader can picture, reinforcing his claim that filtration through four feet of sand and gravel is insufficient.
A Rhetoric of Urgency and Blame
Runnels does not present his findings neutrally. He declares that the increase in zymotic diseases is “due in a great measure to causes easily preventable,” and he names Indianapolis's water works as a source of “water of doubtful character.” His language is pointed: he asks whether privy vaults or slaughter houses lie near water sources, implying negligence. Yet he also acknowledges limitations—the water works filter river water, and he quotes Professor Taylor's analyses without dismissing them. The tension between accusation and scientific caution gives the report its persuasive edge.
Runnels's address is best read as a piece of advocacy rooted in empirical practice. He weaves together mortality statistics, chemical assays, geological theory, and microscopic observation to build a case for municipal action. Readers interested in the history of public health or the rhetoric of nineteenth-century reform will find here a compact example of how data was marshaled to demand change—and how one doctor tried to prove that the water flowing beneath Indianapolis carried disease.
Sitting with that old report on Indianapolis’s poisoned wells, I felt a strange kinship with its careful, worried author. He was counting deaths, though really he was counting his town’s quiet neglect. The same patient concern surfaced later, quite unexpectedly, in A Letter to the Parishioners of Fulham — Reading Notes, where another writer’s gentle admonishment feels less like a scolding and more like a hand rested on a worn fence.
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