Faithful Old Doctor of the Boston Mountains Was One of Last of a Vanishing Type:

St. Joe, March 16 (Special) - When the winter rains swell to torrents the mountain streams, and, freezing, coat with ice the steep trails so that not even a roughshod horse may pass in safely, it is then that there is complete isolation of the far flung settlements of which the little town of Witt Springs is the center. Here is an area of perhaps 50 square miles lying in the corners of Newton, Pope, Van Buren and Searcy counties, 20 miles or more distant from the nearest railroad, and until recently having no modern highways. The chill blasts of winter, with rains and temperatures alternatingly warm and cold, make real hardships and bring sickness and privation into many a mountain cabin.

But even when the people living there were shut in for weeks at a time, their friends and relatives in the distant towns on the railroad felt little worry for their welfare. For they knew that living out there among them was an old doctor whose skill they regarded as almost miraculous, but greater even than his skill was his love of the people to whom he ministered. They knew that he would brave any hardship to answer their calls and cheerfully endure privations that he might relieve their sufferings.

For 50 years and more this doctor was their ministering angel. Although advancing years for more than a decade had been shortening the radius of the circle of his activities, each spring when the roads would be open again there would come in from the mountain fastness some new story of his medical skill, some new tale of his devotion and self sacrifice.

Riding over the treacherous mountain paths in the wildest of nights, wearied with much traveling and loss of sleep, with only the keen senses of his trusty mount to guard his safety, he came through all these dangers unseated, so that it seemed that he bore a charmed life.

Shiveringly watching beside some pain-racked form in a meagerly chinked log cabin, enduring untold privations that he might nurse back to health or ease the last hours of some sufferer, is the image that will remain in the memory of those among whom he ministered. For such was Dr. James H. Drewry, a real "doctor of the old school." He was one of the last of a vanishing type, the frontier doctor, whose character and service were the same, whether exemplified in the person of Dr. McLaren, riding the bleak moors of Scotland, or of Dr. Drewry traveling the tortuous paths and dangerous trails of the Boston mountains. They were comparatively poor in worldly goods, but rich in the enduring love of those for whom they made their lives ones of sacrificial service.

Served in "Flu" Epidemic

One of the hardest winters in the hills was that of 1918-19. Deep snows filled the mountain passes and even made communication between neighboring farms difficult. All mail routes were suspended. And with all this hardship came the never to be forgotten "flu" epidemic, when the angel of death passed over the hills smiting whole households, and respecting the lintel and door posts of few homes.

But when at last the hardness of the winter was passed and the news came in from the hills, it told perhaps of the greatest accomplishment of Dr. Drewry's life, both in medical skill and self-sacrifice. During the epidemic he had traveled day and night over the deep snows, had treated 251 cases of the "flu" and had not lost one. It was said that at the beginning he had mapped out a treatment which he had used successfully in every case.

This spring when the roads became passable and travel was resumed between Witt Springs and the towns on the railroad the news that was brought in was that the doctor who had battled so successfully against the epidemic 10 years ago had himself died from the mild recurrence of it during the past winter. The privations and exposure to which he subjected himself in that hard winter following the close of the World War, had marked the beginning of his decline in health. During the past summer he had become very feeble, but he insisted still on responding to urgent calls. At the beginning of his last sickness, over the protests of his family, he got up from his sick bed, threw his "pill pockets" over his shoulder and plodded out through the woods to minister to a sick child. That was his last service as a doctor.

Dr. James H. Drewry was born at Smithsville, DeKalb county, Tennessee, June 10, 1849, and died near Witt Springs February 9, 1929. His parents migrated to Arkansas behind an ox team when he was nine years old and settled in the section of the Boston mountains where they now make their home. There were several branches of the family. There are now many Drewrys in the hills, all related by varying degrees of kinship.

Went to Medical College

James H. Drewry's first experience as a doctor was in studying and practice with Dr. John Stevens in 1876. After securing his license under the regulations of those days he later attended the Arkansas Medical College. His first practice was in 1876. His last professional visit was on December 30, 1928.

So great did his fame become that in his days of greatest activity he could not answer the calls, being summoned to all parts of Searcy, Van Buren, Pope and Newton counties. Frequently people moving from his neighborhood to Oklahoma and Texas have, when seriously ill, sent back for their old country doctor, after they believed their doctors there had failed them. He responded to many such calls.

Neighbors often marveled at his generosity. Widows, orphans and destitute families were as welcome to his services as the wealthiest families in the whole countryside. He was no respecter of persons. Old diaries and notebooks reveal that he died with perhaps $50,000 in doctor bills uncollected. He owned 1,000 acres of land in the neighborhood where he had homesteaded more than 50 years before. He lived on the old homestead to the day of his death.

Many interesting anecdotes are told of him. He experienced many narrow escapes. He was a crack shot. Once in the early days a black bear barred the narrow path he was traveling up a steep bluff, and only a quick shot saving the doctor's life. Once on a dark night the scream of a panther halted him. Two fiery eyes glowered at him from an overhanging tree. He carried a single-shot muzzle-loading rifle. If he missed, the beast would be upon him. He took quick aim in the darkness and fired. There was one frantic scream and the eyes glowered no longer. Once with the same rifle he fired into a heard of deer and killed three with one shot.

During the entire 52 years of his practice, his mounts, in riding to his scattered patients, were confined almost entirely to two animals. He rode one mule for 25 years and one horse for 20 years. During the last two years of his life he plodded on foot to see his patients, when he was no longer able to ride. In spite of his infirmities he said he wished to die in the harness.

Dr. Drewry was also an authority in farming, and operated a large farm and owned much thoroughbred livestock at different times. In the early days he was a great force in helping his neighbors develop the resources of the section. He was a staunch supporter of law and order. He was a member of the Masonic Lodge, and for many years was a familiar figure at the annual meetings of the grand lodge at Little Rock. His wife, a woman of rare character and intelligence, and second in benevolence only to the doctor himself, survives him. He is survived also by several sons and daughters, one son, Elmer Drewry, having been a justice of the peace for many years.

In the practice of his profession Dr. Drewry had many hobbies. His greatest prejudice was against the use of strong medicines and big doses. He was also a believer in the healing qualities of the waters of the mineral springs, including the one known as Magic Springs on his own farm. He had hoped to see this developed into a great health resort.

Arkansas Democrat, March 17, 1929, pg. 2, Will Rice