 cry
split the night, but for whatever reason, it raised no
alarm in the large house outside Mt. Airy, N.C
Doubtless just a dream, or more likely, a nightmare. A
few hours later, the winter stillness was broken yet
again, this time by a different voice. Upon awakening
and seeing his twin brother dead beside him, Eng
Bunker instantly recognized his fate:
"Then I am going," he
cried in anguish. The bed they had shared through the
years had become their deathbed, from which neither
could escape or rise alone.
 Eng
and Chang Bunker -- the world's most famous connected
twins, the ones who gave us the term "Siamese
twins" -- had died on a cold January night in
1874. They left the world virtually the same way they
had entered it 63 years before: simultaneously and not
without scandal. Their lives had raised not only
eyebrows, but numerous medical and philosophical
questions. At least one of these -- Would the death of
one precipitate the death of the other? -- was settled
with their passing.
Or was it?
The cause of death -- half of
it, that is -- remains a riddle. Chang had suffered a
stroke four years before and his health had become
frail. He also had been drinking heavily for some
time, had recently been injured in a carriage spill
and had acquired a bad case of bronchitis. Eng, on the
other hand had been in top form, seemingly unaffected
by his brother's declining health.
After their death, one medical
camp held that while Chang had died of a blood clot,
Eng had died of shock. In other words, believing that
the death of his brother would cause his own demise,
Eng was scared literally to death. Another theory held
that the five-inch-long and three-inch-wide band that
connected the twins was a lifeline which, barring
immediate surgical intervention, would pass death from
one to the other. An autopsy found the blood clot in
Chang's brain, but it couldn't resolve the debate over
the cause of Eng's death.
This was not the only
controversy surrounding the event. But perhaps these
extraordinary lives should be put into context. Refer
to the "Guinness Book of World Records," and
you find a paltry seven-line paragraph. From this, you
may learn that the twins were born near Bangkok, in
the isolated kingdom of Siam (which became Thailand in
1939), to Chinese parents; they were named
"right" and "left," later married
sisters from Wilkes County, N.C., and fathered 22
children between them (no pun intended).
Within this brief biography
there are no fewer than three errors. Only one parent
was full-blooded Chinese. The mother was half Chinese
and half Malay. According to the book, "Famous
Thai People," the names most likely described the
green and ripe states of a native fruit. As to their
offspring, Chang and Eng fathered 21 children -- Eng
had 11 and Chang had 10, none of which were twins,
connected or otherwise.
Certainly, their connected lives
aroused much attention and rumor. But behind the
speculations and suspicions, were the lives of two
sometimes charming, sometimes cantankerous men who,
saddled with a dual existence, made a life for
themselves that many could envy. They did not die
childless and alone, drunkard freaks who had worn out
the curiosity of a fickle public. They lived with
dignity, and were among few celebrities known and seen
across America and much of Europe. Even before they
married in 1843, they were described by one writer as
"the eighth wonder of the world."
 Their
birth in 1811 created a sensation. In fact, they might
easily have lost their lives soon after. Siam at the
time was a feudal society, steeped in superstition.
"Anna and the King of Siam" (which was based
on the English governess at the Siamese court) was
written some 50 years after the twins were born, but
the country had not changed much. The king's rule was
absolute, as was his unquestioned ownership of his
subjects.
When the twins were born, none
of the midwives would touch them for fear of becoming
cursed. People saw "the monster" as a bad
omen, and when the king heard of it, he condemned the
infants to death. Luckily, Chang-Eng's mother refused
to abandon them at birth, and the king never acted on
his impulsive death sentence. Another threat -- from
medical doctors who wanted to separate the twins with
everything from saws to red-hot wires -- also was
averted.
The boys adapted to their dual
life, learning to run, jump and swim with perfect
coordination. Their activity helped stretch their
connecting ligament from four to five-and-a-half
inches. By age 14, their father having died six years
before, the two were selling duck eggs to provide for
the family. About this time, Chang-Eng were discovered
by Robert Hunter, a British merchant, who convinced
their mother that her boys' future and prosperity lay
beyond Siam. It took another three years to secure the
king's permission for his vassals to leave Siam.
Whether she realized it or not, Chang-Eng's mother had
all but sold the boys to Hunter for $3,000. Happily,
the terms of bondage would expire in two-and-a-half
years, upon Chang-Eng's 21st birthday. Unhappily,
Chang-Eng's mother only received $500 of the promised
sum.
Hunter and an American partner,
Captain Abel Coffin, managed the twins for the next
few years, showing them in theaters and concert halls
in America and England. Admission was 50 cents a
person. The managers drove the twins at an exhausting
pace, exhibiting them four hours a day, every day, and
touring almost constantly with little rest.
These exhibitions evolved
through the years. At their first showing in Boston, a
city of 61,000 residents in 1829, the twins simply
stood on stage, demonstrated how they walk and run,
and answered questions. Soon, they wowed audiences in
Providence, R.I., with somersaults, backflips and a
show of strength -- carrying the largest audience
member, who weighed in at around 280 pounds. In
England, Chang-Eng added a badminton-like game --
battledore and shuttlecock -- to the act.
While touring, the Siamese twins
were treated respectfully for the most part. When
their managers proposed touring in France; however,
the government refused, explaining that such an
exhibit "might deprave the minds of
children" and cause deformities in unborn
children. Of course, there were also occasional stupid
or indelicate questions, but the twins tried to
maintain their manners and good humor throughout.
Gradually, though, their
patience began to wear thin, especially since they
were not always well-treated by their own managers.
One incident in particular raised their ire. On the
month-long steamer trip to England, Captain Coffin
booked first-class passage for himself. Chang-Eng were
relegated to salt-beef-and-potatoes
"steerage" class, along with the passengers'
servants and ship's crew.
In addition to these annoyances
were the financial questions. At first, Chang-Eng
received only $10 a month plus expenses. Only after
two years was their take increased to $50 a month,
still a meager sum, considering that receipts usually
averaged $1,000 a month.
It is perhaps fortunate for the
twins that their managers were merely exploitative
rather than criminal. It is not entirely unreasonable
to imagine a sinister handler making slaves of the
twins in this pre-Civil War era, or worse, killing
them and selling their bodies to some freak show. As
it was, when the twins turned 21, they were able to
declare their independence and become their own men.
This development parallels that
of their personalities. Chang-Eng had evolved from
foreign boys with no knowledge of English or the
outside world to worldly men with a sharp interest in
learning and culture. At about this time, they began
in their letters to refer to themselves in the plural
"we" rather than in the singular. Clearly,
they were becoming aware of their importance (without
seeming self-important), and had assimilated the idea
of individual freedom.
The twins' intertwined
personalities were the subject of much comment in
newspaper articles about them. Chang, who was on the
twins' own left, was an inch shorter than his brother,
but he made up for it in temper. Chang was usually
described as the dominant brother, quicker
intellectually, but also quicker to anger. Eng was
quieter and more retiring, but had wider intellectual
interests than Chang. As with most people, these early
basic traits hardened somewhat in later life.
Despite minor personality
differences, the twins never ceased to astound their
audiences and acquaintances with the apparent harmony
and synchronicity of their relationship. With only a
handful of exceptions, the two seemed to act as one.
They shared common tastes, habits and opinions to an
uncanny degree. Some observers even speculated that
they must be telepathic, because the two rarely were
heard to talk to one another. These observations
raised numerous questions and spawned many theories
among the medical community.
Not surprisingly, the twins'
medical history is well documented. This is because
their touring routine included an inspection by the
local medical authorities in every new city they
visited. This not only helped counter accusations of
fakery, but lent credibility to the shows. The
newspaper articles that arose from these examinations
provided good publicity as well.
These evaluations sought to
answer one of the questions about the twins that had
dogged them since birth: Could they be successfully
separated? Opinions varied -- and evolved with
increased medical knowledge through the years -- but
most of the doctors agreed that the operation would be
too risky. Certainly before the Civil War, medical
knowledge was not up to the task. Even those who
believed that a surgical separation was possible
tended to oppose the idea, because the twins seemed
perfectly content with their hyphenated existence.
As to their findings, doctors
found the connecting tissue to be tough like
cartilage, with a common navel. The two weighed 180
pounds in 1830 (this would increase within ten years
to 220), and each had a weak eye -- Chang's left eye
and Eng's right.
Through the years doctors
performed numerous experiments on the twins, hoping to
determine the extent of their connection. One doctor
fed asparagus to Chang and found later that his urine
bore the "distinctly . . . peculiar asparagus
smell," but that Eng's did not. On the other
hand, when one was secretly tickled, the other
sometimes reacted with anger, telling the doctor to
stop. In yet another experiment, strong pressure was
applied to the band, which caused the twins to faint.
It is not known whether they passed out from pain or
fright.
After declaring their
independence in 1832, the twins continued touring for
about seven years. During this time, they met Dr.
James Calloway, of Wilkesboro, N.C., who talked them
into a much-needed vacation. This proved to be the
beginning of a new phase in the twins' lives. They
liked the area and the people so much that they
decided to retire from the grind of endless touring
and settle down.
North Carolina in 1839 had been
in the Union about 50 years, but it was one of the
country's least developed, sparsely populated and
backward states. Its economy was almost entirely
agricultural -- the main products being tobacco,
cotton and moonshine -- schools, healthcare and
newspapers were poor and extremely limited, and
disputes were still being resolved by duels. But after
10 years in the public eye, Chang-Eng longed for a
secluded, rural life.
Financially comfortable but
unable to retire from work entirely, the two soon took
up farming, eventually accumulating some 1,000 acres.
They also applied for and received U.S. citizenship
(adopting the last name Bunker) and took up an
interest in two Wilkesboro sisters, Adelaide and Sarah
(Sally) Yates.
Chang was the first to fall in
love, and he chose Addie, who was a year younger than
her 18-year-old sister. Eng and Sally seem to have
been drawn into the connection by necessity.
Certainly, it would have been difficult for either
Chang or Eng alone to marry -- after all, three's a
crowd, and people will talk. And given the fact that
privacy would necessarily be in short supply in any
dual marriage, having wives who were intimately
familiar with one another might be an ideal solution.
In any case, Sally was the last to commit to the
arrangement. Last of the foursome, that is. When
townspeople and the girls' parents got wind of the
business, rocks and threats flew freely, and numerous
objections were raised.
The townspeople were aghast that
two of the county's most sought-after belles should be
destined to enter an "unholy alliance" with
the twins. Even one of Chang-Eng's closest friends
considered the idea of marriage for the twins
"too bizarre" to contemplate, and "an
invitation to disaster."
The parents forbade the union at
first, but eventually relented after learning that the
lovebirds planned to elope. At this point, the
difficulties of their prospective four-way marriage
convinced Chang-Eng to risk a surgical separation. The
twins secretly traveled to Philadelphia, where
surgeons awaited to attempt the risky operation. But
before the knife could be employed, Sally and Adelaide
confronted them, and with much pleading, weeping and
hysteria, brought their future husbands home intact.
After the wedding, which was
held at the Yates home in 1843, the newlyweds retired
to the house Chang-Eng had built at Trap Hill, 12
miles northeast of Wilkesboro. Soon, however, the
house with its double-double bed proved to be too
cramped.
Not quite a year after their
marriage, Sally had delivered a baby girl, and six
days later, Addie had also given birth to a girl. The
following year saw two more arrivals, this time eight
days apart. A new house near Mount Airy was bought and
occupied, and in short order more children arrived.
As of 1860, Addie had brought
seven children into the world and Sally had had nine.
By that time, though, Addie was
living in another house, which Chang-Eng had bought in
1852. This was not only because of the hordes of
children, but because the now-hefty wives were
beginning to bicker. This unpleasantness no doubt
exacerbated the growing contentiousness between Chang
and Eng. Heated arguments became more common and for
only the second or third time in their lives, the two
had come to blows. Although the exact cause of this
violent dispute is not known, part of the problem was
Eng's fondness for all-night poker games and Chang's
fondness for the bottle.
So the wives lived apart, and
Chang-Eng followed a strict regimen of three days at
one house and three at the other, with the
"guest" brother submitting to his
"host" brother's every whim.
This partial separation helped
relieve some pressures, but it created an unforeseen
disparity that would permanently alter the two
families' fortunes. When they divvied up their
property, Chang received the lion's share of land. In
return, Eng kept more slaves. Although Eng wasn't
especially happy with the arrangement, his assets
actually exceeded Chang's $16,000 by some $3,000. This
at a time when a slave could be bought for $600.
During this antebellum period,
the financial pressures of their huge and growing
families had twice brought the twins out of retirement
from touring, once in 1849 and again in 1853. By 1860,
money problems again forced them on the road, this
time in the direction of California, the decade-old
31st state. When they returned from their successful
four-month tour, they found to a country on the verge
of war. South Carolina had voted to secede just two
months before.
The Civil War devastated the
twins' fortunes. At war's end, Chang was worth only
$6,700. Eng, who had owned roughly twice as many
slaves as his brother, was hit even harder. He came
out of the war with only $2,600 in assets.
To this day, some family members
contend that Chang knew at the time that Lincoln
planned to free the slaves, but this hardly seems
plausible. According to at least one biographer,
though, Addie had pressed for land over slaves during
the property division. In any case, the disparity
would have far-reaching consequences, since modern-day
descendants of Eng consider themselves "the poor
side" of the family.
Two more American tours
followed, but they were not very rewarding. In 1868,
the twins left North Carolina with two of their
daughters for a tour of England and Europe. A second
reason for the trip abroad was to try once again for a
surgical separation. Although two medical exams left
them little hope for separation, the tour was a great
success. But war between France and Prussia in 1870
forced them to return home, and it was on the ship
bound for America that Chang suffered his stroke,
partially paralyzing his right side.
The twins' last years brought
many quarrels, one of which blew up, ending with Chang
threatening Eng with a knife. Exasperated, the two
went to their family doctor demanding immediate
separation. Calmly, the surgeon laid out his
instruments, turned to his patients and asked:
"Which would you prefer, that I . . . sever the
flesh that connects you or cut off your heads? One
will produce just about the same results as the
other." This was sufficient to cool the twins'
tempers.
The good doctor did promise to
perform the requested operation immediately upon the
death of either one of the brothers. Sadly, he was not
on hand when Chang died.
The scandal following the death
of Chang-Eng was a function of too much curiosity,
attention and imagination. So famous were the twins
that their death was front-page headline news in New
York City and beyond. Hoping to avert any chance of
some body-snatcher digging up the twins and selling
them for display, the twins' doctor advised the widows
to sell the corpse for either display or medical
study. Sally and Addie found both ideas repulsive, but
decided to wait for the eldest Bunker son to return
from San Francisco. This two-week delay left plenty of
time for wagging tongues to do their unsavory
business.
In the end, the twins were
autopsied -- with no payment made to the family -- and
buried. For security reasons, Chang-Eng were interred
first in the basement and later in the front yard near
Chang's house. Finally, when Adelaide died in 1917,
the grave was moved to White Plains Baptist Church,
which Chang-Eng had helped build. Sally, though she is
included on the common gravestone, had been buried
separately on Eng's farm. She, at least, finally found
some privacy.
The autopsy made three points on
the separation question: Separation as children might
have been wise; no such operation would have been
worth the risk later in life; and the operation should
have been performed immediately upon Chang's death. In
1897, the American Medical Association weighed in for
a final judgment: Given advances in the use of
antiseptics, had the twins lived at that time, they
could have been successfully separated.
Today, a historical marker and gravestone stand on
either side of the church in White Plains. Chang's
Mount Airy home is occupied by the husband of Chang's
granddaughter, Adelaide (one of Albert's daughters).
Eng's house burned in 1956, but another house was
built on the site. It is still in the family.
Literature about the twins
includes poems, plays, and a Mark Twain story,
"The Siamese Twins," in which they
supposedly fight on opposing sides in the Civil War
and even take each other prisoner. More recently,
Garrison Keillor worked a fanciful monologue drawn
from the twins' lives into his "News From Lake
Wobegon" segment of A Prairie Home Companion.
Thankfully, there is little in
the way of scandal to disturb the twins' rest today. |
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