How often have you read a Regency based story and the author uses some sort of concoction to incapacitate the hero or the heroine? Heck, I have written that plot line several times. Yet, what was the truth of this action?

Mostly used during the period were opium based and alcohol based mixtures and were used for pain. Some were plant based in could be found among the herbal realm, but, generally, nothing during the day worked efficiently and safely. Part of the problem was the dosage could not be adjusted for the person’s weight and medical history, as one might find today. A woman like my 95 pounds mother might be given the same dosage as a 200 pounds man.

In this short excerpt below from my Realm series (A Touch of Cashémere, book 3), a man has kidnapped Cashémere Aldridge, or, at least, he believes the woman is Cashémere, who her Scottish uncle has promised to the man. The only problem is Lachlan Charters does not realize Cashémere has an identical twin sister. He has grabbed the wrong girl. In this scene, he has taken her to his farm in Scotland. He has Satiné locked in a small cottage/hut on his land. In this scene, we learn Charters has used a sponge/rag soaked in a combination of opium, hemlock and mandragora. Knock one’s socks off!!!!

Charters silently opened the room’s door. He’d used a concealed exit to the wine cellar to come out behind several large boulders some one hundred yards east of his home. Such tunnels had come with the house when his father had purchased the land some fifty years past. As a child, Lachlan had spent endless hours playing castle and knights in the darkened passages. Some thought the house, which had been built upon the ruins of a Scottish keep, held ghosts and even a curse, but practical Lachlan had never believed any such tales. Yet, as he’d emerged from the hidden entrance, a shiver of foreboding had shot down his spine. “Maybe I should let the gel go free,” he told himself as he set a course towards the cottage, but Lachlan had realized it was too late for him to do so. He’d have to do what Averette had suggested.

He’d taken the last of the sponges with him. Before he’d gone to England, Lachlan had sent to his maternal grandmother, her clan’s healer, for something to deaden pain. The woman regularly dealt in drugs not readily found in the bags of country doctors. His grandmother had sent him a mixture of opium, hemlock, and mandragora. Lachlan had seen his grandmother use sponges soaked in the mixture to ease grown men into a peaceful sleep while she reset their broken bones or removed bullets. It was what he’d used on Cashémere to subdue the girl so he might remove her from her English home. Afterwards, he’d given her laudanum mixed in water to keep her unconscious through most of their journey to his home. On the road, he couldn’t trust her not to attempt an escape, but now she’d returned to Scotland, Lachlan had hoped their joining wouldn’t be so repugnant to the girl.

“It be good to see you up,” he said softly as he closed the door behind him and set the lock. The girl didn’t turn. She’d moved the lone chair in the room to sit before the window, and she appeared entranced by her narrow view of the world. Lachlan placed the small basket he’d carried on the table. “I brought ye some more food.” Still, she didn’t respond, and he’d wondered what bothered her. “I be sorry, Gel, for being so rough with ye, but I had no way of convincing ye to come back to me.” He chuckled lightly. “I not be treating you as such once ye be me wife. Ye know I care deeply for ye. I need me a wife to give me children and to tend the children, but I want a gel with whom I kin get along.”

As was mentioned in the last part of the excerpt, if someone wanted to drug a person, he would probably try a drop or two of laudanum, but, no one knew how much to use to make a person sleepy, even apothecaries could not name a definitive amount to use.

In my Tragic Characters in Classic Literature tale, I Shot the Sheriff, I used laudanum to keep the heroine subdued once she was kidnapped.

In all honesty, at times he felt as if he should have been the parent of the other two gentlemen who had joined Miss Busnik and her friends for supper; yet, he could not recall a time he more enjoyed himself at a ball, even during those days when he caroused with the best of them, he had never known such contentment. Naturally, he doubted he had ever been so green as were the two sons of two different earls who shared his table, when he had been their age, but, perhaps, his memory had been skewed by the fact Miss Busnik permitted him to hold her hand for a brief period, until he feared their indiscretion had become obvious to Miss Harrison. Skin to skin. No gloves. All done on a hush. Beneath the table drape, he had held her hand against his knee. Heat streaming through his body in anticipation. 

The lady’s eyes had opened wider in surprise when his fingers first sought hers, but she had recovered quickly, even smiling at him in what he hoped was encouragement. The heat of her skin against his had done strange things to his own composure. Miss Busnik was so demme perfect, the idea made him ache with desire to claim her. If he would be so blessed to know a woman of Miss Busnik’s ilk as his own, he would spend the remainder of his days on this earth attempting to prove himself worthy of her. 

He had sat beside her, conversing with those around them, as if they had done so for years. However, if she had known the direction of even a small portion of his thoughts, she would have slapped his face and stormed away. 

Finally, the supper hour drew to a close, and he dutifully assisted her to her feet. He was not certain how much longer he would remain at the ball. They could not, according to the indubitable rules of propriety, dance together again, and it would be impossible for him to watch her on the dance floor, enjoying the interest of other men. However, when she swayed in place, as if attempting to gain her balance, he was not about to leave her side. He caught her elbow to steady her. “Are you unwell, my dear?” Now, that he looked closely at her, she appeared a bit pale. 

“Just a bit light-headed. Too much to drink, I suspect,” she said with a weak smile. 

“To the best of my knowledge, you have had but two glasses of champagne this evening, the one we shared earlier and the toast we made over supper. The rest of your libations have been the lemon punch,” he argued. 

“Perhaps I drank the last toast too quickly. I am not known to be a drinker.” She looked up into his face, and William could note her eyes were watery. “I rarely consume champagne.” 

“Then you should have said something,” he mildly chastised. “You must not drink simply to be sociable. That was a hard lesson I learned years ago.” He glanced around to a nearly empty room, couples returning to the dance floor. “I would not like to hand you off to another if you are feeling poorly. Have you promised this upcoming dance to another?”

She shook her head in the negative. “I had hoped we could walk the room again,” she admitted. 

The idea pleased him, but his concern for her took precedence. “Instead of walking the room, mayhap we could step out on the terrace. We will stay near the open doors where people can view us, but the cool night air could cure your lightheadedness.” 

“I would enjoy doing so.” She accepted his arm, leaning heavier against it than she had earlier in the evening. She appeared rather more sleepy than inebriated, in his opinion, but William had little experience telling the difference when it came to women. When he had previously shared a bed with a woman, sleeping was not part of the reason to be together. The idea suddenly struck him that he would not mind sleeping beside Miss Busnik, no matter whether they shared the bed for other reasons or not. He would cherish the idea of falling asleep with her in his arms. 

Slowly, and purposefully, he set a course for the nearest door leading to the terrace. At length, they were outside, a cool breeze easing the heat of the ballroom. He led her to a nearby bench, propping her back against the balcony’s wall, before kneeling before her. She had not said a word the whole time they traversed the ballroom, a fact completely uncharacteristic of the lady. 

“My dear Miss Busnik,” he said softly so as not to draw attention. A few other couples were making their return to the ballroom, and he did not want them to hear his concerns. “I fear you suffer from more than a glass of champagne.” 

Her eyes opened briefly to look into his. “I believe you are correct, sir.” 

He shrugged out of his tail coat and wrapped it around her shoulders when he noted that she shivered. “With your permission, I will leave you alone for a minute while I fetch your brother. Promise me you will not attempt to stand on your own.” 

“Promise,” she whispered weakly, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes again. 

Obviously, for storytellers, a knockout punch was much more reliable.

One must remember neither ether nor chloroform were available during the Regency Era. WIKIPEDIA says Chloroform was first made by an American for a pesticide. It was first used in medicine 1847.

Ether seems to have come to notice about the same time in 1846. Ether was known for centuries; however, it’s anesthesia properties were not employed until the 1840s, and it is highly likely more than scientists would have had access to it.

Ether and chloroform might prove boon to Victorian authors, though. However, I still wonder, how does one carry a rag soaked with chloroform or ether around with one without having it affect the person toting it about?  Can you not image the villain overcome by the vapors or having the vapors evaporate before the rag could be employed in some nefarious manner?

A person set on something nefarious pretty much just had laudanum or straight opium. Opium smoke would put someone in a daze, but was also risky to the person creating it. Some other natural herbs with sleep properties, but the drug would have to be ingested.

No Thank You, We Like Pain a seven-minute listen on NPR is very enlightening, but this excerpt proves to be quite helpful. I have provided the link below.

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125730340

The trouble with Laughing gas and electricity is that they require  an apparatus and certainly not part of the Regency era. Other substances require them to be ingested.

Many substances and articles were invented long before they became available to the general public.

As to routes, we must remember, a medication administration route is often classified by the location at which the drug is applied, such as oral or intravenous. Therefore, I am adding a couple of quick notes about routes:

Inhaled substances act quickly on the brain (think about it—nose straight up to sinus, close to brain—fast acting). This is why the modern Narcan is often administered by an inhaled device (really kills an opiate buzz fast). So breathing in a gas is the way to go for speed. It reacts within 15 seconds on up to about a minute, depending on what is administer and how much is given.

Next, you could go directly into the bloodstream, better known as an IV. This usually acts in about 5 minutes. Unfortunately in film stories, a quick jab with a needle and out the person goes. Such is pure movie fiction.

Next, is an injection into a muscle. This can take 15 to 20 minutes or longer to react to the body.

Lastly we have ingestion-—drinking or eating any substance to cause either poisoning or some kind of altered mental state, such as being unconscious takes time and may require a great quantity of the drug. Drinking a lot of hard spirits can tank you because the body cannot process it fast enough. Usually it would take about 20-30 minutes or more for anyone to go down, but such depends on the person and amount ingested.

Also, not everyone reacts the same. This is why hospitals have someone dedicated to putting anyone out—one may have to adjust as he goes. This is true for all substances–inhaled, into vein, into muscle, digested.

As to hitting anyone on the head. It is actually difficult and dangerous to “knock someone out.” This is called a concussion—anytime anyone is unconscious, he suffers brain damage to some degree. One has actually to rattle the brain around to knock a person out. A hit on the head is far more likely to produce pain, staggering, nausea, and bleeding.

Now, some folks have what is called “a glass jaw.” He/She are extremely sensitivity in the jaw and such can lead to enough pain to “knockout” someone. Usually this applies to boxing. If one hits the right place in the jaw, down goes his opponent. Just keep in mind, one REALLY has to know how to do this—the placement of the punch and how hard to hit. Not easy in any manner whatsoever.

So…the fiction of easily making someone unconscious without killing them is just that: FICTION. Gas is the best way to go. Lovely carbon monoxide, which one can get from a wood stove, will make everyone feel like they have the flu, and, eventually, they pass out as the carbon monoxide replaces the oxygen in the body. However, as the NPR article noted, most folks really do not know anything about air exchange or what happens in the body with using any kind of pain killers.

If nothing else works, I suppose you might consider mesmerism, meaning hypnotism. It has been used both to treat and leave folks unable to feel the pain. Or if the person doing the bad deed is a student of history, he might go back to some old fashioned ideas, meaning a sponge soaked in opium and hemlock—which sounds like it’ll be one of those kill or cure ideas. That is, unless you are an author and need a means to put the hero or heroine in dire straits, then it is ALWAYS . . . well, not a cure, but the characters will survive.