Constantia had now leisure to ruminate upon her own condition. Every day
added to the devastation and confusion of the city. The most populous
streets were deserted and silent. The greater number of inhabitants had
fled; and those who remained were occupied with no cares but those which
related to their own safety. The labours of the artisan and the
speculations of the merchant were suspended. All shops but those of the
apothecaries were shut. No carriage but the hearse was seen, and this
was employed night and day in the removal of the dead. The customary
sources of subsistence were cut off. Those whose fortunes enabled them
to leave the city, but who had deferred till now their retreat, were
denied an asylum by the terror which pervaded the adjacent country, and
by the cruel prohibitions which the neighbouring towns and cities
thought it necessary to adopt. Those who lived by the fruits of their
daily labour were subjected, in this total inactivity, to the
alternative of starving, or of subsisting upon public charity.
The meditations of Constantia suggested no alternative but this. The
exactions of M'Crea had reduced her whole fortune to five dollars. This
would rapidly decay, and her utmost ingenuity could discover no means of
procuring a new supply. All the habits of their life had combined to
fill both her father and herself with aversion to the acceptance of
charity. Yet this avenue, opprobrious and disgustful as it was, afforded
the only means of escaping from the worst extremes of famine.
In this state of mind it was obvious to consider in what way the sum
remaining might be most usefully expended. Every species of provision
was not equally nutritious or equally cheap. Her mind, active in the
pursuit of knowledge and fertile of resources, had lately been engaged,
in discussing with her father the best means of retaining health in a
time of pestilence. On occasions, when the malignity of contagious
diseases has been most signal, some individuals have escaped. For their
safety they were doubtless indebted to some peculiarities in their
constitution or habits. Their diet, their dress, their kind and degree
of exercise, must somewhat have contributed to their exemption from the
common destiny. These, perhaps, could be ascertained, and when known it
was surely proper to conform to them.
In discussing these ideas, Mr. Dudley introduced the mention of a
Benedictine of Messina, who, during the prevalence of the plague in that
city, was incessantly engaged in administering assistance to those who
needed. Notwithstanding his perpetual hazards he retained perfect
health, and was living thirty years after this event. During this period
he fostered a tranquil, fearless, and benevolent spirit, and restricted
his diet to water and polenta. Spices, and meats, and liquors, and all
complexities of cookery, were utterly discarded.
These facts now occurred to Constantia's reflections with new vividness,
and led to interesting consequences. Polenta and hasty-pudding, or samp,
are preparations of the same substance,--a substance which she needed
not the experience of others to convince her was no less grateful than
nutritive. Indian meal was procurable at ninety cents per bushel. By
recollecting former experiments she knew that this quantity, with no
accompaniment but salt, would supply wholesome and plentiful food for
four months to one person[1]. The inference was palpable.
Three persons were now to be supplied with food, and this supply could
be furnished during four months at the trivial expense of three dollars.
This expedient was at once so uncommon and so desirable, as to be
regarded with temporary disbelief. She was inclined to suspect some
latent error in her calculation. That a sum thus applied should suffice
for the subsistence of a year, which in ordinary cases is expended in a
few days, was scarcely credible. The more closely, however, the subject
was examined, the more incontestably did this inference flow. The mode
of preparation was simple and easy, and productive of the fewest toils
and inconveniences. The attention of her Lucy was sufficient to this
end, and the drudgery of marketing was wholly precluded.
[1] See this useful fact explained and demonstrated in Count
Rumford's Essays.
She easily obtained the concurrence of her father, and the scheme was
found as practicable and beneficial as her fondest expectations had
predicted. Infallible security was thus provided against hunger. This
was the only care that was urgent and immediate. While they had food and
were exempt from disease, they could live, and were not without their
portion of comfort. Her hands were unemployed, but her mind was kept in
continual activity. To seclude herself as much as possible from others
was the best means of avoiding infection. Spectacles of misery which she
was unable to relieve would merely tend to harass her with useless
disquietudes and make her frame more accessible to disease. Her father's
instructions were sufficient to give her a competent acquaintance with
the Italian and French languages. His dreary hours were beguiled by this
employment, and her mind was furnished with a species of knowledge which
she hoped, in future, to make subservient to a more respectable and
plentiful subsistence than she had hitherto enjoyed.
Meanwhile the season advanced, and the havock which this fatal malady
produced increased with portentous rapidity. In alleys and narrow
streets, in which the houses were smaller, the inhabitants more numerous
and indigent, and the air pent up within unwholesome limits, it raged
with greatest violence. Few of Constantia's neighbours possessed the
means of removing from the danger. The inhabitants of this alley
consisted of three hundred persons: of these eight or ten experienced no
interruption of their health. Of the rest two hundred were destroyed in
the course of three weeks. Among so many victims it may be supposed that
this disease assumed every terrific and agonizing shape.
It was impossible for Constantia to shut out every token of a calamity
thus enormous and thus near. Night was the season usually selected for
the removal of the dead. The sound of wheels thus employed was
incessant. This, and the images with which it was sure to be
accompanied, bereaved her of repose. The shrieks and lamentations of
survivors, who could not be prevented from attending the remains of a
husband or child to the place of interment, frequently struck her
senses. Sometimes urged by a furious delirium, the sick would break from
their attendants, rush into the street, and expire on the pavement,
amidst frantic outcries and gestures. By these she was often roused from
imperfect sleep, and called to reflect upon the fate which impended over
her father and herself.
To preserve health in an atmosphere thus infected, and to ward off
terror and dismay in a scene of horrors thus hourly accumulating, was
impossible. Constantia found it vain to contend against the inroads of
sadness. Amidst so dreadful a mortality it was irrational to cherish the
hope that she or her father would escape. Her sensations, in no long
time, seemed to justify her apprehensions. Her appetite forsook her, her
strength failed, the thirst and lassitude of fever invaded her, and the
grave seemed to open for her reception.
Lucy was assailed by the same symptoms at the same time. Household
offices were unavoidably neglected. Mr. Dudley retained his health, but
he was able only to prepare his scanty food, and supply the cravings of
child with water from the well. His imagination marked him out for the
next victim. He could not be blind to the consequences of his own
indisposition at a period so critical. Disabled from contributing to
each other's assistance, destitute of medicine and food; and even of
water to quench their tormenting thirst, unvisited, unknown and
perishing in frightful solitude! These images had a tendency to
prostrate the mind, and generate or ripen the seeds of this fatal
malady, which, no doubt at this period of its progress every one had
imbibed.
Contrary to all his fears, he awoke each morning free from pain, though
not without an increase of debility. Abstinence from food, and the
liberal use of cold water, seemed to have a medicinal operation on the
sick. Their pulse gradually resumed its healthy tenor, their strength
and their appetite slowly returned, and in ten days they were able to
congratulate each other on their restoration.
I will not recount that series of disastrous thoughts which occupied the
mind of Constantia during this period. Her lingering and sleepless hours
were regarded by her as preludes to death. Though at so immature an age,
she had gained large experience of the evils which are allotted to man.
Death, which in her prosperous state was peculiarly abhorrent to her
feelings, was now disrobed of terror. As an entrance into scenes of
lightsome and imperishable being it was the goal of all her wishes: as a
passage to oblivion it was still desirable, since forgetfulness was
better than the life which she had hitherto led, and which, should her
existence be prolonged, it was likely that she could continue to lead.
These gloomy meditations were derived from the languors of her frame:
when these disappeared, her cheerfulness and fortitude revived. She
regarded with astonishment and delight the continuance of her father's
health and her own restoration. That trial seemed to have been safely
undergone, to which the life of every one was subject. The air, which
till now had been arid and sultry, was changed into cool and moist. The
pestilence had reached its utmost height, and now symptoms of remission
and decline began to appear. Its declension was more rapid than its
progress and every day added vigour to hope.
When her strength was somewhat retrieved, Constantia called to mind a
good woman who lived in her former neighbourhood, and from whom she had
received many proofs of artless affection. This woman's name was Sarah
Baxter. She lived within a small distance of Constantia's former
dwelling. The trade of her husband was that of a porter, and she
pursued, in addition to the care of a numerous family, the business of a
laundress. The superior knowledge and address of Constantia had enabled
her to be serviceable to this woman in certain painful and perplexing
circumstances.
This service was repaid with the utmost gratitude. Sarah regarded her
benefactress with a species of devotion. She could not endure to behold
one, whom every accent and gesture proved to have once enjoyed affluence
and dignity, performing any servile office. In spite of her own
multiplied engagements, she compelled Constantia to accept her
assistance on many occasions, and could scarcely be prevailed upon to
receive any compensation for her labour. Washing clothes was her trade,
and from this task she insisted on relieving her lovely patroness.
Constantia's change of dwelling produced much regret in the kind Sarah.
She did not allow it to make any change in their previous arrangements,
but punctually visited the Dudleys once a week, and carried home with
her whatever stood in need of ablution. When the prevalence of disease
disabled Constantia from paying her the usual wages, she would by no
means consent to be absolved from this task. Her earnestness on this
head was not to be eluded; and Constantia, in consenting that her work
should, for the present, be performed gratuitously, solaced herself with
the prospect of being able, by some future change of fortune, amply to
reward her.
Sarah's abode was distant from danger, and her fears were turbulent. She
was nevertheless punctual in her visits to the Dudleys, and anxious for
their safety. In case of their sickness, she had declared her
resolution to be their attendant and nurse. Suddenly, however, her
visits ceased. The day on which her usual visit was paid was the same
with that on which Constantia sickened, but her coming was expected in
vain. Her absence was, on some accounts, regarded with pleasure, as it
probably secured her from the danger connected with the office of a
nurse; but it added to Constantia's cares, inasmuch as her own sickness,
or that of some of her family, was the only cause of her detention.
To remove her doubts, the first use which Constantia made of her
recovered strength was to visit her laundress. Sarah's house was a
theatre of suffering. Her husband was the first of his family assailed
by the reigning disease. Two daughters, nearly grown to womanhood,
well-disposed and modest girls, the pride and support of their mother,
and who lived at service, returned home, sick, at the same time, and
died in a few days. Her husband had struggled for eleven days with his
disease, and was seized, just before Constantia's arrival, with the
pangs of death.
Baxter was endowed with great robustness and activity. This disease did
not vanquish him but with tedious and painful struggles. His muscular
force now exhausted itself in ghastly contortions, and the house
resounded with his ravings. Sarah's courage had yielded to so rapid a
succession of evils. Constantia found her shut up in a chamber, distant
from that of her dying husband, in a paroxysm of grief, and surrounded
by her younger children.
Constantia's entrance was like that of an angelic comforter. Sarah was
unqualified for any office but that of complaint. With great difficulty
she was made to communicate the knowledge of her situation. Her visitant
then passed into Baxter's apartment. She forced herself to endure this
tremendous scene long enough to discover that it was hastening to a
close. She left the house, and hastening to the proper office, engaged
the immediate attendance of a hearse. Before the lapse of an hour,
Baxter's lifeless remains were placed in a coffin, and conveyed away.
Constantia now exerted herself to comfort and encourage the survivors.
Her remonstrances incited Sarah to perform with alacrity the measures
which prudence dictates on these occasions. The house was purified by
the admission of air and the sprinkling of vinegar. Constantia applied
her own hand to these tasks, and set her humble friend an example of
forethought and activity. Sarah would not consent to part with her till
a late hour in the evening.
These exertions had like to have been fatally injurious to Constantia.
Her health was not sufficiently confirmed to sustain offices so arduous.
In the course of the night her fatigue terminated in fever. In the
present more salubrious state of the atmosphere, it assumed no malignant
symptoms, and shortly disappeared. During her indisposition she was
attended by Sarah, in whose honest bosom no sentiment was more lively
than gratitude. Constantia having promised to renew her visit the next
day, had been impatiently expected, and Sarah had come to her dwelling
in the evening, full of foreboding and anxiety, to ascertain the cause
of her delay. Having gained the bedside of her patroness, no
consideration could induce her to retire from it.
Constantia's curiosity was naturally excited as to the causes of
Baxter's disease. The simple-hearted Sarah was prolix and minute in the
history of her own affairs. No theme was more congenial to her temper
than that which was now proposed. In spite of redundance and obscurity
in the style of the narrative, Constantia found in it powerful
excitements of her sympathy. The tale, on its own account, as well as
from the connection of some of its incidents with a subsequent part of
these memoirs, is worthy to be here inserted. However foreign the
destiny of Monrose may at present appear to the story of the Dudleys,
there will hereafter be discovered an intimate connection between them.