It pleased God that I was still spared, and very hearty and sound in

health, but very impatient of being pent up within doors without air, as

I had been for fourteen days or thereabouts. And I could not restrain

myself, but I would go and carry a letter for my brother to the

posthouse; then it was, indeed, that I observed a profound silence in

the streets. When I came to the posthouse, as I went to put in my

letter, I saw a man stand in one corner of the yard, and talking to

another at a window; and a third had opened a door belonging to the

office. In the middle of the yard lay a small leather purse, with two

keys hanging at it, with money in it; but nobody would meddle with it. I

asked how long it had lain there. The man at the window said it had

lain almost an hour, but they had not meddled with it, because they did

not know but the person who dropped it might come back to look for it. I

had no such need of money, nor was the sum so big that I had any

inclination to meddle with it or to get the money at the hazard it might

be attended with: so I seemed to go away, when the man who had opened

the door said he would take it up, but so that, if the right owner came

for it, he should be sure to have it. So he went in and fetched a pail

of water, and set it down hard by the purse, then went again and fetched

some gunpowder, and cast a good deal of powder upon the purse, and then

made a train from that which he had thrown loose upon the purse (the

train reached about two yards); after this he goes in a third time, and

fetches out a pair of tongs red hot, and which he had prepared, I

suppose, on purpose; and first setting fire to the train of powder, that

singed the purse, and also smoked the air sufficiently. But he was not

content with that, but he then takes up the purse with the tongs,

holding it so long till the tongs burnt through the purse, and then he

shook the money out into the pail of water: so he carried it in. The

money, as I remember, was about thirteen shillings, and some smooth

groats[168] and brass farthings.[169]

Much about the same time, I walked out into the fields towards Bow; for

I had a great mind to see how things were managed in the river and among

the ships; and, as I had some concern in shipping, I had a notion that

it had been one of the best ways of securing one's self from the

infection to have retired into a ship. And, musing how to satisfy my

curiosity in that point, I turned away over the fields, from Bow to

Bromley, and down to Blackwall, to the stairs that are there for

landing, or taking water.

Here I saw a poor man walking on the bank, or "sea wall" as they call

it, by himself. I walked awhile also about, seeing the houses all shut

up. At last I fell into some talk, at a distance, with this poor man.

First I asked how people did thereabouts. "Alas, sir!" says he, "almost

desolate, all dead or sick; here are very few families in this part, or

in that village," pointing at Poplar, "where half of them are not dead

already, and the rest sick." Then he, pointing to one house, "They are

all dead," said he, "and the house stands open: nobody dares go into it.

A poor thief," says he, "ventured in to steal something; but he paid

dear for his theft, for he was carried to the churchyard too, last

night." Then he pointed to several other houses. "There," says he, "they

are all dead, the man and his wife and five children. There," says he,

"they are shut up; you see a watchman at the door:" and so of other

houses. "Why," says I, "what do you here all alone?"--"Why," says he, "I

am a poor desolate man: it hath pleased God I am not yet visited, though

my family is, and one of my children dead."--"How do you mean, then,"

said I, "that you are not visited?"--"Why," says he, "that is my house,"

pointing to a very little low boarded house, "and there my poor wife and

two children live," said he, "if they may be said to live; for my wife

and one of the children are visited; but I do not come at them." And

with that word I saw the tears run very plentifully down his face; and

so they did down mine too, I assure you.

"But," said I, "why do you not come at them? How can you abandon your

own flesh and blood?"--"O sir!" says he, "the Lord forbid! I do not

abandon them, I work for them as much as I am able; and, blessed be the

Lord! I keep them from want." And with that I observed he lifted up his

eyes to heaven with a countenance that presently told me I had happened

on a man that was no hypocrite, but a serious, religious, good man; and

his ejaculation was an expression of thankfulness, that, in such a

condition as he was in, he should be able to say his family did not

want. "Well," says I, "honest man, that is a great mercy, as things go

now with the poor. But how do you live, then, and how are you kept from

the dreadful calamity that is now upon us all?"--"Why, sir," says he, "I

am a waterman, and there is my boat," says he, "and the boat serves me

for a house; I work in it in the day, and I sleep in it in the night:

and what I get I lay it down upon that stone," says he, showing me a

broad stone on the other side of the street, a good way from his house;

"and then," says he, "I halloo and call to them till I make them hear,

and they come and fetch it."

"Well, friend," says I, "but how can you get money as a waterman? Does

anybody go by water these times?"--"Yes, sir," says he, "in the way I am

employed there does. Do you see there," says he, "five ships lie at

anchor?" pointing down the river a good way below the town; "and do you

see," says he, "eight or ten ships lie at the chain there, and at anchor

yonder?" pointing above the town. "All those ships have families on

board, of their merchants and owners, and such like, who have locked

themselves up and live on board, close shut in, for fear of the

infection; and I tend on them to fetch things for them, carry letters,

and do what is absolutely necessary, that they may not be obliged to

come on shore. And every night I fasten my boat on board one of the

ship's boats, and there I sleep by myself, and, blessed be God! I am

preserved hitherto."

"Well," said I, "friend, but will they let you come on board after you

have been on shore here, when this has been such a terrible place, and

so infected as it is?"

"Why, as to that," said he, "I very seldom go up the ship side, but

deliver what I bring to their boat, or lie by the side, and they hoist

it on board: if I did, I think they are in no danger from me, for I

never go into any house on shore, or touch anybody, no, not of my own

family; but I fetch provisions for them."

"Nay," says I, "but that may be worse; for you must have those

provisions of somebody or other; and since all this part of the town is

so infected, it is dangerous so much as to speak with anybody; for the

village," said I, "is, as it were, the beginning of London, though it be

at some distance from it."

"That is true," added he; "but you do not understand me right. I do not

buy provisions for them here. I row up to Greenwich, and buy fresh meat

there, and sometimes I row down the river to Woolwich,[170] and buy

there; then I go to single farmhouses on the Kentish side, where I am

known, and buy fowls and eggs and butter, and bring to the ships as they

direct me, sometimes one, sometimes the other. I seldom come on shore

here, and I came only now to call my wife, and hear how my little family

do, and give them a little money which I received last night."

"Poor man!" said I. "And how much hast thou gotten for them?"

"I have gotten four shillings," said he, "which is a great sum, as

things go now with poor men; but they have given me a bag of bread too,

and a salt fish, and some flesh: so all helps out."

"Well," said I, "and have you given it them yet?"

"No," said he, "but I have called; and my wife has answered that she

cannot come out yet, but in half an hour she hopes to come, and I am

waiting for her. Poor woman!" says he, "she is brought sadly down; she

has had a swelling, and it is broke, and I hope she will recover, but I

fear the child will die. But it is the Lord!"--Here he stopped, and wept

very much.

"Well, honest friend," said I, "thou hast a sure comforter, if thou hast

brought thyself to be resigned to the will of God: he is dealing with us

all in judgment."

"O sir!" says he, "it is infinite mercy if any of us are spared; and who

am I to repine!"

"Say'st thou so?" said I; "and how much less is my faith than thine!"

And here my heart smote me, suggesting how much better this poor man's

foundation was, on which he stayed in the danger, than mine: that he had

nowhere to fly; that he had a family to bind him to attendance, which I

had not; and mine was mere presumption, his a true dependence and a

courage resting on God; and yet that he used all possible caution for

his safety.

I turned a little away from the man while these thoughts engaged me;

for, indeed, I could no more refrain from tears than he.

At length, after some further talk, the poor woman opened the door, and

called, "Robert, Robert!" He answered, and bid her stay a few moments

and he would come: so he ran down the common stairs to his boat, and

fetched up a sack in which was the provisions he had brought from the

ships; and when he returned he hallooed again; then he went to the great

stone which he showed me, and emptied the sack, and laid all out,

everything by themselves, and then retired; and his wife came with a

little boy to fetch them away; and he called, and said, such a captain

had sent such a thing, and such a captain such a thing, and at the end

adds, "God has sent it all: give thanks to him." When the poor woman had

taken up all, she was so weak she could not carry it at once in, though

the weight was not much, neither: so she left the biscuit, which was in

a little bag, and left a little boy to watch it till she came again.

"Well, but," says I to him, "did you leave her the four shillings too,

which you said was your week's pay?"

"Yes, yes," says he; "you shall hear her own it." So he called again,

"Rachel, Rachel!" which it seems was her name, "did you take up the

money?"--"Yes," said she. "How much was it?" said he. "Four shillings

and a groat," said she. "Well, well," says he, "the Lord keep you all;"

and so he turned to go away.

As I could not refrain from contributing tears to this man's story, so

neither could I refrain my charity for his assistance; so I called him.

"Hark thee, friend," said I, "come hither, for I believe thou art in

health, that I may venture thee:" so I pulled out my hand, which was in

my pocket before. "Here," says I, "go and call thy Rachel once more, and

give her a little more comfort from me. God will never forsake a family

that trusts in him as thou dost." So I gave him four other shillings,

and bid him go lay them on the stone, and call his wife.

I have not words to express the poor man's thankfulness; neither could

he express it himself but by tears running down his face. He called his

wife, and told her God had moved the heart of a stranger, upon hearing

their condition, to give them all that money; and a great deal more such

as that he said to her. The woman, too, made signs of the like

thankfulness, as well to Heaven as to me, and joyfully picked it up; and

I parted with no money all that year that I thought better bestowed.

I then asked the poor man if the distemper had not reached to Greenwich.

He said it had not till about a fortnight before; but that then he

feared it had, but that it was only at that end of the town which lay

south towards Deptford[171] Bridge; that he went only to a butcher's

shop and a grocer's, where he generally bought such things as they sent

him for, but was very careful.

I asked him then how it came to pass that those people who had so shut

themselves up in the ships had not laid in sufficient stores of all

things necessary. He said some of them had; but, on the other hand, some

did not come on board till they were frightened into it, and till it was

too dangerous for them to go to the proper people to lay in quantities

of things; and that he waited on two ships, which he showed me, that had

laid in little or nothing but biscuit bread[172] and ship beer, and that

he had bought everything else almost for them. I asked him if there were

any more ships that had separated themselves as those had done. He told

me yes; all the way up from the point, right against Greenwich, to

within the shores of Limehouse and Redriff, all the ships that could

have room rid[173] two and two in the middle of the stream, and that

some of them had several families on board. I asked him if the distemper

had not reached them. He said he believed it had not, except two or

three ships, whose people had not been so watchful as to keep the seamen

from going on shore as others had been; and he said it was a very fine

sight to see how the ships lay up the Pool.[174]

When he said he was going over to Greenwich as soon as the tide began

to come in, I asked if he would let me go with him, and bring me back,

for that I had a great mind to see how the ships were ranged, as he had

told me. He told me if I would assure him, on the word of a Christian

and of an honest man, that I had not the distemper, he would. I assured

him that I had not; that it had pleased God to preserve me; that I lived

in Whitechapel, but was too impatient of being so long within doors, and

that I had ventured out so far for the refreshment of a little air, but

that none in my house had so much as been touched with it.

"Well, sir," says he, "as your charity has been moved to pity me and my

poor family, sure you cannot have so little pity left as to put yourself

into my boat if you were not sound in health, which would be nothing

less than killing me, and ruining my whole family." The poor man

troubled me so much when he spoke of his family with such a sensible

concern and in such an affectionate manner, that I could not satisfy

myself at first to go at all. I told him I would lay aside my curiosity

rather than make him uneasy, though I was sure, and very thankful for

it, that I had no more distemper upon me than the freshest man in the

world. Well, he would not have me put it off neither, but, to let me see

how confident he was that I was just to him, he now importuned me to go:

so, when the tide came up to his boat, I went in, and he carried me to

Greenwich. While he bought the things which he had in charge to buy, I

walked up to the top of the hill, under which the town stands, and on

the east side of the town, to get a prospect of the river; but it was a

surprising sight to see the number of ships which lay in rows, two and

two, and in some places two or three such lines in the breadth of the

river, and this not only up to the town, between the houses which we

call Ratcliff and Redriff, which they name the Pool, but even down the

whole river, as far as the head of Long Reach, which is as far as the

hills give us leave to see it.

I cannot guess at the number of ships, but I think there must have been

several hundreds of sail; and I could not but applaud the contrivance,

for ten thousand people and more who attended ship affairs were

certainly sheltered here from the violence of the contagion, and lived

very safe and very easy.

I returned to my own dwelling very well satisfied with my day's journey,

and particularly with the poor man; also I rejoiced to see that such

little sanctuaries were provided for so many families on board in a time

of such desolation. I observed, also, that, as the violence of the

plague had increased, so the ships which had families on board removed

and went farther off, till, as I was told, some went quite away to sea,

and put into such harbors and safe roads[175] on the north coast as they

could best come at.

But it was also true, that all the people who thus left the land, and

lived on board the ships, were not entirely safe from the infection; for

many died, and were thrown overboard into the river, some in coffins,

and some, as I heard, without coffins, whose bodies were seen sometimes

to drive up and down with the tide in the river.

But I believe I may venture to say, that, in those ships which were thus

infected, it either happened where the people had recourse to them too

late, and did not fly to the ship till they had staid too long on shore,

and had the distemper upon them, though perhaps they might not perceive

it (and so the distemper did not come to them on board the ships, but

they really carried it with them), or it was in these ships where the

poor waterman said they had not had time to furnish themselves with

provisions, but were obliged to send often on shore to buy what they had

occasion for, or suffered boats to come to them from the shore; and so

the distemper was brought insensibly among them.

And here I cannot but take notice that the strange temper of the people

of London at that time contributed extremely to their own destruction.

The plague began, as I have observed, at the other end of the town

(namely, in Longacre, Drury Lane, etc.), and came on towards the city

very gradually and slowly. It was felt at first in December, then again

in February, then again in April (and always but a very little at a

time), then it stopped till May; and even the last week in May there

were but seventeen in all that end of the town. And all this while, even

so long as till there died about three thousand a week, yet had the

people in Redriff and in Wapping and Ratcliff, on both sides the river,

and almost all Southwark side, a mighty fancy that they should not be

visited, or at least that it would not be so violent among them. Some

people fancied the smell of the pitch and tar, and such other things, as

oil and resin and brimstone (which is much used by all trades relating

to shipping), would preserve them. Others argued it,[176] because

it[177] was in its extremest violence in Westminster and the parish of

St. Giles's and St. Andrew's, etc., and began to abate again before it

came among them, which was true, indeed, in part. For example:--

Aug. 8 to Aug. 15, St. Giles-in-the-Fields 242

" " Cripplegate 886

" " Stepney 197

" " St. Mag.[178] Bermondsey 24

" " Rotherhithe 3

Total this week 4,030

Aug. 15 to Aug. 22, St. Giles-in-the-Fields 175

" " Cripplegate 847

" " Stepney 273

" " St. Mag. Bermondsey 36

" " Rotherhithe 2

Total this week 5,319

N.B.[179]--That it was observed that the numbers mentioned in Stepney

Parish at that time were generally all on that side where Stepney

Parish joined to Shoreditch, which we now call Spittlefields, where

the parish of Stepney comes up to the very wall of Shoreditch

churchyard. And the plague at this time was abated at St.

Giles-in-the-Fields, and raged most violently in Cripplegate,

Bishopsgate, and Shoreditch Parishes, but there were not ten people a

week that died of it in all that part of Stepney Parish which takes in

Limehouse, Ratcliff Highway, and which are now the parishes of

Shadwell and Wapping, even to St. Katherine's-by-the-Tower, till after

the whole month of August was expired; but they paid for it

afterwards, as I shall observe by and by.

This, I say, made the people of Redriff and Wapping, Ratcliff and

Limehouse, so secure, and flatter themselves so much with the plague's

going off without reaching them, that they took no care either to fly

into the country or shut themselves up: nay, so far were they from

stirring, that they rather received their friends and relations from the

city into their houses; and several from other places really took

sanctuary in that part of the town as a place of safety, and as a place

which they thought God would pass over, and not visit as the rest was

visited.

And this was the reason, that, when it came upon them, they were more

surprised, more unprovided, and more at a loss what to do, than they

were in other places; for when it came among them really and with

violence, as it did indeed in September and October, there was then no

stirring out into the country. Nobody would suffer a stranger to come

near them, no, nor near the towns where they dwelt; and, as I have been

told, several that wandered into the country on the Surrey side were

found starved to death in the woods and commons; that country being more

open and more woody than any other part so near London, especially about

Norwood and the parishes of Camberwell, Dulwich,[180] and Lusum, where

it seems nobody durst[181] relieve the poor distressed people for fear

of the infection.

This notion having, as I said, prevailed with the people in that part of

the town, was in part the occasion, as I said before, that they had

recourse to ships for their retreat; and where they did this early and

with prudence, furnishing themselves so with provisions so that they had

no need to go on shore for supplies, or suffer boats to come on board to

bring them,--I say, where they did so, they had certainly the safest

retreat of any people whatsoever. But the distress was such, that people

ran on board in their fright without bread to eat, and some into ships

that had no men on board to remove them farther off, or to take the boat

and go down the river to buy provisions, where it may be done safely;

and these often suffered, and were infected on board as much as on

shore.

As the richer sort got into ships, so the lower rank got into hoys,[182]

smacks, lighters, and fishing boats; and many, especially watermen, lay

in their boats: but those made sad work of it, especially the latter;

for going about for provision, and perhaps to get their subsistence, the

infection got in among them, and made a fearful havoc. Many of the

watermen died alone in their wherries as they rid at their roads, as

well above bridge[183] as below, and were not found sometimes till they

were not in condition for anybody to touch or come near them.

Indeed, the distress of the people at this seafaring end of the town was

very deplorable, and deserved the greatest commiseration. But, alas!

this was a time when every one's private safety lay so near them that

they had no room to pity the distresses of others; for every one had

death, as it were, at his door, and many even in their families, and

knew not what to do, or whither to fly.

This, I say, took away all compassion. Self-preservation, indeed,

appeared here to be the first law: for the children ran away from their

parents as they languished in the utmost distress; and in some places,

though not so frequent as the other, parents did the like to their

children. Nay, some dreadful examples there were, and particularly two

in one week, of distressed mothers, raving and distracted, killing

their own children; one whereof was not far off from where I dwelt, the

poor lunatic creature not living herself long enough to be sensible of

the sin of what she had done, much less to be punished for it.

It is not, indeed, to be wondered at; for the danger of immediate death

to ourselves took away all bowels of love, all concern for one another.

I speak in general: for there were many instances of immovable

affection, pity, and duty in many, and some that came to my knowledge,

that is to say, by hearsay; for I shall not take upon me to vouch the

truth of the particulars.

I could tell here dismal stories of living infants being found sucking

the breasts of their mothers or nurses after they have been dead of the

plague; of a mother in the parish where I lived, who, having a child

that was not well, sent for an apothecary to view the child, and when he

came, as the relation goes, was giving the child suck at her breast, and

to all appearance was herself very well; but, when the apothecary came

close to her, he saw the tokens upon that breast with which she was

suckling the child. He was surprised enough, to be sure; but, not

willing to fright the poor woman too much, he desired she would give the

child into his hand: so he takes the child, and, going to a cradle in

the room, lays it in, and, opening its clothes, found the tokens upon

the child too; and both died before he could get home to send a

preventive medicine to the father of the child, to whom he had told

their condition. Whether the child infected the nurse mother, or the

mother the child, was not certain, but the last most likely.

Likewise of a child brought home to the parents from a nurse that had

died of the plague; yet the tender mother would not refuse to take in

her child, and laid it in her bosom, by which she was infected and died,

with the child in her arms dead also.

It would make the hardest heart move at the instances that were

frequently found of tender mothers tending and watching with their dear

children, and even dying before them, and sometimes taking the distemper

from them, and dying, when the child for whom the affectionate heart

had been sacrificed has got over it and escaped.

I have heard also of some who, on the death of their relations, have

grown stupid with the insupportable sorrow; and of one in particular,

who was so absolutely overcome with the pressure upon his spirits, that

by degrees his head sunk into his body so between his shoulders, that

the crown of his head was very little seen above the bone of his

shoulders; and by degrees, losing both voice and sense, his face,

looking forward, lay against his collar bone, and could not be kept up

any otherwise, unless held up by the hands of other people. And the poor

man never came to himself again, but languished near a year in that

condition, and died. Nor was he ever once seen to lift up his eyes, or

to look upon any particular object.[184]

I cannot undertake to give any other than a summary of such passages as

these, because it was not possible to come at the particulars where

sometimes the whole families where such things happened were carried off

by the distemper; but there were innumerable cases of this kind which

presented[185] to the eye and the ear, even in passing along the

streets, as I have hinted above. Nor is it easy to give any story of

this or that family, which there was not divers parallel stories to be

met with of the same kind.

But as I am now talking of the time when the plague raged at the

easternmost parts of the town; how for a long time the people of those

parts had flattered themselves that they should escape, and how they

were surprised when it came upon them as it did (for indeed it came upon

them like an armed man when it did come),--I say this brings me back to

the three poor men who wandered from Wapping, not knowing whither to go

or what to do, and whom I mentioned before,--one a biscuit baker, one a

sailmaker, and the other a joiner, all of Wapping or thereabouts.

The sleepiness and security of that part, as I have observed, was such,

that they not only did not shift for themselves as others did, but they

boasted of being safe, and of safety being with them. And many people

fled out of the city, and out of the infected suburbs, to Wapping,

Ratcliff, Limehouse, Poplar, and such places, as to places of security.

And it is not at all unlikely that their doing this helped to bring the

plague that way faster than it might otherwise have come: for though I

am much for people's flying away, and emptying such a town as this upon

the first appearance of a like visitation, and that all people who have

any possible retreat should make use of it in time, and begone, yet I

must say, when all that will fly are gone, those that are left, and must

stand it, should stand stock-still where they are, and not shift from

one end of the town or one part of the town to the other; for that is

the bane and mischief of the whole, and they carry the plague from house

to house in their very clothes.

Wherefore were we ordered to kill all the dogs and cats, but because, as

they were domestic animals, and are apt to run from house to house and

from street to street, so they are capable of carrying the effluvia or

infectious steams of bodies infected, even in their furs and hair? And

therefore it was, that, in the beginning of the infection, an order was

published by the lord mayor and by the magistrates, according to the

advice of the physicians, that all the dogs and cats should be

immediately killed; and an officer was appointed for the execution.

It is incredible, if their account is to be depended upon, what a

prodigious number of those creatures were destroyed. I think they talked

of forty thousand dogs and five times as many cats; few houses being

without a cat, some having several, sometimes five or six in a house.

All possible endeavors were used also to destroy the mice and rats,

especially the latter, by laying rats-bane and other poisons for them;

and a prodigious multitude of them were also destroyed.

I often reflected upon the unprovided condition that the whole body of

the people were in at the first coming of this calamity upon them; and

how it was for want of timely entering into measures and managements, as

well public as private, that all the confusions that followed were

brought upon us, and that such a prodigious number of people sunk in

that disaster which, if proper steps had been taken, might, Providence

concurring, have been avoided, and which, if posterity think fit, they

may take a caution and warning from. But I shall come to this part

again.

I come back to my three men. Their story has a moral in every part of

it; and their whole conduct, and that of some whom they joined with, is

a pattern for all poor men to follow, or women either, if ever such a

time comes again: and if there was no other end in recording it, I think

this a very just one, whether my account be exactly according to fact or

no.

Two of them were said to be brothers, the one an old soldier, but now a

biscuit baker; the other a lame sailor, but now a sailmaker; the third a

joiner. Says John the biscuit baker, one day, to Thomas, his brother,

the sailmaker, "Brother Tom, what will become of us? The plague grows

hot in the city, and increases this way. What shall we do?"

"Truly," says Thomas, "I am at a great loss what to do; for I find if it

comes down into Wapping I shall be turned out of my lodging." And thus

they began to talk of it beforehand.

_John._ Turned out of your lodging, Tom? If you are, I don't know

who will take you in; for people are so afraid of one another now,

there is no getting a lodging anywhere.

_Tho._ Why, the people where I lodge are good civil people, and

have kindness for me too; but they say I go abroad every day to my

work, and it will be dangerous; and they talk of locking themselves

up, and letting nobody come near them.

_John._ Why, they are in the right, to be sure, if they resolve to

venture staying in town.

_Tho._ Nay, I might even resolve to stay within doors too; for,

except a suit of sails that my master has in hand, and which I am

just finishing, I am like to get no more work a great while.

There's no trade stirs now, workmen and servants are turned off

everywhere; so that I might be glad to be locked up too. But I do

not see that they will be willing to consent to that any more than

to the other.

_John._ Why, what will you do then, brother? And what shall I do?

for I am almost as bad as you. The people where I lodge are all

gone into the country but a maid, and she is to go next week, and

to shut the house quite up; so that I shall be turned adrift to the

wide world before you: and I am resolved to go away too, if I knew

but where to go.

_Tho._ We were both distracted we did not go away at first, when we

might ha' traveled anywhere: there is no stirring now. We shall be

starved if we pretend to go out of town. They won't let us have

victuals, no, not for our money, nor let us come into the towns,

much less into their houses.

_John._ And, that which is almost as bad, I have but little money

to help myself with, neither.

_Tho._ As to that, we might make shift. I have a little, though not

much; but I tell you there is no stirring on the road. I know a

couple of poor honest men in our street have attempted to travel;

and at Barnet,[186] or Whetstone, or thereabout, the people offered

to fire at them if they pretended to go forward: so they are come

back again quite discouraged.

_John._ I would have ventured their fire, if I had been there. If I

had been denied food for my money, they should have seen me take it

before their faces; and, if I had tendered money for it, they could

not have taken any course with me by the law.

_Tho._ You talk your old soldier's language, as if you were in the

Low Countries[187] now; but this is a serious thing. The people

have good reason to keep anybody off that they are not satisfied

are sound at such a time as this, and we must not plunder them.

_John._ No, brother, you mistake the case, and mistake me too: I

would plunder nobody. But for any town upon the road to deny me

leave to pass through the town in the open highway, and deny me

provisions for my money, is to say the town has a right to starve

me to death; which cannot be true.

_Tho._ But they do not deny you liberty to go back again from

whence you came, and therefore they do not starve you.

_John._ But the next town behind me will, by the same rule, deny me

leave to go back; and so they do starve me between them. Besides,

there is no law to prohibit my traveling wherever I will on the

road.

_Tho._ But there will be so much difficulty in disputing with them

at every town on the road, that it is not for poor men to do it, or

undertake it, at such a time as this is especially.

_John._ Why, brother, our condition, at this rate, is worse than

anybody's else; for we can neither go away nor stay here. I am of

the same mind with the lepers of Samaria.[188] If we stay here, we

are sure to die. I mean especially as you and I are situated,

without a dwelling house of our own, and without lodging in

anybody's else. There is no lying in the street at such a time as

this; we had as good[189] go into the dead cart at once. Therefore,

I say, if we stay here, we are sure to die; and if we go away, we

can but die. I am resolved to be gone.

_Tho._ You will go away. Whither will you go, and what can you do?

I would as willingly go away as you, if I knew whither; but we have

no acquaintance, no friends. Here we were born, and here we must

die.

_John._ Look you, Tom, the whole kingdom is my native country as

well as this town. You may as well say I must not go out of my

house if it is on fire, as that I must not go out of the town I was

born in when it is infected with the plague. I was born in England,

and have a right to live in it if I can.

_Tho._ But you know every vagrant person may, by the laws of

England, be taken up, and passed back to their last legal

settlement.

_John._ But how shall they make me vagrant? I desire only to

travel on upon my lawful occasions.

_Tho._ What lawful occasions can we pretend to travel, or rather

wander, upon? They will not be put off with words.

_John._ Is not flying to save our lives a lawful occasion? And do

they not all know that the fact is true? We cannot be said to

dissemble.

_Tho._ But, suppose they let us pass, whither shall we go?

_John._ Anywhere to save our lives: it is time enough to consider

that when we are got out of this town. If I am once out of this

dreadful place, I care not where I go.

_Tho._ We shall be driven to great extremities. I know not what to

think of it.

_John._ Well, Tom, consider of it a little.

This was about the beginning of July; and though the plague was come

forward in the west and north parts of the town, yet all Wapping, as I

have observed before, and Redriff and Ratcliff, and Limehouse and

Poplar, in short, Deptford and Greenwich, both sides of the river from

the Hermitage, and from over against it, quite down to Blackwall, was

entirely free. There had not one person died of the plague in all

Stepney Parish, and not one on the south side of Whitechapel Road, no,

not in any parish; and yet the weekly bill was that very week risen up

to 1,006.

It was a fortnight after this before the two brothers met again, and

then the case was a little altered, and the plague was exceedingly

advanced, and the number greatly increased. The bill was up at 2,785,

and prodigiously increasing; though still both sides of the river, as

below, kept pretty well. But some began to die in Redriff, and about

five or six in Ratcliff Highway, when the sailmaker came to his brother

John, express,[190] and in some fright; for he was absolutely warned out

of his lodging, and had only a week to provide himself. His brother John

was in as bad a case, for he was quite out, and had only[191] begged

leave of his master, the biscuit baker, to lodge in an outhouse

belonging to his workhouse, where he only lay upon straw, with some

biscuit sacks, or "bread sacks," as they called them, laid upon it, and

some of the same sacks to cover him.

Here they resolved, seeing all employment being at an end, and no work

or wages to be had, they would make the best of their way to get out of

the reach of the dreadful infection, and, being as good husbands as they

could, would endeavor to live upon what they had as long as it would

last, and then work for more, if they could get work anywhere of any

kind, let it be what it would.

While they were considering to put this resolution in practice in the

best manner they could, the third man, who was acquainted very well with

the sailmaker, came to know of the design, and got leave to be one of

the number; and thus they prepared to set out.

It happened that they had not an equal share of money; but as the

sailmaker, who had the best stock, was, besides his being lame, the most

unfit to expect to get anything by working in the country, so he was

content that what money they had should all go into one public stock, on

condition that whatever any one of them could gain more than another, it

should, without any grudging, be all added to the public stock.

They resolved to load themselves with as little baggage as possible,

because they resolved at first to travel on foot, and to go a great way,

that they might, if possible, be effectually safe. And a great many

consultations they had with themselves before they could agree about

what way they should travel; which they were so far from adjusting,

that, even to the morning they set out, they were not resolved on it.

At last the seaman put in a hint that determined it. "First," says he,

"the weather is very hot; and therefore I am for traveling north, that

we may not have the sun upon our faces, and beating upon our breasts,

which will heat and suffocate us; and I have been told," says he, "that

it is not good to overheat our blood at a time when, for aught we know,

the infection may be in the very air. In the next place," says he, "I am

for going the way that may be contrary to the wind as it may blow when

we set out, that we may not have the wind blow the air of the city on

our backs as we go." These two cautions were approved of, if it could be

brought so to hit that the wind might not be in the south when they set

out to go north.

John the baker, who had been a soldier, then put in his opinion.

"First," says he, "we none of us expect to get any lodging on the road,

and it will be a little too hard to lie just in the open air. Though it

may be warm weather, yet it may be wet and damp, and we have a double

reason to take care of our healths at such a time as this; and

therefore," says he, "you, brother Tom, that are a sailmaker, might

easily make us a little tent; and I will undertake to set it up every

night and take it down, and a fig for all the inns in England. If we

have a good tent over our heads, we shall do well enough."

The joiner opposed this, and told them, let them leave that to him: he

would undertake to build them a house every night with his hatchet and

mallet, though he had no other tools, which should be fully to their

satisfaction, and as good as a tent.

The soldier and the joiner disputed that point some time; but at last

the soldier carried it for a tent: the only objection against it was,

that it must be carried with them, and that would increase their baggage

too much, the weather being hot. But the sailmaker had a piece of good

hap[192] fall in, which made that easy; for his master who[193] he

worked for, having a ropewalk, as well as sailmaking trade, had a little

poor horse that he made no use of then, and, being willing to assist the

three honest men, he gave them the horse for the carrying their baggage;

also, for a small matter of three days' work that his man did for him

before he went, he let him have an old topgallant sail[194] that was

worn out, but was sufficient, and more than enough, to make a very good

tent. The soldier showed how to shape it, and they soon, by his

direction, made their tent, and fitted it with poles or staves for the

purpose: and thus they were furnished for their journey; viz., three

men, one tent, one horse, one gun for the soldier (who would not go

without arms, for now he said he was no more a biscuit baker, but a

trooper). The joiner had a small bag of tools, such as might be useful

if he should get any work abroad, as well for their subsistence as his

own. What money they had they brought all into one public stock, and

thus they began their journey. It seems that in the morning when they

set out, the wind blew, as the sailor said, by his pocket compass, at

N.W. by W., so they directed, or rather resolved to direct, their course

N.W.

But then a difficulty came in their way, that as they set out from the

hither end of Wapping, near the Hermitage, and that the plague was now

very violent, especially on the north side of the city, as in Shoreditch

and Cripplegate Parish, they did not think it safe for them to go near

those parts: so they went away east, through Ratcliff Highway, as far as

Ratcliff Cross, and leaving Stepney church still on their left hand,

being afraid to come up from Ratcliff Cross to Mile End, because they

must come just by the churchyard, and because the wind, that seemed to

blow more from the west, blowed directly from the side of the city where

the plague was hottest. So, I say, leaving Stepney, they fetched a long

compass,[195] and, going to Poplar and Bromley, came into the great road

just at Bow.

Here the watch placed upon Bow Bridge would have questioned them; but

they, crossing the road into a narrow way that turns out of the higher

end of the town of Bow to Oldford, avoided any inquiry there, and

traveled on to Oldford. The constables everywhere were upon their guard,

not so much, it seems, to stop people passing by, as to stop them from

taking up their abode in their towns; and, withal, because of a report

that was newly raised at that time, and that indeed was not very

improbable, viz., that the poor people in London, being distressed and

starved for want of work, and by that means for want of bread, were up

in arms, and had raised a tumult, and that they would come out to all

the towns round to plunder for bread. This, I say, was only a rumor, and

it was very well it was no more; but it was not so far off from being a

reality as it has been thought, for in a few weeks more the poor people

became so desperate by the calamity they suffered, that they were with

great difficulty kept from running out into the fields and towns, and

tearing all in pieces wherever they came. And, as I have observed

before, nothing hindered them but that the plague raged so violently,

and fell in upon them so furiously, that they rather went to the grave

by thousands than into the fields in mobs by thousands; for in the parts

about the parishes of St. Sepulchre's, Clerkenwell, Cripplegate,

Bishopsgate, and Shoreditch, which were the places where the mob began

to threaten, the distemper came on so furiously, that there died in

those few parishes, even then, before the plague was come to its height,

no less than 5,361 people in the first three weeks in August, when at

the same time the parts about Wapping, Ratcliff, and Rotherhithe were,

as before described, hardly touched, or but very lightly; so that in a

word, though, as I said before, the good management of the lord mayor

and justices did much to prevent the rage and desperation of the people

from breaking out in rabbles and tumults, and, in short, from the poor

plundering the rich,--I say, though they did much, the dead cart did

more: for as I have said, that, in five parishes only, there died above

five thousand in twenty days, so there might be probably three times

that number sick all that time; for some recovered, and great numbers

fell sick every day, and died afterwards. Besides, I must still be

allowed to say, that, if the bills of mortality said five thousand, I

always believed it was twice as many in reality, there being no room to

believe that the account they gave was right, or that indeed they[196]

were, among such confusions as I saw them in, in any condition to keep

an exact account.

But to return to my travelers. Here they were only examined, and, as

they seemed rather coming from the country than from the city, they

found the people easier with them; that they talked to them, let them

come into a public house where the constable and his warders were, and

gave them drink and some victuals, which greatly refreshed and

encouraged them. And here it came into their heads to say, when they

should be inquired of afterwards, not that they came from London, but

that they came out of Essex.

To forward this little fraud, they obtained so much favor of the

constable at Oldford as to give them a certificate of their passing from

Essex through that village, and that they had not been at London; which,

though false in the common acceptation of London in the country, yet was

literally true, Wapping or Ratcliff being no part either of the city or

liberty.

This certificate, directed to the next constable, that was at Homerton,

one of the hamlets of the parish of Hackney, was so serviceable to them,

that it procured them, not a free passage there only, but a full

certificate of health from a justice of the peace, who, upon the

constable's application, granted it without much difficulty. And thus

they passed through the long divided town of Hackney (for it lay then in

several separated hamlets), and traveled on till they came into the

great north road, on the top of Stamford Hill.

By this time they began to weary; and so, in the back road from Hackney,

a little before it opened into the said great road, they resolved to set

up their tent, and encamp for the first night; which they did

accordingly, with this addition: that, finding a barn, or a building

like a barn, and first searching as well as they could to be sure there

was nobody in it, they set up their tent with the head of it against the

barn. This they did also because the wind blew that night very high, and

they were but young at such a way of lodging, as well as at the managing

their tent.

Here they went to sleep; but the joiner, a grave and sober man, and not

pleased with their lying at this loose rate the first night, could not

sleep, and resolved, after trying it to no purpose, that he would get

out, and, taking the gun in his hand, stand sentinel, and guard his

companions. So, with the gun in his hand, he walked to and again before

the barn; for that stood in the field near the road, but within the

hedge. He had not been long upon the scout, but he heard a noise of

people coming on as if it had been a great number; and they came on, as

he thought, directly towards the barn. He did not presently awake his

companions, but in a few minutes more, their noise growing louder and

louder, the biscuit baker called to him and asked him what was the

matter, and quickly started out too. The other being the lame sailmaker,

and most weary, lay still in the tent.

As they expected, so the people whom they had heard came on directly to

the barn, when one of our travelers challenged, like soldiers upon the

guard, with, "Who comes there?" The people did not answer immediately;

but one of them speaking to another that was behind them, "Alas, alas!

we are all disappointed," says he; "here are some people before us; the

barn is taken up."

They all stopped upon that, as under some surprise; and it seems there

were about thirteen of them in all, and some women among them. They

consulted together what they should do; and by their discourse, our

travelers soon found they were poor distressed people too, like

themselves, seeking shelter and safety; and besides, our travelers had

no need to be afraid of their coming up to disturb them, for as soon as

they heard the words, "Who comes there?" they could hear the women say,

as if frighted, "Do not go near them; how do you know but they may have

the plague?" And when one of the men said, "Let us but speak to them,"

the women said, "No, don't, by any means; we have escaped thus far by

the goodness of God; do not let us run into danger now, we beseech you."

Our travelers found by this that they were a good sober sort of people,

and flying for their lives as they were; and as they were encouraged by

it, so John said to the joiner, his comrade, "Let us encourage them

too, as much as we can." So he called to them. "Hark ye, good people,"

says the joiner; "we find by your talk that you are flying from the same

dreadful enemy as we are. Do not be afraid of us; we are only three poor

men of us. If you are free from the distemper, you shall not be hurt by

us. We are not in the barn, but in a little tent here on the outside,

and we will remove for you; we can set up our tent again immediately

anywhere else." And upon this a parley began between the joiner, whose

name was Richard, and one of their men, whose said name was Ford.

_Ford._ And do you assure us that you are all sound men?

_Rich._ Nay, we are concerned to tell you of it, that you may not

be uneasy, or think yourselves in danger; but you see we do not

desire you should put yourselves into any danger, and therefore I

tell you that we have not made use of the barn; so we will remove

from it, that you may be safe and we also.

_Ford._ That is very kind and charitable; but if we have reason to

be satisfied that you are sound, and free from the visitation, why

should we make you remove, now you are settled in your lodging,

and, it may be, are laid down to rest? We will go into the barn, if

you please, to rest ourselves awhile, and we need not disturb you.

_Rich._ Well, but you are more than we are. I hope you will assure

us that you are all of you sound too, for the danger is as great

from you to us as from us to you.

_Ford._ Blessed be God that some do escape, though it be but few!

What may be our portion still, we know not, but hitherto we are

preserved.

_Rich._ What part of the town do you come from? Was the plague come

to the places where you lived?

_Ford._ Ay, ay, in a most frightful and terrible manner, or else we

had not fled away as we do; but we believe there will be very few

left alive behind us.

_Rich._ What part do you come from?

_Ford._ We are most of us from Cripplegate Parish; only two or

three of Clerkenwell Parish, but on the hither side.

_Rich._ How, then, was it that you came away no sooner?

_Ford._ We have been away some time, and kept together as well as

we could at the hither end of Islington, where we got leave to lie

in an old uninhabited house, and had some bedding and conveniences

of our own, that we brought with us; but the plague is come up into

Islington too, and a house next door to our poor dwelling was

infected and shut up, and we are come away in a fright.

_Rich._ And what way are you going?

_Ford._ As our lot shall cast us, we know not whither; but God will

guide those that look up to him.

They parleyed no further at that time, but came all up to the barn, and

with some difficulty got into it. There was nothing but hay in the barn,

but it was almost full of that, and they accommodated themselves as well

as they could, and went to rest; but our travelers observed that before

they went to sleep, an ancient man, who, it seems, was the father of one

of the women, went to prayer with all the company, recommending

themselves to the blessing and protection of Providence before they went

to sleep.

It was soon day at that time of the year; and as Richard the joiner had

kept guard the first part of the night, so John the soldier relieved

him, and he had the post in the morning. And they began to be acquainted

with one another. It seems, when they left Islington, they intended to

have gone north away to Highgate, but were stopped at Holloway, and

there they would not let them pass; so they crossed over the fields and

hills to the eastward, and came out at the Boarded River, and so,

avoiding the towns, they left Hornsey on the left hand, and Newington on

the right hand, and came into the great road about Stamford Hill on that

side, as the three travelers had done on the other side. And now they

had thoughts of going over the river in the marshes, and make forwards

to Epping Forest, where they hoped they should get leave to rest. It

seems they were not poor, at least not so poor as to be in want: at

least, they had enough to subsist them moderately for two or three

months, when, as they said, they were in hopes the cold weather would

check the infection, or at least the violence of it would have spent

itself, and would abate, if it were only for want of people left alive

to be infected.

This was much the fate of our three travelers, only that they seemed to

be the better furnished for traveling, and had it in their view to go

farther off; for, as to the first, they did not propose to go farther

than one day's journey, that so they might have intelligence every two

or three days how things were at London.

But here our travelers found themselves under an unexpected

inconvenience, namely, that of their horse; for, by means of the horse

to carry their baggage, they were obliged to keep in the road, whereas

the people of this other band went over the fields or roads, path or no

path, way or no way, as they pleased. Neither had they any occasion to

pass through any town, or come near any town, other than to buy such

things as they wanted for their necessary subsistence; and in that,

indeed, they were put to much difficulty, of which in its place.

But our three travelers were obliged to keep the road, or else they must

commit spoil, and do the country a great deal of damage in breaking down

fences and gates to go over inclosed fields, which they were loath to do

if they could help it.

Our three travelers, however, had a great mind to join themselves to

this company, and take their lot with them; and, after some discourse,

they laid aside their first design, which looked northward, and resolved

to follow the other into Essex. So in the morning they took up their

tent and loaded their horse, and away they traveled all together.

They had some difficulty in passing the ferry at the riverside, the

ferryman being afraid of them; but, after some parley at a distance, the

ferryman was content to bring his boat to a place distant from the

usual ferry, and leave it there for them to take it. So, putting

themselves over, he directed them to leave the boat, and he, having

another boat, said he would fetch it again; which it seems, however, he

did not do for above eight days.

Here, giving the ferryman money beforehand, they had a supply of

victuals and drink, which he brought and left in the boat for them, but

not without, as I said, having received the money beforehand. But now

our travelers were at a great loss and difficulty how to get the horse

over, the boat being small, and not fit for it, and at last could not do

it without unloading the baggage and making him swim over.

From the river they traveled towards the forest; but when they came to

Walthamstow, the people of that town denied[197] to admit them, as was

the case everywhere; the constables and their watchmen kept them off at

a distance, and parleyed with them. They gave the same account of

themselves as before; but these gave no credit to what they said, giving

it for a reason, that two or three companies had already come that way

and made the like pretenses, but that they had given several people the

distemper in the towns where they had passed, and had been afterwards so

hardly used by the country, though with justice too, as they had

deserved, that about Brentwood[198] or that way, several of them

perished in the fields, whether of the plague, or of mere want and

distress, they could not tell.

This was a good reason, indeed, why the people of Walthamstow should be

very cautious, and why they should resolve not to entertain anybody that

they were not well satisfied of; but as Richard the joiner, and one of

the other men who parleyed with them, told them, it was no reason why

they should block up the roads and refuse to let the people pass through

the town, and who asked nothing of them but to go through the street;

that, if their people were afraid of them, they might go into their

houses and shut their doors: they would neither show them civility nor

incivility, but go on about their business.

The constables and attendants, not to be persuaded by reason, continued

obstinate, and would hearken to nothing: so the two men that talked with

them went back to their fellows to consult what was to be done. It was

very discouraging in the whole, and they knew not what to do for a good

while; but at last John, the soldier and biscuit baker, considering

awhile, "Come," says he, "leave the rest of the parley to me." He had

not appeared yet: so he sets the joiner, Richard, to work to cut some

poles out of the trees, and shape them as like guns as he could; and in

a little time he had five or six fair muskets, which at a distance would

not be known; and about the part where the lock of a gun is, he caused

them to wrap cloth and rags, such as they had, as soldiers do in wet

weather to preserve the locks of their pieces from rust; the rest was

discolored with clay or mud, such as they could get; and all this while

the rest of them sat under the trees by his direction, in two or three

bodies, where they made fires at a good distance from one another.

While this was doing, he advanced himself, and two or three with him,

and set up their tent in the lane, within sight of the barrier which the

townsmen had made, and set a sentinel just by it with the real gun, the

only one they had, and who[199] walked to and fro with the gun on his

shoulder, so as that the people of the town might see them; also he tied

the horse to a gate in the hedge just by, and got some dry sticks

together and kindled a fire on the other side of the tent, so that the

people of the town could see the fire and the smoke, but could not see

what they were doing at it.

After the country people had looked upon them very earnestly a great

while, and by all that they could see could not but suppose that they

were a great many in company, they began to be uneasy, not for their

going away, but for staying where they were; and above all, perceiving

they had horses and arms (for they had seen one horse and one gun at the

tent, and they had seen others of them walk about the field on the

inside of the hedge by the side of the lane with their muskets, as they

took them to be, shouldered),--I say, upon such a sight as this, you may

be assured they were alarmed and terribly frightened; and it seems they

went to a justice of the peace to know what they should do. What the

justice advised them to, I know not; but towards the evening they called

from the barrier, as above, to the sentinel at the tent.

"What do you want?" says John.

"Why, what do you intend to do?" says the constable.

"To do?" says John; "what would you have us to do?"

_Const._ Why don't you begone? What do you stay there for?

_John._ Why do you stop us on the King's highway, and pretend to

refuse us leave to go on our way?

_Const._ We are not bound to tell you the reason, though we did let

you know it was because of the plague.

_John._ We told you we were all sound, and free from the plague,

which we were not bound to have satisfied you of, and yet you

pretend to stop us on the highway.

_Const._ We have a right to stop it up, and our own safety obliges

us to it; besides, this is not the King's highway, it is a way upon

sufferance. You see here is a gate, and if we do let people pass

here, we make them pay toll.

_John._ We have a right to seek our own safety as well as you; and

you may see we are flying for our lives, and it is very unchristian

and unjust in you to stop us.

_Const._ You may go back from whence you came, we do not hinder you

from that.

_John._ No, it is a stronger enemy than you that keeps us from

doing that, or else we should not have come hither.

_Const._ Well, you may go any other way, then.

_John._ No, no. I suppose you see we are able to send you going,

and all the people of your parish, and come through your town when

we will; but, since you have stopped us here, we are content. You

see we have encamped here, and here we will live. We hope you will

furnish us with victuals.

_Const._ We furnish you! What mean you by that?

_John._ Why, you would not have us starve, would you? If you stop

us here, you must keep us.

_Const._ You will be ill kept at our maintenance.

_John._ If you stint us, we shall make ourselves the better

allowance.

_Const._ Why, you will not pretend to quarter upon us by force,

will you?

_John._ We have offered no violence to you yet, why do you seem to

oblige us to it? I am an old soldier, and cannot starve; and, if

you think that we shall be obliged to go back for want of

provisions, you are mistaken.

_Const._ Since you threaten us, we shall take care to be strong

enough for you. I have orders to raise the county upon you.

_John._ It is you that threaten, not we; and, since you are for

mischief, you cannot blame us if we do not give you time for it. We

shall begin our march in a few minutes.

_Const._ What is it you demand of us?

_John._ At first we desired nothing of you but leave to go through

the town. We should have offered no injury to any of you, neither

would you have had any injury or loss by us. We are not thieves,

but poor people in distress, and flying from the dreadful plague in

London, which devours thousands every week. We wonder how you can

be so unmerciful.

_Const._ Self-preservation obliges us.

_John._ What! To shut up your compassion, in a case of such

distress as this?

_Const._ Well, if you will pass over the fields on your left hand,

and behind that part of the town, I will endeavor to have gates

opened for you.

_John._ Our horsemen cannot pass with our baggage that way. It does

not lead into the road that we want to go, and why should you force

us out of the road? Besides, you have kept us here all day without

any provisions but such as we brought with us. I think you ought to

send us some provisions for our relief.

_Const._ If you will go another way, we will send you some

provisions.

_John._ That is the way to have all the towns in the county stop up

the ways against us.

_Const._ If they all furnish you with food, what will you be the

worse? I see you have tents: you want no lodging.

_John._ Well, what quantity of provisions will you send us?

_Const._ How many are you?

_John._ Nay, we do not ask enough for all our company. We are in

three companies. If you will send us bread for twenty men and about

six or seven women for three days, and show us the way over the

field you speak of, we desire not to put your people into any fear

for us. We will go out of our way to oblige you, though we are as

free from infection as you are.

_Const._ And will you assure us that your other people shall offer

us no new disturbance?

_John._ No, no; you may depend on it.

_Const._ You must oblige yourself, too, that none of your people

shall come a step nearer than where the provisions we send you

shall be set down.

_John._ I answer for it, we will not.

Here he called to one of his men, and bade him order Captain Richard and

his people to march the lower way on the side of the marshes, and meet

them in the forest; which was all a sham, for they had no Captain

Richard or any such company.

Accordingly, they sent to the place twenty loaves of bread and three or

four large pieces of good beef, and opened some gates, through which

they passed; but none of them had courage so much as to look out to see

them go, and as it was evening, if they had looked, they could not have

seen them so as to know how few they were.

This was John the soldier's management; but this gave such an alarm to

the county, that, had they really been two or three hundred, the whole

county would have been raised upon them, and they would have been sent

to prison, or perhaps knocked on the head.

They were soon made sensible of this, for two days afterwards they found

several parties of horsemen and footmen also about, in pursuit of three

companies of men armed, as they said, with muskets, who were broke out

from London and had the plague upon them, and that were not only

spreading the distemper among the people, but plundering the country.

As they saw now the consequence of their case, they soon saw the danger

they were in: so they resolved, by the advice also of the old soldier,

to divide themselves again. John and his two comrades, with the horse,

went away as if towards Waltham,[200]--the other in two companies, but

all a little asunder,--and went towards Epping.[200]

The first night they encamped all in the forest, and not far off from

one another, but not setting up the tent for fear that should discover

them. On the other hand, Richard went to work with his ax and his

hatchet, and, cutting down branches of trees, he built three tents or

hovels, in which they all encamped with as much convenience as they

could expect.

The provisions they had at Walthamstow served them very plentifully this

night; and as for the next, they left it to Providence. They had fared

so well with the old soldier's conduct, that they now willingly made him

their leader, and the first of his conduct appeared to be very good. He

told them that they were now at a proper distance enough from London;

that, as they need not be immediately beholden to the country for

relief, they ought to be as careful the country did not infect them as

that they did not infect the country; that what little money they had

they must be as frugal of as they could; that as he would not have them

think of offering the country any violence, so they must endeavor to

make the sense of their condition go as far with the country as it

could. They all referred themselves to his direction: so they left their

three houses standing, and the next day went away towards Epping; the

captain also (for so they now called him), and his two fellow travelers,

laid aside their design of going to Waltham, and all went together.

When they came near Epping, they halted, choosing out a proper place in

the open forest, not very near the highway, but not far out of it, on

the north side, under a little cluster of low pollard trees.[201] Here

they pitched their little camp, which consisted of three large tents or

huts made of poles, which their carpenter, and such as were his

assistants, cut down, and fixed in the ground in a circle, binding all

the small ends together at the top, and thickening the sides with boughs

of trees and bushes, so that they were completely close and warm. They

had besides this a little tent where the women lay by themselves, and a

hut to put the horse in.

It happened that the next day, or the next but one, was market day at

Epping, when Captain John and one of the other men went to market and

bought some provisions, that is to say, bread, and some mutton and beef;

and two of the women went separately, as if they had not belonged to the

rest, and bought more. John took the horse to bring it home, and the

sack which the carpenter carried his tools in, to put it in. The

carpenter went to work and made them benches and stools to sit on, such

as the wood he could get would afford, and a kind of a table to dine on.

They were taken no notice of for two or three days; but after that,

abundance of people ran out of the town to look at them, and all the

country was alarmed about them. The people at first seemed afraid to

come near them; and, on the other hand, they desired the people to keep

off, for there was a rumor that the plague was at Waltham, and that it

had been in Epping two or three days. So John called out to them not to

come to them. "For," says he, "we are all whole and sound people here,

and we would not have you bring the plague among us, nor pretend we

brought it among you."

After this, the parish officers came up to them, and parleyed with them

at a distance, and desired to know who they were, and by what authority

they pretended to fix their stand at that place. John answered very

frankly, they were poor distressed people from London, who, foreseeing

the misery they should be reduced to if the plague spread into the city,

had fled out in time for their lives, and, having no acquaintance or

relations to fly to, had first taken up at Islington, but, the plague

being come into that town, were fled farther; and, as they supposed that

the people of Epping might have refused them coming into their town,

they had pitched their tents thus in the open field and in the forest,

being willing to bear all the hardships of such a disconsolate lodging

rather than have any one think, or be afraid, that they should receive

injury by them.

At first the Epping people talked roughly to them, and told them they

must remove; that this was no place for them; and that they pretended to

be sound and well, but that they might be infected with the plague, for

aught they knew, and might infect the whole country, and they could not

suffer them there.

John argued very calmly with them a great while, and told them that

London was the place by which they, that is, the townsmen of Epping, and

all the country round them, subsisted; to whom they sold the produce of

their lands, and out of whom they made the rents of their farms; and to

be so cruel to the inhabitants of London, or to any of those by whom

they gained so much, was very hard; and they would be loath to have it

remembered hereafter, and have it told, how barbarous, how inhospitable,

and how unkind they were to the people of London when they fled from the

face of the most terrible enemy in the world; that it would be enough to

make the name of an Epping man hateful throughout all the city, and to

have the rabble stone them in the very streets whenever they came so

much as to market; that they were not yet secure from being visited

themselves, and that, as he heard, Waltham was already; that they would

think it very hard, that, when any of them fled for fear before they

were touched, they should be denied the liberty of lying so much as in

the open fields.

The Epping men told them again that they, indeed, said they were sound,

and free from the infection, but that they had no assurance of it; and

that it was reported that there had been a great rabble of people at

Walthamstow, who made such pretenses of being sound as they did, but

that they threatened to plunder the town, and force their way, whether

the parish officers would or no; that there were near two hundred of

them, and had arms and tents like Low Country soldiers; that they

extorted provisions from the town by threatening them with living upon

them at free quarter,[202] showing their arms, and talking in the

language of soldiers; and that several of them having gone away towards

Rumford and Brentwood, the country had been infected by them, and the

plague spread into both those large towns, so that the people durst not

go to market there, as usual; that it was very likely they were some of

that party, and, if so, they deserved to be sent to the county jail, and

be secured till they had made satisfaction for the damage they had done,

and for the terror and fright they had put the country into.

John answered, that what other people had done was nothing to them; that

they assured them they were all of one company; that they had never been

more in number than they saw them at that time (which, by the way, was

very true); that they came out in two separate companies, but joined by

the way, their cases being the same; that they were ready to give what

account of themselves anybody desired of them, and to give in their

names and places of abode, that so they might be called to an account

for any disorder that they might be guilty of; that the townsmen might

see they were content to live hardly, and only desired a little room to

breathe in on the forest, where it was wholesome (for where it was not,

they could not stay, and would decamp if they found it otherwise there).

"But," said the townsmen, "we have a great charge of poor upon our hands

already, and we must take care not to increase it. We suppose you can

give us no security against your being chargeable to our parish and to

the inhabitants, any more than you can of being dangerous to us as to

the infection."

"Why, look you," says John, "as to being chargeable to you, we hope we

shall not. If you will relieve us with provisions for our present

necessity, we will be very thankful. As we all lived without charity

when we were at home, so we will oblige ourselves fully to repay you, if

God please to bring us back to our own families and houses in safety,

and to restore health to the people of London.

"As to our dying here, we assure you, if any of us die, we that survive

will bury them, and put you to no expense, except it should be that we

should all die, and then, indeed, the last man, not being able to bury

himself, would put you to that single expense; which I am persuaded,"

says John, "he would leave enough behind him to pay you for the expense

of.

"On the other hand," says John, "if you will shut up all bowels of

compassion, and not relieve us at all, we shall not extort anything by

violence, or steal from any one; but when that little we have is spent,

if we perish for want, God's will be done!"

John wrought so upon the townsmen by talking thus rationally and

smoothly to them, that they went away; and though they did not give any

consent to their staying there, yet they did not molest them, and the

poor people continued there three or four days longer without any

disturbance. In this time they had got some remote acquaintance with a

victualing house on the outskirts of the town, to whom they called at a

distance to bring some little things that they wanted, and which they

caused to be set down at some distance, and always paid for very

honestly.

During this time the younger people of the town came frequently pretty

near them, and would stand and look at them, and would sometimes talk

with them at some space between; and particularly it was observed that

the first sabbath day the poor people kept retired, worshiped God

together, and were heard to sing psalms.

These things, and a quiet, inoffensive behavior, began to get them the

good opinion of the country, and the people began to pity them and speak

very well of them; the consequence of which was, that upon the occasion

of a very wet, rainy night, a certain gentleman who lived in the

neighborhood sent them a little cart with twelve trusses or bundles of

straw, as well for them to lodge upon as to cover and thatch their huts,

and to keep them dry. The minister of a parish not far off, not knowing

of the other, sent them also about two bushels of wheat and half a

bushel of white pease.

They were very thankful, to be sure, for this relief, and particularly

the straw was a very great comfort to them; for though the ingenious

carpenter had made them frames to lie in, like troughs, and filled them

with leaves of trees and such things as they could get, and had cut all

their tent cloth out to make coverlids, yet they lay damp and hard and

unwholesome till this straw came, which was to them like feather beds,

and, as John said, more welcome than feather beds would have been at

another time.

This gentleman and the minister having thus begun, and given an example

of charity to these wanderers, others quickly followed; and they

received every day some benevolence or other from the people, but

chiefly from the gentlemen who dwelt in the country round about. Some

sent them chairs, stools, tables, and such household things as they gave

notice they wanted. Some sent them blankets, rugs, and coverlids; some,

earthenware; and some, kitchen ware for ordering[203] their food.

Encouraged by this good usage, their carpenter, in a few days, built

them a large shed or house with rafters, and a roof in form, and an

upper floor, in which they lodged warm, for the weather began to be damp

and cold in the beginning of September; but this house being very well

thatched, and the sides and roof very thick, kept out the cold well

enough. He made also an earthen wall at one end, with a chimney in it;

and another of the company, with a vast deal of trouble and pains, made

a funnel to the chimney to carry out the smoke.

Here they lived comfortably, though coarsely, till the beginning of

September, when they had the bad news to hear, whether true or not, that

the plague, which was very hot at Waltham Abbey on the one side, and

Rumford and Brentwood on the other side, was also come to Epping, to

Woodford, and to most of the towns upon the forest; and which, as they

said, was brought down among them chiefly by the higglers,[204] and such

people as went to and from London with provisions.

If this was true, it was an evident contradiction to the report which

was afterwards spread all over England, but which, as I have said, I

cannot confirm of my own knowledge, namely, that the market people

carrying provisions to the city never got the infection or carried it

back into the country; both which, I have been assured, has been[205]

false.

It might be that they were preserved even beyond expectation, though not

to a miracle;[206] that abundance went and came and were not touched;

and that was much encouragement for the poor people of London, who had

been completely miserable if the people that brought provisions to the

markets had not been many times wonderfully preserved, or at least more

preserved than could be reasonably expected.

But these new inmates began to be disturbed more effectually, for the

towns about them were really infected. And they began to be afraid to

trust one another so much as to go abroad for such things as they

wanted; and this pinched them very hard, for now they had little or

nothing but what the charitable gentlemen of the country supplied them

with. But, for their encouragement, it happened that other gentlemen of

the country, who had not sent them anything before, began to hear of

them and supply them. And one sent them a large pig, that is to say, a

porker; another, two sheep; and another sent them a calf: in short, they

had meat enough, and sometimes had cheese and milk, and such things.

They were chiefly put to it[207] for bread; for when the gentlemen sent

them corn, they had nowhere to bake it or to grind it. This made them

eat the first two bushels of wheat that was sent them, in parched corn,

as the Israelites of old did, without grinding or making bread of

it.[208]

At last they found means to carry their corn to a windmill near

Woodford, where they had it ground; and afterwards the biscuit baker

made a hearth so hollow and dry, that he could bake biscuit cakes

tolerably well, and thus they came into a condition to live without any

assistance or supplies from the towns. And it was well they did; for the

country was soon after fully infected, and about a hundred and twenty

were said to have died of the distemper in the villages near them, which

was a terrible thing to them.

On this they called a new council, and now the towns had no need to be

afraid they should settle near them; but, on the contrary, several

families of the poorer sort of the inhabitants quitted their houses, and

built huts in the forest, after the same manner as they had done. But it

was observed that several of these poor people that had so removed had

the sickness even in their huts or booths, the reason of which was

plain: namely, not because they removed into the air, but[209] because

they did not remove time[210] enough, that is to say, not till, by

openly conversing with other people, their neighbors, they had the

distemper upon them (or, as may be said, among them), and so carried it

about with them whither they went; or (2) because they were not careful

enough, after they were safely removed out of the towns, not to come in

again and mingle with the diseased people.

But be it which of these it will, when our travelers began to perceive

that the plague was not only in the towns, but even in the tents and

huts on the forest near them, they began then not only to be afraid, but

to think of decamping and removing; for, had they staid, they would have

been in manifest danger of their lives.

It is not to be wondered that they were greatly afflicted at being

obliged to quit the place where they had been so kindly received, and

where they had been treated with so much humanity and charity; but

necessity, and the hazard of life which they came out so far to

preserve, prevailed with them, and they saw no remedy. John, however,

thought of a remedy for their present misfortune; namely, that he would

first acquaint that gentleman who was their principal benefactor with

the distress they were in, and to[211] crave his assistance and advice.

This good charitable gentleman encouraged them to quit the place, for

fear they should be cut off from any retreat at all by the violence of

the distemper; but whither they should go, that he found very hard to

direct them to. At last John asked of him, whether he, being a justice

of the peace, would give them certificates of health to other justices

who[212] they might come before, that so, whatever might be their lot,

they might not be repulsed, now they had been also so long from London.

This his worship immediately granted, and gave them proper letters of

health; and from thence they were at liberty to travel whither they

pleased.

Accordingly they had a full certificate of health, intimating that they

had resided in a village in the county of Essex so long; that, being

examined and scrutinized sufficiently, and having been retired from all

conversation[213] for above forty days, without any appearance of

sickness, they were therefore certainly concluded to be sound men, and

might be safely entertained anywhere, having at last removed rather for

fear of the plague, which was come into such a town, rather[214] than

for having any signal of infection upon them, or upon any belonging to

them.

With this certificate they removed, though with great reluctance; and,

John inclining not to go far from home, they removed towards the marshes

on the side of Waltham. But here they found a man who, it seems, kept a

weir or stop upon the river, made to raise water for the barges which go

up and down the river; and he terrified them with dismal stories of the

sickness having been spread into all the towns on the river and near the

river, on the side of Middlesex and Hertfordshire (that is to say, into

Waltham, Waltham Cross, Enfield, and Ware, and all the towns on the

road), that they were afraid to go that way; though it seems the man

imposed upon them, for that[215] the thing was not really true.

However, it terrified them, and they resolved to move across the forest

towards Rumford and Brentwood; but they heard that there were numbers of

people fled out of London that way, who lay up and down in the forest,

reaching near Rumford, and who, having no subsistence or habitation, not

only lived oddly,[216] and suffered great extremities in the woods and

fields for want of relief, but were said to be made so desperate by

those extremities, as that they offered many violences to the country,

robbed and plundered, and killed cattle, and the like; and others,

building huts and hovels by the roadside, begged, and that with an

importunity next door to demanding relief: so that the country was very

uneasy, and had been obliged to take some of them up.

This, in the first place, intimated to them that they would be sure to

find the charity and kindness of the county, which they had found here

where they were before, hardened and shut up against them; and that, on

the other hand, they would be questioned wherever they came, and would

be in danger of violence from others in like cases with themselves.

Upon all these considerations, John, their captain, in all their names,

went back to their good friend and benefactor who had relieved them

before, and, laying their case truly before him, humbly asked his

advice; and he as kindly advised them to take up their old quarters

again, or, if not, to remove but a little farther out of the road, and

directed them to a proper place for them. And as they really wanted some

house, rather than huts, to shelter them at that time of the year, it

growing on towards Michaelmas, they found an old decayed house, which

had been formerly some cottage or little habitation, but was so out of

repair as[217] scarce habitable; and by consent of a farmer, to whose

farm it belonged, they got leave to make what use of it they could.

The ingenious joiner, and all the rest by his directions, went to work

with it, and in a very few days made it capable to shelter them all in

case of bad weather; and in which there was an old chimney and an old

oven, though both lying in ruins, yet they made them both fit for use;

and, raising additions, sheds, and lean-to's[218] on every side, they

soon made the house capable to hold them all.

They chiefly wanted boards to make window shutters, floors, doors, and

several other things; but as the gentleman above favored them, and the

country was by that means made easy with them, and, above all, that they

were known to be all sound and in good health, everybody helped them

with what they could spare.

Here they encamped for good and all, and resolved to remove no more.

They saw plainly how terribly alarmed that country was everywhere at

anybody that came from London, and that they should have no admittance

anywhere but with the utmost difficulty; at least no friendly reception

and assistance, as they had received here.

Now, although they received great assistance and encouragement from the

country gentlemen, and from the people round about them, yet they were

put to great straits; for the weather grew cold and wet in October and

November, and they had not been used to so much hardship, so that they

got cold in their limbs, and distempers, but never had the infection.

And thus about December they came home to the city again.

I give this story thus at large, principally to give an account[219]

what became of the great numbers of people which immediately appeared in

the city as soon as the sickness abated; for, as I have said, great

numbers of those that were able, and had retreats in the country, fled

to those retreats. So when it[220] was increased to such a frightful

extremity as I have related, the middling people[221] who had not

friends fled to all parts of the country where they could get shelter,

as well those that had money to relieve themselves as those that had

not. Those that had money always fled farthest, because they were able

to subsist themselves; but those who were empty suffered, as I have

said, great hardships, and were often driven by necessity to relieve

their wants at the expense of the country. By that means the country was

made very uneasy at them, and sometimes took them up, though even then

they scarce knew what to do with them, and were always very backward to

punish them; but often, too, they forced them from place to place, till

they were obliged to come back again to London.

I have, since my knowing this story of John and his brother, inquired,

and found that there were a great many of the poor disconsolate people,

as above, fled into the country every way; and some of them got little

sheds and barns and outhouses to live in, where they could obtain so

much kindness of the country, and especially where they had any, the

least satisfactory account to give of themselves, and particularly that

they did not come out of London too late. But others, and that in great

numbers, built themselves little huts and retreats in the fields and

woods, and lived like hermits in holes and caves, or any place they

could find, and where, we may be sure, they suffered great extremities,

such that many of them were obliged to come back again, whatever the

danger was. And so those little huts were often found empty, and the

country people supposed the inhabitants lay dead in them of the plague,

and would not go near them for fear, no, not in a great while; nor is it

unlikely but that some of the unhappy wanderers might die so all alone,

even sometimes for want of help, as particularly in one tent or hut was

found a man dead, and on the gate of a field just by was cut with his

knife, in uneven letters, the following words, by which it may be

supposed the other man escaped, or that, one dying first, the other

buried him as well as he could:--

O m I s E r Y!

We Bo T H Sh a L L D y E,

W o E, W o E

I have given an account already of what I found to have been the case

down the river among the seafaring men, how the ships lay in the

"offing," as it is called, in rows or lines, astern of one another,

quite down from the Pool as far as I could see. I have been told that

they lay in the same manner quite down the river as low as

Gravesend,[222] and some far beyond, even everywhere, or in every place

where they could ride with safety as to wind and weather. Nor did I ever

hear that the plague reached to any of the people on board those ships,

except such as lay up in the Pool, or as high as Deptford Reach,

although the people went frequently on shore to the country towns and

villages, and farmers' houses, to buy fresh provisions (fowls, pigs,

calves, and the like) for their supply.

Likewise I found that the watermen on the river above the bridge found

means to convey themselves away up the river as far as they could go;

and that they had, many of them, their whole families in their boats,

covered with tilts[223] and bales, as they call them, and furnished with

straw within for their lodging; and that they lay thus all along by the

shore in the marshes, some of them setting up little tents with their

sails, and so lying under them on shore in the day, and going into their

boats at night. And in this manner, as I have heard, the riversides were

lined with boats and people as long as they had anything to subsist on,

or could get anything of the country; and indeed the country people, as

well gentlemen as others, on these and all other occasions, were very

forward to relieve them, but they were by no means willing to receive

them into their towns and houses, and for that we cannot blame them.

There was one unhappy citizen, within my knowledge, who had been visited

in a dreadful manner, so that his wife and all his children were dead,

and himself and two servants only left, with an elderly woman, a near

relation, who had nursed those that were dead as well as she could. This

disconsolate man goes to a village near the town, though not within the

bills of mortality, and, finding an empty house there, inquires out the

owner, and took the house. After a few days he got a cart, and loaded it

with goods, and carries them down to the house. The people of the

village opposed his driving the cart along, but, with some arguings and

some force, the men that drove the cart along got through the street up

to the door of the house. There the constable resisted them again, and

would not let them be brought in. The man caused the goods to be

unloaded and laid at the door, and sent the cart away, upon which they

carried the man before a justice of peace; that is to say, they

commanded him to go, which he did. The justice ordered him to cause the

cart to fetch away the goods again, which he refused to do; upon which

the justice ordered the constable to pursue the carters and fetch them

back, and make them reload the goods and carry them away, or to set

them in the stocks[224] till they[225] came for further orders; and if

they could not find them,[226] and the man would not consent to take

them[227] away, they[225] should cause them[227] to be drawn with hooks

from the house door, and burned in the street. The poor distressed man,

upon this, fetched the goods again, but with grievous cries and

lamentations at the hardship of his case. But there was no remedy:

self-preservation obliged the people to those severities which they

would not otherwise have been concerned in. Whether this poor man lived

or died, I cannot tell, but it was reported that he had the plague upon

him at that time, and perhaps the people might report that to justify

their usage of him; but it was not unlikely that either he or his goods,

or both, were dangerous, when his whole family had been dead of the

distemper so little a while before.

I know that the inhabitants of the towns adjacent to London were much

blamed for cruelty to the poor people that ran from the contagion in

their distress, and many very severe things were done, as may be seen

from what has been said; but I cannot but say also, that where there was

room for charity and assistance to the people, without apparent danger

to themselves, they were willing enough to help and relieve them. But as

every town were indeed judges in their own case, so the poor people who

ran abroad in their extremities were often ill used, and driven back

again into the town; and this caused infinite exclamations and outcries

against the country towns, and made the clamor very popular.

And yet more or less, maugre[228] all the caution, there was not a town

of any note within ten (or, I believe, twenty) miles of the city, but

what was more or less infected, and had some[229] died among them. I

have heard the accounts of several, such as they were reckoned up, as

follows:--