The unfortunate lady then, for the first time, perceived that she was
attacked by the pestilence, and a long and dreadful pause ensued, broken
only by exclamations of anguish from both.
"Disbrowe!" cried Margaret, at length, raising herself in bed, "you have
deeply--irrecoverably injured me. But promise me one thing."
"I swear to do whatever you may desire," he replied.
"I know not, after what I have heard, whether you have courage for the
deed," she continued. "But I would have you kill this man."
"I will do it," replied Disbrowe.
"Nothing but his blood can wipe out the wrong he has done me," she
rejoined. "Challenge him to a duel--a mortal duel. If he survives, by my
soul, I will give myself to him."
"Margaret!" exclaimed Disbrowe.
"I swear it," she rejoined. "And you know my passionate nature too well
to doubt I will keep my word."
"But you have the plague!"
"What does that matter? I may recover."
"Not so," muttered Disbrowe. "If I fall, I will take care you do not
recover. I will fight him to-morrow," he added aloud.
He then summoned his servants, but when they found their mistress was
attacked by the plague, they framed some excuse to leave the room, and
instantly fled the house. Driven almost to his wits' end, Disbrowe went
in search of other assistance, and was for a while unsuccessful, until a
coachman, to whom he applied, offered, for a suitable reward, to drive
to Clerkenwell--to the shop of an apothecary named Sibbald (with whose
name the reader is already familiar), who was noted for his treatment of
plague patients, and to bring him to the other's residence. Disbrowe
immediately closed with the man, and in less than two hours Sibbald made
his appearance. He was a singular and repulsive personage, with an
immense hooked nose, dark, savage-looking eyes, a skin like parchment,
and high round shoulders, which procured him the nickname of Aesop among
his neighbours. He was under the middle size, and of a spare figure, and
in age might be about sixty-five.
On seeing Mrs. Disbrowe, he at once boldly asserted that he could cure
her, and proceeded to apply his remedies. Finding the servants fled, he
offered to procure a nurse for Disbrowe, and the latter, thanking him,
eagerly embraced the offer. Soon after this he departed. In the evening
the nurse, who (as may be surmised) was no other than Judith Malmayns,
arrived, and immediately commenced her functions.
Disbrowe had no rest that night. His wife slept occasionally for a few
minutes, but, apparently engrossed by one idea, never failed when she
awoke to urge him to slay Parravicin; repeating her oath to give herself
to the knight if he came off victorious. Worn out at length, Disbrowe
gave her a terrible look, and rushed out of the room.
He had not been alone many minutes when he was surprised by the entrance
of Judith. He eagerly inquired whether his wife was worse, but was
informed she had dropped into a slumber.
"Hearing what has passed between you," said the nurse, "and noticing
your look when you left the room, I came to tell you, that if you fall
in this duel, your last moments need not be embittered by any thoughts
of your wife. I will take care she does not recover."
A horrible smile lighted up Disbrowe's features.
"You are the very person I want," he said. "When I would do evil, the
fiend rises to my bidding. If I am slain, you know what to do. How shall
I requite the service?"
"Do not concern yourself about that, captain," rejoined Judith. "I will
take care of myself."
About noon, on the following day, Disbrowe, without venturing to see his
wife, left the house, and proceeded to the Smyrna, where, as he
expected, he found Parravicin and his companions.
The knight instantly advanced towards him, and, laying aside for the
moment his reckless air, inquired, with a look of commiseration, after
his wife.
"She is better," replied Disbrowe, fiercely. "I am come to settle
accounts with you."
"I thought they were settled long ago," returned Parravicin, instantly
resuming his wonted manner. "But I am glad to find you consider the debt
unpaid."
Disbrowe lifted the cane he held in his hand, and struck the knight with
it forcibly on the shoulder. "Be that my answer," he said.
"I will have your life first, and your wife afterwards," replied
Parravicin, furiously.
"You shall have her if you slay me, but not otherwise," retorted
Disbrowe. "It must be a mortal duel."
"It must," replied Parravicin. "I will not spare you this time."
"Spare him!" cried Pillichody. "Shield of Agamemnon! I should hope not.
Spit him as you would a wild boar."
"Peace, fool!" cried Parravicin. "Captain Disbrowe, I shall instantly
proceed to the west side of Hyde Park, beneath the trees. I shall expect
you there. On my return I shall call on your wife."
"I pray you do so, sir," replied Disbrowe, disdainfully.
Both then quitted the coffee-house, Parravicin attended by Rochester and
Pillichody, and Disbrowe accompanied by a military friend, whom he
accidentally encountered. Each party taking a coach, they soon reached
the ground,--a retired spot, completely screened from observation by
trees. The preliminaries were soon arranged, for neither would admit of
delay. The conflict then commenced with great fury on both sides; but
Parravicin, in spite of his passion, observed far more caution than his
antagonist; and, taking advantage of an unguarded movement, occasioned
by the other's impetuosity, passed his sword through his body.
Disbrowe fell.
"You are again successful," he groaned, "but save my wife--save her."
"What mean you?" cried Parravicin, leaning over him, as he wiped his
sword.
But Disbrowe could make no answer. His utterance was choked by a sudden
effusion of blood on the lungs, and he instantly expired. Leaving the
body in care of the second, Parravicin and his friends returned to the
coach, where the major rejoiced greatly at the issue of the duel; but
the knight looked grave, and pondered upon the words of the dying man.
After a time, however, he recovered his spirits, and dined with his
friends at the Smyrna; but they observed that he drank more deeply than
usual. His excesses did not, however, prevent him from playing with his
usual skill, and he won a large sum from Rochester at hazard.
Flushed with success, and heated with wine, he walked up to Disbrowe's
residence about an hour after midnight. As he approached the house, he
observed a strangely-shaped cart at the door, and, halting for a moment,
saw a body, wrapped in a shroud, brought out. Could it be Mrs. Disbrowe?
Rushing forward, to one of the assistants in black cloaks--and who was
no other than Chowles--he asked whom he was about to inter.
"It is a Mrs. Disbrowe," replied the coffin-maker. "She died of grief,
because her husband was killed this morning in a duel; but as she had
the plague, it must be put down to that. We are not particular in such
matters, and shall bury her and her husband together; and as there is no
money left to pay for coffins, they must go to the grave without them.
What, ho! Mother Malmayns, let Jonas have the captain as soon as you
have stripped him. I must be starting."
And as the body of his victim was brought forth, Parravicin fell against
the wall in a state almost of stupefaction.
At this moment Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, suddenly
turned the corner of the street, and stationing himself before the
dead-cart, cried in a voice of thunder, "Woe to the libertine! woe to
the homicide! for he shall perish in everlasting fire! Woe! woe!"
BOOK THE SECOND.
MAY, 1665.
I. PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE.
Towards the middle of May, the bills of mortality began to swell greatly
in amount, and though but few were put down to the plague, and a large
number to the spotted fever (another frightful disorder raging at the
period), it is well known that the bulk had died of the former disease.
The rigorous measures adopted by the authorities (whether salutary or
not has been questioned), in shutting up houses and confining the sick
and sound within them for forty days, were found so intolerable, that
most persons were disposed to run any risk rather than be subjected to
such a grievance, and every artifice was resorted to for concealing a
case when it occurred. Hence, it seldom happened, unless by accident,
that a discovery was made. Quack doctors were secretly consulted,
instead of the regular practitioners; the searchers were bribed to
silence; and large fees were given to the undertakers and buriers to lay
the deaths to the account of some other disorder. All this, however, did
not blind the eyes of the officers to the real state of things.
Redoubling their vigilance, they entered houses on mere suspicion;
inflicted punishments where they found their orders disobeyed or
neglected; sent the sound to prison,--the sick to the pest-house; and
replaced the faithless searchers by others upon whom they could place
reliance. Many cases were thus detected; but in spite of every
precaution, the majority escaped; and the vent was no sooner stopped in
one quarter than it broke out with additional violence in another.
By this time the alarm had become general. All whose business or
pursuits permitted it, prepared to leave London, which they regarded as
a devoted city, without delay. As many houses were, therefore, closed
from the absence of the inhabitants as from the presence of the plague,
and this added to the forlorn appearance of the streets, which in some
quarters were almost deserted. For a while, nothing was seen at the
great outlets of the city but carts, carriages, and other vehicles,
filled with goods and movables, on their way to the country; and, as may
be supposed, the departure of their friends did not tend to abate the
dejection of those whose affairs compelled them to remain behind.
One circumstance must not be passed unnoticed, namely, the continued
fineness and beauty of the weather. No rain had fallen for upwards of
three weeks. The sky was bright and cloudless; the atmosphere,
apparently, pure and innoxious; while the heat was as great as is
generally experienced in the middle of summer. But instead of producing
its usual enlivening effect on the spirits, the fine weather added to
the general gloom and apprehension, inasmuch as it led to the belief
(afterwards fully confirmed), that if the present warmth was so
pernicious, the more sultry seasons which were near at hand would
aggravate the fury of the pestilence. Sometimes, indeed, when the deaths
were less numerous, a hope began to be entertained that the distemper
was abating, and confidence was for a moment restored; but these
anticipations were speedily checked by the reappearance of the scourge,
which seemed to baffle and deride all human skill and foresight.
London now presented a lamentable spectacle. Not a street but had a
house in it marked with a red cross--some streets had many such. The
bells were continually tolling for burials, and the dead-carts went
their melancholy rounds at night and were constantly loaded. Fresh
directions were issued by the authorities; and as domestic animals were
considered to be a medium of conveying the infection, an order, which
was immediately carried into effect, was given to destroy all dogs and
cats. But this plan proved prejudicial rather than the reverse, as the
bodies of the poor animals, most of which were drowned in the Thames,
being washed ashore, produced a horrible and noxious effluvium, supposed
to contribute materially to the propagation of the distemper.
No precautionary measure was neglected; but it may be doubted whether
any human interference could have averted the severity of the scourge,
which, though its progress might be checked for a few days by attention,
or increased in the same ratio by neglect, would in the end have
unquestionably fulfilled its mission. The College of Physicians, by the
king's command, issued simple and intelligible directions, in the mother
tongue, for the sick. Certain of their number, amongst whom was the
reader's acquaintance, Doctor Hodges, were appointed to attend the
infected; and two out of the Court of Aldermen were required to see that
they duly executed their dangerous office. Public prayers and a general
fast were likewise enjoined. But Heaven seemed deaf to the supplications
of the doomed inhabitants--their prayers being followed by a fearful
increase of deaths. A vast crowd was collected within Saint Paul's to
hear a sermon preached by Doctor Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury,--a
prelate greatly distinguished during the whole course of the visitation,
by his unremitting charity and attention to the sick; and before the
discourse was concluded, several fell down within the sacred walls, and,
on being conveyed to their own homes, were found to be infected. On the
following day, too, many others who had been present were seized with
the disorder.
A fresh impulse was given to the pestilence from an unlooked for cause.
It has been mentioned that the shutting up of houses and seclusion of
the sick were regarded as an intolerable grievance, and though most were
compelled to submit to it, some few resisted, and tumults and
disturbances ensued. As the plague increased, these disturbances became
more frequent, and the mob always taking part against the officers, they
were frequently interrupted in the execution of their duty.
About this time a more serious affray than usual occurred, attended-with
loss of life and other unfortunate consequences, which it may be worth
while to relate, as illustrative of the peculiar state of the times. The
wife of a merchant, named Barcroft, residing in Lothbury, being attacked
by the plague, the husband, fearing his house would be shut up, withheld
all information from the examiners and searchers. His wife died, and
immediately afterwards one of his children was attacked. Still he
refused to give notice. The matter, however, got wind. The searchers
arrived at night, and being refused admittance, they broke into the
house. Finding undoubted evidence of infection, they ordered it to be
closed, stationed a watchman at the door, and marked it with the fatal
sign. Barcroft remonstrated against their proceedings, but in vain. They
told him he might think himself well off that he was not carried before
the Lord Mayor, who would undoubtedly send him to Ludgate; and with
other threats to the like effect, they departed.
The unfortunate man's wife and child were removed the following night in
the dead-cart, and, driven half-mad by grief and terror, he broke open
the door of his dwelling, and, plunging a sword in the watchman's
breast, who opposed his flight, gained the street. A party of the watch
happened to be passing at the time, and the fugitive was instantly
secured. He made a great clamour, however,--calling to his neighbours
and the bystanders to rescue him, and in another moment the watch was
beaten off, and Barcroft placed on a post, whence he harangued his
preservers on the severe restraints imposed upon the citizens, urging
them to assist in throwing open the doors of all infected houses, and
allowing free egress to their inmates.
Greedily listening to this insane counsel, the mob resolved to act upon
it. Headed by the merchant, they ran down Thread-needle-street, and,
crossing Stock's Market, burst open several houses in Bearbinder-lane,
and drove away the watchmen. One man, more courageous than the others,
tried to maintain his post, and was so severely handled by his
assailants, that he died a few days afterwards of the injuries he had
received. Most of those who had been imprisoned within their dwellings
immediately issued forth, and joining the mob, which received fresh
recruits each moment, started on the same errand.
Loud shouts were now raised of--"Open the doors! No plague prisoners! No
plague prisoners!" and the mob set off along the Poultry. They halted,
however, before the Great Conduit, near the end of Bucklersbury, and
opposite Mercer's Hall, because they perceived a company of the
Train-bands advancing to meet them. A council of war was held, and many
of the rabble were disposed to fly; but Barcroft again urged them to
proceed, and they were unexpectedly added by Solomon Eagle, who,
bursting through their ranks, with his brazier on his head, crying,
"Awake! sleepers, awake! the plague is at your doors! awake!" speeded
towards the Train-bands, scattering sparks of fire as he pursued his
swift career. The mob instantly followed, and, adding their shouts to
his outcries, dashed on with such fury that the Train-bands did not dare
to oppose them, and, after a slight and ineffectual resistance, were put
to rout.
Barcroft, who acted as leader, informed them that there was a house in
Wood-street shut up, and the crowd accompanied him thither. In a few
minutes they had reached Bloundel's shop, but finding no one on
guard--for the watchman, guessing their errand, had taken to his
heels--they smeared over the fatal cross and inscription with a pail of
mud gathered from the neighbouring kennel, and then broke open the door.
The grocer and his apprentice hearing the disturbance, and being greatly
alarmed at it, hurried to the shop, and found it full of people.
"You are at liberty Mr. Bloundel," cried the merchant, who was
acquainted with the grocer. "We are determined no longer to let our
families be imprisoned at the pleasure of the Lord Mayor and aldermen.
We mean to break open all the plague houses, and set free their
inmates."
"For Heaven's sake, consider what you are about, Mr. Barcroft," cried
the grocer. "My house has been closed for nearly a month. Nay, as my son
has entirely recovered, and received his certificate of health from
Doctor Hodges, it would have been opened in three days hence by the
officers; so that I have suffered all the inconvenience of the
confinement, and can speak to it. It is no doubt very irksome, and may
be almost intolerable to persons of an impatient temperament: but I
firmly believe it is the only means to check the progress of contagion.
Listen to me, Mr. Barcroft--listen to me, good friends, and hesitate
before you violate laws which have been made expressly to meet this
terrible emergency."
Here he was checked by loud groans and upbraidings from the bystanders.
"He tells you himself that the period of his confinement is just over,"
cried Barcroft. "It is plain he has no interest in the matter, except
that he would have others suffer as he has done. Heed him not, my
friends; but proceed with the good work. Liberate the poor plague
prisoners. Liberate them. On! on!"
"Forbear, rash men," cried Bloundel, in an authoritative voice. "In the
name of those you are bound to obey, I command you to desist."
"Command us!" cried one of the bystanders, raising his staff in a
menacing manner. "Is this your gratitude for the favour we have just
conferred upon you? Command us, forsooth! You had better repeat the
order, and see how it will be obeyed."
"I _do_ repeat it," rejoined the grocer, firmly. "In the Lord Mayor's
name, I command you to desist, and return to your homes."
The man would have struck him with his staff, if he had not been himself
felled to the ground by Leonard. This was the signal for greater
outrage. The grocer and his apprentice were instantly assailed by
several others of the mob, who, leaving them both on the floor covered
with bruises, helped themselves to all they could lay hands on in the
shop, and then quitted the premises.
It is scarcely necessary to track their course further; and it may be
sufficient to state, that they broke open upwards of fifty houses in
different streets. Many of the plague-stricken joined them, and several
half-naked creatures were found dead in the streets on the following
morning. Two houses in Blackfriars-lane were set on fire, and the
conflagration was with difficulty checked; nor was it until late on the
following day that the mob could be entirely dispersed. The originator
of the disturbance, Barcroft, after a desperate resistance, was shot
through the head by a constable.
The result of this riot, as will be easily foreseen, was greatly to
increase the pestilence; and many of those who had been most active in
it perished in prison of the distemper. Far from being discouraged by
the opposition offered to their decrees, the city authorities enforced
them with greater rigour than ever, and, doubling the number of the
watch, again shut up all those houses which had been broken open during
the late tumult.
Bloundel received a visit from the Lord Mayor, Sir John Lawrence, who,
having been informed of his conduct, came to express his high approval
of it, offering to remit the few days yet unexpired of his quarantine.
The grocer, however, declined the offer, and with renewed expressions of
approbation, Sir John Lawrence took his leave.
Three days afterwards, the Examiner of Health pronounced the grocer's
house free from infection. The fatal mark was obliterated from the door;
the shutters were unfastened; and Bloundel resumed his business as
usual. Words are inadequate to describe the delight that filled the
breast of every member of his family, on their first meeting after their
long separation. It took place in the room adjoining the shop. Mrs.
Bloundel received the joyful summons from Leonard, and, on descending
with her children, found her husband and her son Stephen anxiously
expecting her. Scarcely able to make up her mind as to which of the two
she should embrace first, Mrs. Bloundel was decided by the pale
countenance of her son, and rushing towards him, she strained him to her
breast, while Amabel flew to her father's arms. The grocer could not
repress his tears; but they were tears of joy, and that night's
happiness made him ample amends for all the anxiety he had recently
undergone.
"Well, Stephen, my dear child," said his mother, as soon as the first
tumult of emotion had subsided,--"well, Stephen," she said, smiling at
him through her tears, and almost smothering him with kisses, "you are
not so much altered as I expected; and I do not think, if I had had the
care of you, I could have nursed you better myself. You owe your father
a second life, and we all owe him the deepest gratitude for the care he
has taken of you."
"I can never be sufficiently grateful for his kindness," returned
Stephen, affectionately.
"Give thanks to the beneficent Being who has preserved you from this
great danger, my son, not to me," returned Bloundel. "The first moments
of our reunion should be worthily employed."
So saying, he summoned the household, and, for the first time for a
month, the whole family party assembled, as before, at prayer. Never
were thanksgivings more earnestly, more devoutly uttered. All arose with
bright and cheerful countenances; and even Blaize seemed to have shaken
off his habitual dread of the pestilence. As he retired with Patience,
he observed to her, "Master Stephen looks quite well, though a little
thinner. I must ascertain from him the exact course of treatment pursued
by his father. I wonder whether Mr. Bloundel would nurse _me_ if I were
to be suddenly seized with the distemper?"
"If he wouldn't, I _would_," replied Patience.
"Thank you, thank you," replied Blaize. "I begin to think we shall get
through it. I shall go out to-morrow and examine the bills of mortality,
and see what progress the plague is making. I am all anxiety to know. I
must get a fresh supply of medicine, too. My private store is quite
gone, except three of my favourite rufuses, which I shall take before I
go to bed to-night. Unluckily, my purse is as empty as my phials."
"I can lend you a little money," said Patience. "I haven't touched my
last year's wages. They are quite at your service."
"You are too good," replied Blaize; "but I won't decline the offer. I
heard a man crying a new anti-pestilential elixir, as he passed the
house yesterday. I must find him out and buy a bottle. Besides, I must
call on my friend Parkhurst, the apothecary.--You are a good girl,
Patience, and I'll marry you as soon as the plague ceases."