INTRODUCTION.

THE Parish of Plympton St. Mary, at a distance of about four miles from

Plymouth, is bounded on the west by the river Plym. From Long-Bridge,

which crosses the river, it extends eastward nearly six miles. The

population, {1} at the time of the census of 1831, consisted of 2152, and

is scattered over an area of nearly thirty square miles. Independently

of gentlemen’s seats, numerous farm houses, and small clusters of

cottages in isolated spots, there are seven villages within the parish;

viz., Ridgeway, Underwood, Colebrook, Hemerdon, Sparkwell, Venton, and a

part of Lee-Mill-Bridge, containing, upon an average, in each, from 150

to 300 inhabitants, chiefly agricultural labourers.

Near the western extremity, stands the venerable Parish Church, in a

picturesque valley, within a few hundred yards of the three first-named

villages. Colebrook is on the lowest ground, adjacent to a small river;

Ridgeway is situated higher; and Underwood, the main scene of the

disastrous ravages of the cholera (having been nearly decimated out of a

population of 300, and where, at one time, 200 individuals were affected,

more or less, with symptoms of the fearful epidemic), lies east and west

on the north slope of a hill which rises above a valley {2} terminating

at the river Plym. A small brook winds its way at the foot of the hill;

and a little stream, issuing from a spring which rises at the western

end, runs through a part of the village, in an open gutter on the side of

the road.

The poorer portion of the inhabitants are as well conducted and cleanly

in their habits as the generality of labouring people; and their

cottages, for the most part, are kept in a creditable condition.

The four last-named villages are at the eastern end of the parish, three

or four miles distant from the Church, and are situated on elevated

ground, bordering on the Moors. The air in the neighbourhood is

considered to be very healthy. No such density of population exists in

any one locality which might be supposed to produce a prejudicial effect

on the salubrity of the atmosphere. Therefore, as far as local

advantages could be depended upon, every thing tended to encourage the

idea, that the parish was not so liable to be infected with the cholera

as many other places.

Up to the month of July, 1832, when that disease was making fearful havoc

at Plymouth and the adjoining towns, a flattering hope was still

entertained that, by the mercy of God, we should escape. But it pleased

Him “who ordereth all things with infinite wisdom,” and “whose ways are

past finding out,” that it should be otherwise; and on the 13th of July,

the first instance of a case of the cholera in the parish, occurred at

Underwood.

It must not be supposed, however, that no precautionary steps had been

taken. The great importance and necessity of sanatory measures had been

felt and acted upon in the neighbourhood, long before. A public meeting,

especially convened for that purpose, was held at Ridgeway, on the 8th of

November, 1831. The principal gentlemen of the parish were present. A

Board of Health was formed; and the immediate attention of the board was

directed to the following objects:—

“1. The state of the highways, dung pits, and gutters.

“2. The state of the houses of the poor, as regards whitewashing,

ventilation, and bedding.

“3. The providing common necessaries, and requisite medicines.

“4. The engaging (provisionally, so as to be able to enter it at a

moment’s warning) a proper house, to be used as a hospital; or,

otherwise, to arrange with adjoining parishes for a joint occupation of

any such convenient building; so that the distance for the removal of the

sick should be as small as possible.

“5. That two members of the board (to be arranged among themselves) do

daily take the duty of superintending the due execution of the above

regulations.

“6. That a subscription be forthwith entered into for the above

purposes.

“7. That the Rev. W. I. COPPARD be requested to act as treasurer and

secretary.”

A subscription was immediately raised; and the measure, as far as it was

practicable, was carried into effect under the superintendence of those

gentlemen who were members of the committee, at the villages which were

contiguous to their respective residences.

During the month of November, the poor who whitewashed their dwellings,

in compliance with the recommendation of the committee, were paid for the

time they had lost. Lime was conveyed to their houses, and delivered to

them free of expense. If unable to use the whitewash themselves, masons

were employed for them.

All heaps of manure, &c., which had been accumulated near

dwelling-houses, were removed; drains were cleansed, and some enlarged.

In several instances, blankets were supplied to those whose bedding was

in a bad state, or too scanty.

Thus far, sanatory measures were adopted more than eight months before

any symptoms of the disease appeared in the parish.

From this time to the month of July, 1832, it pleased God, in mercy, to

spare us. The pestilence, however, was raging far and near. The dark

and threatening cloud still lowered around. But months passed on; until,

at last, it approached with awful warning. Then “fearfulness and

trembling came upon us.” And “in the time of trouble we called upon the

Lord.” Then were acknowledged “the neglect of God’s ordinances, the

misuse of his bounties, and the offences which had been multiplied in the

land.”

As, long before this, temporal precautions had been resorted to, with the

hope that, under the blessing of God, they might be instrumental towards

the averting of the impending danger; so, trembling penitents also

sought, in humble prayer, the only effectual remedy to assist in setting

their spiritual house in order,—the merciful aid of a pardoning God,

through the merits and intercession of a crucified Saviour. Humbled to

the dust, under a sense of sin and unworthiness, which now appeared in

fearful reality, they pleaded for mercy before the Throne of Grace,

comforted by the promise of their Heavenly Advocate, “Whosoever cometh

unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” They fled in earnest to the “Rock

of Ages,” for shelter from the storm. Having been thus prepared for the

approaching trial, when it did fall on them, they experienced a merciful

answer to their cry for help, and were supported in their last hour; for

the nearer death approached, it was, in numerous instances, met with

resignation, tranquillity, and peace.

When we ponder these things, and reflect upon the uncertainty of life,

whether exhibited in the ordinary or the extraordinary course of nature,

we cannot but feel how important it is to cherish within us a spirit of

watchfulness and prayer. This, by the blessing of God, and the merits of

the Saviour, will disarm death of its sting, and dispel, or at least

mitigate, the fears which assail us in the time of danger. Amidst the

varying scenes of life, this frame of mind carries a blessing with it;

and, when we are about to quit them, it will bring us peace at the last.

“Take ye heed, watch and pray: for ye know not when the time is.”

“Blessed are those servants whom the Lord when he cometh shall find

watching.”

God grant that the recollection of the fearful events which the following

plain narrative recalls, may revive, and render permanent, not the

terrors of the mere outward circumstances, but the pious vows and

resolutions which accompanied them.

It may be necessary here to remark, in reference to the prominent

allusion, in the following pages, to the writer himself, that in the

details of a Diary it could not be avoided. A panic had spread in the

neighbourhood, from a conviction that the disease was not only epidemic,

but contagious. The consequence was, that all intercourse between the

inhabitants of other villages with Underwood, was either prohibited, or

avoided as much as possible. As one proof of this, a servant in another

part of the parish, who went to Underwood to see a relation, at a house

where there was no sickness, was immediately discharged.

Thus the difficulty of obtaining assistance, and of providing nurses, was

lamentably increased. The sick and dying, who had no one to help them,

sought their minister, as their only earthly friend: and in the closing

scenes of their existence, they called aloud for his presence. Such an

appeal, both to the common feelings of humanity, as well as to one of the

highest obligations of a Christian minister, could not be otherwise than

irresistible. There is nothing remarkable, therefore, in the

circumstance of a clergyman, residing close to the village afflicted with

such an awful visitation, having endeavoured to render all the assistance

in his power, independently of attending to the important duties of his

sacred office. Who, among the clergy, would not have done the same, in a

similar case of emergency? Many names are on record, of those who

exerted all their energies, in a manner far more valuable and important.

When we recollect the scenes at Bilston, Sedgly, Plymouth, and other

populous districts, where the epidemic spread among thousands, it is

evident that the labour and exertion of those whose duty called upon them

to attend the sick, must have been past description. Few, under such

circumstances, had an opportunity of remaining any great length of time

to watch the progress of particular cases, or of taking minutes of them.

But where the disease was confined within narrower limits, and not more

than two or three hundred had been affected by it, the difficulty of

taking notes became proportionably less. This has probably been done in

many instances, which, at present, have not been made known. But it has

been strongly urged that the publication of them might be highly useful;

as an opportunity would be thus afforded for those who are the most

competent for the undertaking, to compare the details of variation of

character, which this extraordinary disease may have exhibited under

different circumstances; and by these means to arrive at some additional

conclusions as to how far it has resisted or yielded to the application

of particular modes of treatment.

The _Christian Observer_ (No. 381, Sept. 1833, page 511) expresses this

opinion in the following words:—

“It might be well if clergymen, or other persons, would draw up a

record of any remarkable circumstances, in their respective

vicinities, connected with the visitation. These local narratives

would form valuable notices towards a history of this mysterious

disease.

“It would not be uninteresting to compare the memoranda, moral and

physical, of an inland manufacturing town like Bilston, suffering

under the affliction, with those of a scattered rural district, or a

seaport population, such as that of Plymouth, which the disease

visited with almost unexampled rigour.”

EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY,

&c.

1832, _July_ 13. Mellonia Thorn (who came from Plymouth, where the

cholera was prevailing, on Wednesday, the 11th, in perfect health, to

Underwood, on a visit to her daughter, Mary Pepperall), after a few

hours’ illness, died this evening of that disease. I called to see her,

but she was too near her end to derive benefit or consolation from any

one.

So sudden was the attack which seized this poor woman, that the greatest

dismay and confusion prevailed among the inmates of the house. She rose

in the morning, apparently quite well, and was occupied during the day,

until three o’clock, p.m., in ironing her son’s linen. About this time,

she complained of sickness, and in less than half-an-hour, other symptoms

of cholera followed with fearful rapidity.

While she was in this state, a neighbour called to see her, and advised

her to try the effect of _brandy_. _Her friends followed this advice_,

_and gave her half a glass of brandy every ten minutes or quarter of an

hour_, _until she had taken half a pint_.

Between six and seven o’clock, Mr. Langworthy {14} arrived. But the

second or cold stage had come on. The poor woman was more tranquil than

she had been, but much exhausted, and harassed by continual thirst. The

disease progressed so rapidly, that it baffled every effort to afford

relief. Various remedies were tried, without the least effect. A vein

was opened,—no blood flowed,—it was congealed,—and, gradually, between

nine and ten o’clock, the poor sufferer ceased to breathe.

The news of this fearfully sudden death soon spread through the parish.

Many a heart, with anxious throb, sickened under gloomy forebodings; and

many lips, hitherto unaccustomed to prayer, began to seek, through that

neglected resource, the mercy of God.

_July_ 14. The funeral of Mellonia Thorn took place to-day. The advice,

that as few persons as possible should be present, was strictly attended

to. Two only, besides the bearers, were there! and, in the stillness of

a lovely summer eve,—no sound interrupting the sublime burial service of

our Church, and with an increased solemnity, consequent upon such an

awakening occasion,—the mortal remains of this first victim of the

cholera in our parish were consigned to the grave!

_July_ 27. John Gulley, of Underwood, aged fifty-three, died this

afternoon. He was unwell a few days; but thought that, as his

indisposition was unaccompanied by pain, it was of no importance.

Medical aid was not called in, until he had fallen into the second stage

of cholera; and he was rapidly carried off.

_July_ 28. Having been informed that precautionary measures were much

required at the house where John Gulley died, I went there, enquired for

the family, and gave directions for fumigating the rooms, the use of

chloride of lime, &c.

When I quitted this house, some poor people implored me to go to Edward

Tretheway’s cottage (situate very near John Gulley’s), to see his

daughter, a little girl, ten years of age, who was “in a dying state.”

She was much beloved by the neighbours; and several women were standing

in groups about the house, anxiously enquiring about her. She was also

an object of more than ordinary interest to myself, as she was one of the

best-behaved children in our Sunday School.

On entering the cottage, the alarm of the family was manifested in the

neglected state of every thing around,—tea-things scattered about the

table—the homely meal left half-finished—by the fire-side, a poor man was

endeavouring to pacify two or three frightened children—some women who

had called to assist their neighbour, stood aghast, incapable of doing

any thing. The afflicted mother pointed to the stairs, and begged me

hasten to see the child before it was too late. In the room above, the

scene was very affecting. The poor little creature was on a bed, with

her clothes on, supported on her weeping father’s arm—her countenance

collapsed, and her hands characterized by all the signs of the second

stage of cholera,—no indication of pulse—scarcely a sign of life—from all

appearances, the disease had secured its prey.

That no time might be lost before the arrival of Mr. Langworthy, who had

been sent for, I recommended that she should be immediately undressed,

and placed between hot blankets; and I went home for some medicines, {18}

blankets, &c. Mr. Langworthy came, and the application of friction was

adopted with apparent success, as indications of returning animation were

shortly visible, but not of warmth about the body. On recovering her

recollection, and being timid of strangers, she could not be prevailed

upon to take any thing except from myself. I left her for a short time,

to attend the funeral of John Gulley. When I returned, a hot-air bath

had been procured, and a fair trial given to it; but the only effect

produced was a profuse, but cold, perspiration. The harassing symptoms

of the disease were not subdued. Every thing was tried which human aid

could suggest to relieve her, but she was rapidly sinking.

Mr. L. requested me to remain with her during his absence, which was

unavoidably prolonged two hours. When he returned, she was sensible, and

free from pain; but no warmth could be produced. About twelve o’clock,

her countenance suddenly resumed its natural appearance—her eyes, their

intelligence. I took her hand, which she held out to me. The icy chill

seemed to have yielded in a slight degree. We thought the crisis was

over, and that she was on the recovery; but, in an instant—without a

sigh—without even a lengthened breath—her eyes were glazed! and her

gentle spirit winged its flight, I trust, to that blessed Lord, who said,

“Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such

is the kingdom of heaven.”

I called the parents aside, before they were conscious of what had

happened, and remained conversing with them, until their minds were

sufficiently tranquillized to offer up an evening prayer, in which all

the family devoutly joined; and at one in the morning, I concluded my

pastoral visit, sincerely sympathizing with that poor family.

_July_ 29. Ann Tretheway, aged ten years, was buried.

_July_ 30. Edward, the father of Ann Tretheway, taken ill. Mr.

Langworthy having been sent for to attend another patient, in compliance

with his wish, and under his directions, I watched the case, as it was of

a serious nature, attended with incessant sickness, diarrhea,

considerable cramp, weakness, and slight discoloration of the fingers and

nails.

Five fresh cases reported.

_July_ 31. All the patients going on favourably.

_August_ 1. Edward Tretheway slightly salivated, but much better. Very

sensible of the mercy he has experienced, and devoutly thankful. May the

impression, arising from the death of their child, and the man’s own

recovery from the threatened danger, never be obliterated from the minds

of this family.

_August_ 2. No new cases.

_August_ 3. Several people came in the morning for castor oil, rhubarb,

&c. Went to Venton and Lee-Mill-Bridge, to see some people who were ill.

_August_ 4. At ten, a.m., sent for to William Williams, aged

thirty-nine, at Underwood. His wife, in great distress, said he had been

very ill on the preceding day, and all the night. _He had tried to stop

the pain in his bowels with hot brandy and water_, and peppermint; but he

had derived no relief. After eighteen hours’ sickness, the medical

gentleman who always attended the family had been sent for. When he

arrived, he did not consider the symptoms serious; but, being summoned to

a very bad case, he went away, merely ordering the patient to be kept

warm until his return. He had been gone two hours; and during that

interval the poor man had fallen into the second stage of cholera.

Much valuable time having already elapsed, it was suggested that active

measures should be immediately commenced, to restore warmth, if possible.

Mustard poultices and friction, as in other cases, were then adopted. He

was quite sensible; and, appearing somewhat easier, on being asked how he

felt, he shook his head, saying, “It is a bad business: I shall never get

over it.” He had become much weaker, and was perfectly aware of his

danger. It was proposed that we should again address ourselves, in

prayer, to the Throne of Grace. This, he most earnestly desired; his

wife and aged mother, at the same time, kneeling by the bed, seeking

refuge where alone it could be found. It was a sad and solemn scene,—no

ray of hope that he would recover. These poor afflicted people, however,

derived much comfort from having thus lifted up their sorrowing hearts in

prayer to their God and Saviour; and they became more composed and

resigned.

As medical advice had been procured, we did not feel justified in having

recourse to other remedies than those of the simplest kind, our object

being merely to allay, or prevent, suffering. When the medical attendant

returned, he was much surprised to find the disease had made such a rapid

and fatal progress. He ordered the patient to be immersed in cold water.

This could be borne only one minute. The poor creature was sinking; and

shortly afterwards he died.

The death of this man created great sympathy among the people of the

village; many with tears lamenting the sudden loss of a quiet and

respected neighbour. At the same time, increased alarm became very

apparent throughout the little community around.

The neighbourhood was now considered to be infected with the awful

disease. After the sad scene at this house, every precaution, to prevent

it from spreading, was promptly attended to. Chloride of lime was

abundantly used, and the rooms were whitewashed.

On the opposite side of the road, a woman, named Honey, was labouring

under a serious attack of the disease. Several persons, from different

houses, came to me and entreated me to step in, if only for one minute,

to see a husband, a wife, or a child, who were unwell. This arose, not

only from an anxiety for spiritual comfort; but, in many instances, from

an apprehension of danger, on the least indication of indisposition, and

a wish to know how to proceed, if medical advice could not be immediately

obtained.

_Sunday_, _August_ 5. As I passed through Underwood before the morning

service, I visited Michael Mc. Kenny, who had been taken suddenly ill

yesterday, whilst at work. The disease was gaining ground—Mr. Langworthy

away from home, and his return uncertain; therefore, I adopted the same

course which he had previously recommended me to pursue under similar

circumstances.

A larger congregation than usual assembled at the Church, both parts of

the day; and, although our services are generally observed with strict

propriety, upon this occasion, a death-like stillness, and a marked

solemnity of deportment prevailed. About double the usual number also

availed themselves of the opportunity of receiving the Holy Communion.

If the serious contemplation, that the fearful visitation, with which it

has pleased God in his infinite wisdom to afflict our land, has now

entered within the borders of our parish, and approached the threshold of

our own homes—if the awful and sudden death of our near neighbours has

awakened us to a sense of our mortality, and the uncertainty of our own

lives—if this has added to the number of sincere worshippers in the

sanctuary, and touched the hearts of the careless with a sense, not only

of the danger of the perishable body, but especially of their immortal

souls, thereby leading them to sincere repentance,—then this very

dispensation at the hand of God, though an affliction heavy to be borne

by poor, weak, sinful mortals, will be acknowledged to have been a

blessing in disguise; and, although a severe chastisement to hundreds, a

dispensation of mercy to tens of thousands.

May God, in mercy, hear the devout prayers of his people, which have been

offered up this day.

After the services were ended, two fresh cases were reported, at

Underwood. At Hurrell’s cottage, which joins that where Williams died,

John Hurrell and his wife Jane, both aged twenty-seven, were in bed, very

ill, with undoubted symptoms of cholera. At first, they expressed the

greatest terror; but, having raised their thoughts to Him who is “mighty

to save,” and being no strangers to religious habits, or the happiness

which ever accompanies the true Christian in the exercise of religious

duties, they soon became more tranquil, and could feel the truth of the

words, “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee,

because he trusted in thee.”

Medical assistance had been obtained. I was obliged to leave them for a

time to attend the funeral of Wm. Williams.

_August_ 6. Called between five and six in the morning, to go to Hurl’s,

at Underwood. The man and his wife were in great distress; their eldest

child, a fine boy, six years of age, being in a decided state of

collapse. Before Mr. L.’s arrival, every thing requisite for such a case

of emergency was prepared; but the sickness, &c., was so incessant, and

the prostration of strength increased so rapidly, little hope could be

entertained of his recovery. I endeavoured, as far as I could, to

comfort the afflicted parents.

At ten o’clock, went to John Andrews’s to see his daughter, whose

symptoms could not be mistaken. As she had medical aid, I returned to

Hurl’s. Mr. L. was there, and we both went to see West, who had been

unwell a few hours, but was becoming seriously ill. Mr. L. took a very

small quantity of blood from him. West then expressed a desire to avail

himself of the present opportunity to offer up a prayer to God.

We returned to Hurl’s. The little boy was much worse; but quite

sensible, and very patient, though suffering much from cramp. At twelve

o’clock, I went again to Andrews’s. The little girl relieved as to

sickness, and other symptoms much mitigated. Went home for medicines,

and was afterwards occupied at the houses of Hurl, Andrews, and West, all

near neighbours, until late in the afternoon. At five o’clock, Hurl’s

child died.

A messenger came in haste, begging me instantly to go to the western end

of the village to see William Parsons, as he was in a fearful state of

suffering, and no one could be induced to go near the house to help the

family. On entering this cottage, the scene was truly appalling. The

room inhabited by the family, consisting of the man, his wife, and five

children, is sixteen feet by fourteen—two beds in it, and on the ground

floor—every thing indicating poverty and confusion. The man, aged

thirty-nine, lay on his bed, an object horrifying to the

beholder,—writhing in torture from the cramp, and groaning dreadfully—his

countenance much distorted—his flesh ashy blue—his fingers puckered and

twisted, and his nails purple—his knees drawn up to his chin!

Medicine had been left, with directions, by Mr. L., who had been called

away to other patients. Only one nurse could be found. A child, three

years old, in a cradle in a corner of the room, discoloured and cold, put

aside, by the mother and nurse as in a hopeless state, as “just dead.” I

applied a mustard poultice to the pit of the stomach of the poor man, who

was shrieking in agony; but he would not permit it to remain on five

minutes. We rubbed his arms with a stimulating liniment. I gave him the

medicine which was ordered. This frightful scene before me, and the

offensive effluvia in this wretched place, overcame me. I thought I must

have retreated from it; but if I had done so, the whole family must have

perished, the case having been reported so malignant, that no one,

excepting the two medical attendants, together with Susan Taylor, and one

neighbour, who called occasionally, would venture near them.

An effort was made to revive the child, as by holding a piece of a broken

looking glass to its mouth, it appeared that she still breathed.

A faggot having been obtained from a neighbour, a large fire was made up.

The child was put between hot blankets, and brought near to the fire, and

well rubbed. After a short time, some saline mixture trickled down her

throat. In the course of three hours, she turned in her cradle, and the

discoloured appearance of her body began to wear away. At intervals I

attended to the father, and whenever he became tranquil, we had resource

to prayer. He gave himself up; and it was extremely difficult to

persuade him to take any medicine.

I went away to see the Hurrells,—both better,—then returned to Parsons.

Susan Taylor remained, by my request, to assist as a nurse. The house

was in a state of utter destitution. Not a morsel of food,—no fire,

before the faggot was procured. Those necessaries which were immediately

required, were provided from a neighbouring shop. The poor man was

evidently sinking, and his end fast approaching; but his sufferings had

been considerably diminished during the last three or four hours. The

child was better. Upon observing a sudden change for the worse in her

husband, his wife fainted; and the scene altogether of distress and

terror was appalling. After awhile, the poor woman revived.

At twelve o’clock, I went to a neighbouring cottage, wrote a letter to

the overseers, and sent it off. I entreated them to do something to save

the lives of others, by adopting requisite measures for the speedy

removal of the dead, as well as of every other cause which might increase

the violence of the disease. I stated the circumstances at Parsons’s

house, and that the man would most probably be a corpse before my letter

was concluded. I returned home at one, a.m., very unwell, and so

fatigued and excited, I could not sleep.

_August_ 7. At six o’clock in the morning a messenger requested me to go

to Underwood, several new cases having occurred. I was informed, that as

soon as I left Parsons’s, the two Messrs. Langworthy arrived, and that

the poor man lived about half-an-hour afterwards. Mary Pepperall (the

daughter of M. Thorn, deceased) sent for me; she was in a state of

extreme agitation, and was labouring under severe symptoms of cholera.

She had taken calomel and ginger, in small doses. In accordance with the

suggestions of Mr. L., I gave her powdered rhubarb and ginger, and at

intervals, to allay sickness, carbonate of soda, salvolatile, &c. She

appeared to be much relieved from pain, and expressed herself grateful in

the highest degree.

Saw Richard Gullett, aged seventy-two. This was an aggravated case: he

was much distressed with cramp, and had no interval of rest. I merely

assisted the medical attendant, Mr. Osmond, in administering such things

as he ordered. From thence I went to Hurrell’s: his wife was worse,

suffering much from continual sickness and the cramp, and in a profuse

perspiration, approaching to the cold damp of the second stage of

cholera,—the husband, also, harassed by sickness, &c. complained of

violent pain at the pit of the stomach, and was becoming very restless.

When I contemplated this couple,—both ill in bed, and, in the prime of

life, dreading a rapid dissolution, afflicted with the agonizing thought

that no friend dared to approach their dwelling to afford them

consolation, and appalled at the hasty manner in which the poor victims

of the disease are necessarily consigned to the grave,—a feeling of the

deepest commiseration for the wretched sufferers weighed heavily on my

spirits. And when I observed the wistful glance directed towards me, as

if my countenance could be the index of their fate, the responsibility of

my situation pressed with redoubled force upon my mind; and though “in

the midst of life I was in death,” having cast myself upon the mercy of

God for “help in the time of need,” I became strengthened in my

resolution, that, in dependence upon Divine aid, I would devote myself,

to the utmost of my power, to the service of my poor dying parishioners.

I remained at Hurrell’s, as they required constant attendance, and they

had no nurse at that time. Towards the evening, both were better. They

had applied for medical advice in the earliest period of their attack.

In their habits they are remarkably cleanly. Besides this, the

satisfactory state of their minds upon religious subjects dispelled much

of their alarm, particularly after they had received the Holy Communion.

Andrews’s little girl, much better. Richard Gullett, in a dying state.

_August_ 8. Hurrell and his wife both convalescent, though slightly

salivated. Six new cases, with alarming symptoms. Many people applied

for “something to stop the sickness,” &c. The disease appeared to have

spread all over the village.

Richard Gullett, buried. I visited Peggy Andrews’s daughter, and several

cholera patients, all anxious for spiritual as well as medical

assistance. Ann Parsons and her child very ill. Mary Pepperall, much

better. Jane Hurrell, convalescent.

Here, it may not be out of place to mention, that, during the last month,

I had been preparing candidates for confirmation.

_August_ 9. The Bishop arrived, at the time appointed, for that purpose.

Eight hundred young persons entered into that sacred rite,—a ceremony

which, in too many instances, is lamentably abused, notwithstanding all

the precautions of the most vigilant ministerial care. Upon the present

occasion, a subdued tone in their deportment was manifest throughout the

congregation. I was relieved from great anxiety when all was finished.

Men were stationed at each approach to Underwood and Colebrook, to

prevent the young people from going to the villages and loitering there;

to avoid the possibility of any risk of spreading the prevalent disease.

When all had left for their homes, I went to Parsons’s, where I had been

summoned in haste, as there were three fresh cases of cholera.

On entering this ill-fated cottage, the scene was quite sickening. On

the same bed where the husband had died, I now beheld his widow and her

mother (Mary Pote, aged 77) in a state of collapse, and two children in

cradles, apparently dying! No medical aid was then at hand, though Mr.

L. had been there, and left directions to guide my proceedings until he

could return. The widow at first resisted taking any medicine. After

some persuasion, however, she consented, if I would give it to her; but

she positively refused to take it from any one else. The old woman, poor

creature! was in agony from cramp; and her appearance was quite

appalling. A more striking picture of despair than that which was

depicted in her discoloured, shrivelled, and distorted features, cannot

be imagined. Recourse was immediately had to friction, with stimulating

liniments; mustard and vinegar poultices, &c. were applied, which in some

measure alleviated her sufferings; but after two hours’ incessant but

ineffectual hard work by two nurses to restore warmth in the system, she

rapidly sunk, and expired. The bedding was changed, and the daughter

Jane, aged ten, who had suddenly become collapsed, occupied the vacant

place beside her mother, who was still labouring under the disease. This

poor girl clenched her teeth, and resolutely refused any medicine. I

left this fearful scene for half-an-hour, to visit E. Honey and her

child. The woman was better; but the child, aged nine, was dying.

Through ignorance of the danger of neglect, the parents had allowed the

child to fall into the second stage, without having previously applied

for medical assistance. The poor little creature was lying quite cold,

in its scanty night-dress, _on_ the bed, _uncovered_. The woman herself

was salivated. The room was in such a filthy state it could scarcely be

tolerated.

On returning to Parsons’s, Ann Parsons had suddenly become much

worse—cold—quite collapsed. Her daughter Jane, aged ten, in the same

bed, sinking rapidly, the other two children, very bad, requiring

constant attention,—all complaining of insatiable thirst. The room

shockingly offensive. Chloride of lime—burnt vinegar—burnt tar were

used. This scene lasted till eleven at night,—then Mr. Langworthy came.

_The effluvia in this room was so especially offensive_, _that we thought

there must be some particular cause for it_. _In the centre of the

floor_, _which is paved with slate_, _I perceived an opening between the

slates_, _and upon asking the reason of the chasm_, _being apparently

deep_, _the mystery was solved_. _A drain_, _which was choked with every

description of filth_, _passed across the room_, _under the floor_!

_Here was a reply to the wonder_, _why the disease was of a species so

much more aggravated_, _and attended with circumstances so much more

awfully terrific in this house than in others_. _It is only wonderful

how any family could have taken their meals_, _and slept in such a

vitiated atmosphere_, _without having been swept off before by some

malignant disease_.

_August_ 10. Scarcely slept during the night. Sent a mason early to

take up the slates at Parsons’s house, to clean the gutter, and fill it

with quick-lime. Gave orders to masons for cleansing and whitewashing

other rooms where it was required. Some nuisances were removed at

Colebrook.

Parsons’s daughter had died in the night. Her mother not worse;—so much

remaining strength, we hoped she might weather the disease. This would

be almost miraculous, as three individuals had already died in the same

bed, where she herself lay in a state of collapse!

Another case of cholera in the room! Old Mary Parsons, suddenly seized

with violent internal pain. She came, in health, from the town of

Plympton, to assist her dying relations. In a very short time, her

sufferings were excessive, the cramp was indomitable. Some cases

appeared to be of a much more aggravated character than others; and the

reason why it has been particularly so at this devoted cottage was

solved, at least to us, last night. The change of colour, in these cases

was appalling.

Jane Paddon, aged seventy-five, a near neighbour, had been seized with

the fearful malady about two hours—quite sensible—far advanced in

confirmed cholera—gave herself up, and at her particular desire partook

of the Holy Communion.

Richard Woods very ill, much excited and alarmed—his mother and wife in a

state of extreme agitation—Mr. Langworthy present—we all knelt around the

bed—a solemn scene it was; but it brought consolation with it—the poor

afflicted family became more tranquil. The symptoms were serious, and

recourse was had to medicine as soon as possible.

As we were quitting this house, a messenger came, in great haste, for

advice as to what should be done, in a case which had occurred at

Ridgeway. A poor woman had been taken suddenly ill in a waggon, which

was at the George Inn, and she was in the cold stage of the cholera. Mr.

Langworthy could not at that moment quit a patient who was in a truly

distressing state.

I hastened immediately to the George Inn, and found the report to be too

true. The poor creature was lifted out of the waggon by the ostler,

William Webb, and carried to a building which had been fitted up as a

Hospital, near the Inn.

This forlorn and pitiable object was the widow of a sergeant in the 22nd

regiment, who had died of cholera a few days before in the citadel at

Plymouth. Her name was Ellen Higgins, {42} thirty-five years of age.

She had a pass for herself and four children; and they were on their way

to Cork. Soon after leaving Plymouth, she was seized with pain in the

bowels and sickness. One of her fellow-travellers gave her some brandy,

which was repeated on arriving at Ridgeway.

Mr. L. soon arrived, and every possible attention was paid to her. Owing

to continued cramp, it was difficult to obtain from her any satisfactory

information as to her wishes. The fatal symptoms rapidly increased, and

her darkened features became wild; her eyes stared with an expression of

frenzy; her pulse had ceased to beat; and her flesh had assumed that

peculiar livid hue, so characteristic of the disease. As calmness,

attended by a perfect clearness of intellect, often preceded the last

moments in these afflicting cases, I felt it to be my duty to remain with

this suffering and friendless stranger, as there might be a chance of

affording her spiritual assistance. That moment did arrive, and she

faintly expressed her desire to offer up a prayer to God. She cared

about nothing, during that short interval, but the salvation of her soul.

And to her Great Redeemer she appealed in accents so tremulous, so

pitiously imploring for mercy, and yet so full of a blessed assurance of

His willingness to save a repentant sinner, that I firmly believe “His

atoning blood has cleansed her from all sin;” and that her soul now rests

in peace! Her children came into the room, but she heeded them not—her

care about every thing earthly had passed away—the poor little orphans

were removed, to be taken care of—Ellen Higgins was no more!

On quitting the Hospital, and this heartrending scene, a note was

delivered to me from a medical gentleman, stating he had “just been at

Parsons’s house, at Underwood, to see more particularly old Mary Parsons.

What a melancholy scene to witness! A place more likely to propagate the

disease will scarcely be found, and on the ground floor too! The sight

quite sickened me. Charles Taylor, brought home at two o’clock, is

already in a state of collapse. I have sent to Mr. Langworthy to inform

him of this, as I think he ought to be very actively treated.”

I was requested to lose no time in going to Charles Taylor, {45} as “he

was dying,” and the case was represented as being most urgent. The

sultry heat of the weather increased the great exhaustion and fatigue by

which I was almost overpowered; and I despaired of being able to get to

Underwood in time. A gig happened, at that moment, to be standing at the

George Inn. To the owner, I was a stranger; but I briefly told him the

sad tale, and he unhesitatingly lent it to me. In a few minutes I was at

the cottage. Mr. Langworthy arrived at the same time. What were our

feelings upon entering the room! At that instant the poor sufferer

breathed his last! Such a combination of fearful calamity was quite

overwhelming! Poor Susan Taylor, now a widow, fell down on the window

seat, in a paroxysm of grief. At such a moment, talking to her would

have been in vain. Sarah Taylor, her husband’s sister, was there as an

assistant. We sat some little time without uttering a word. The solemn

silence was interrupted only by the sobs of her who had just been bereft

of the object upon whom she depended for comfort and support, or by a

sigh from those around.

May the lessons which must have reached the heart at such a time, never

be erased. The uncertainty of life—the necessity of watchfulness—the

duty of Christian sympathy,—our own utter helplessness, when it is the

will of God to afflict us—our sole dependence upon His Almighty aid;—all

these, and many more such reflections, pressed upon the mind; and well

will it be for those who receive them into their hearts, as seed sown by

the Holy Spirit, to bring forth fruit unto righteousness. The poor widow

endeavoured to rush to the bed where her husband lay; and would have

thrown herself upon his cold and discoloured corpse. She said she valued

not her life. We talked to her—we endeavoured to reason with her. She

was absorbed in grief; and, in the bitterness of bereavement, said she

had no friend—no earthly friend—no where to lay her head—no one would

take her into their house. She again made an effort to throw herself

upon the bed. This could not be permitted. Every argument was used to

direct her thoughts to a merciful God, who “will not suffer us to be

tried above that we are able to bear,” and who “tempers the wind to the

shorn lamb.” She was directed where to go, and where she might remain,

at least for a time, until her relations could arrange some plan for her

to earn a livelihood. We were next called to the miserable apartment

below, where Mary Parsons, aged sixty-nine, had just died. We remained

some time with that family; the other patients exhibiting no indication

of improvement.

Called to visit Jane Paddon, suddenly worse—her end fast

approaching—quite sensible—refused to take any medicine, and gave herself

up. She was quite happy in her mind, and lifted up her heart with the

greatest earnestness in prayer to God, not to prolong her life, but to

take her to himself. After visiting Woods and other patients, Mr.

Langworthy went home with me at eleven at night.

Susan Taylor had been to the adjoining town of Plympton, {48} to her

sister, Mary Taylor, where she was persuaded by her friends to remain the

night. Mr. L. left me at twelve. Both of us unwell. My own

indisposition, during the day, I had attributed to the effect of fatigue;

but sickness, cramp, &c. ensued so violently, that, at one in the

morning, I was obliged to send for him to return. He was astonished at

the serious character of the attack and the progress it had made. The

usual remedies were at hand. He immediately gave me twenty grains of

calomel; and, in an hour afterwards, an ounce of castor oil, with two

drachms of tincture of rhubarb.

_August_ 11. {50} By the mercy of God and the timely recourse to

medicine, the disease was repelled. At noon I attended the funeral of

Ellen Higgins. It was a sickening office. Owing to the heat of the

weather, the lid of the coffin had started. Went to the poor afflicted

people at Underwood. Parsons’s boy, aged eight, who had held Mr. Richard

Langworthy’s horse at six a.m., was dying, at noon! Visited the

hospital, and returned home through Underwood. Charles Taylor and Mary

Parsons, buried. After a few hours’ rest, at half-past eight in the

evening, I was summoned in haste to visit William Gully—much worse than

yesterday—great consternation among the inmates of the house.

So great had been the mortality, in defiance of the treatment which he

had hitherto pursued, that Mr. Langworthy at length determined in this

case to try a remedy which had been adopted by many eminent

practitioners; viz.,—the injecting some principal vein with saline fluid.

He accordingly arranged his instruments on a little table near the

window. The poor wife was crying near the fire-place. The occupation

assigned to me, of preparing hot water, adjusting pans, basins, &c. to be

in readiness for injecting the vein, was immediately commenced. Susan

Gully, the patient’s sister, and his wife’s two sisters were standing by,

watching Mr. L.’s proceedings with peculiar interest, but they preserved

a strict silence. A low and lengthened moan arrested our attention; and

then a frightfully convulsive shriek issued from above. I had nearly

prepared the saline fluid {52} for injection; and was requested to be

ready as quickly as possible. Mr. L. was afraid to trust any one else,

lest a mistake should occur.

Hurried footsteps were now heard on the winding stairs, which were

between the fire-place and the window. “He’s gone! sir,—he’s gone!” was

exclaimed, with a trembling, hysterical voice. Both the Messrs.

Langworthy and myself were obliged to summon all our resolution. The

wife and children around us,—one ill in its weeping mother’s arms,

frightened, not knowing why—the others staring at us, aware that

something was being done which appeared to them to be fearful. The

sister, the friend—all with their eyes intently rivetted upon us, as if

life and death depended upon our exertions! This was natural. How many

have watched the countenance of the physician when a much-loved life was

pending! A piece of bread was given to one of the children, to pacify

it,—a part, perhaps, of the last loaf earned by its poor father’s labour!

Rapidly as some such thoughts rushed upon the mind, we did not remit our

work, and every thing was ready. We were quickly by the side of the

sufferer. From all appearances, the accounts were too well founded. No

pulse,—Is he quite gone? The eye moved,—he tried to raise himself—looked

at us—and, recognizing me, gave me his hand, but could not speak. He

knew what was said, and held out his arm. The vein was opened—no blood

flowed—it was empty. He uttered a low moan, looked at his arm, and shook

his head. His wife, with breathless anxiety, appeared at the door: we

persuaded her to retire. The warm fluid was placed on the window-seat

near the bed. It was again tried by the thermometer. Eight quarts were

ready, and the process of injecting the vein was commenced. The greater

portion entered. The breathing of the patient became laborious, and the

pulse returned. Violent sickness ensued. Some weak gruel, with a

teaspoonful of brandy mixed in it, quieted the sickness. The poor man

began to speak. In a low whisper, thanked God—thanked us—and said he

felt as if he should recover. At eleven o’clock, Mr. Langworthy returned

home with me, as both of us required rest.

_August_ 12. {54} Gully relapsed, and was as nearly in a dying state as

before. Saline fluid was again resorted to. I prepared above a gallon;

but, upon this occasion, about three quarts only were injected. Mr.

Langworthy having expressed a wish that he could obtain a pint of blood

for the purpose of injecting it, Sarah Gully, the sister, offered to be

blooded; but Mr. L. did not consider her sufficiently healthy. Elizabeth

Veale, a sister of Gully’s wife, then came forward, and, having made a

similar offer, some of her blood (about half-a-pint) was transferred into

the patient’s vein, by a well-executed process, conducted by both the

Messrs. Langworthy. The patient recovered his recollection. Sickness

did not come on as it had done after saline fluid only was injected. A

short interval elapsed, during which he appeared to labour considerably

under the action of recovering his breath. He then spoke; and, in the

course of a short time, took gruel. Weak wine and water, warm jelly, &c.

were also given to him in very small quantities. His appearance bore a

more favourable aspect; though his weakness was excessive. Gradually, he

regained a little strength towards the evening.

Jane Paddon and Edward Parsons were buried.

My friend, the Rev. Joseph Rosdew, who was on a visit to his brother at

Beechwood, kindly preached for me in the morning and afternoon; and the

Rev. E. B. St. John read the prayers. This friendly assistance enabled

me to visit the sick during the greater part of the day. The

congregations were very small; owing to the absence of some of the

principal families, the sickness of many, or the fear of assembling which

prevailed among others.

_August_ 13. {56} Visited Mrs. Toope, at Underwood, and her son Stephen,

both very weak. Mary Brown, aged fifty-six, an assistant at the

Hospital, died. Jane Moon, of Colebrook, aged twenty-eight, recovered.

She was taken ill on the 8th. William Gully, better.

_August_ 14. Several people applied for medicines. After they had been

attended to, I rode to the villages at the eastern end of the parish.

Some poor people, who were invalids, particularly requested to see me.

They were fearful that their sickness was a prelude to the cholera; but

they had no symptoms of that disease. Debility was the chief subject of

their complaint. Where this was the case, strengthening things were

supplied to the poor, out of the subscription fund.

Susan Taylor’s little girl, aged one year, died of cholera. She was

taken ill on the 11th. Her mother, also, very unwell, with symptoms of

the same disease. Richard Parsons, aged one year and a half, died at the

Hospital. Mary Brown, buried.

_August_ 15. Richard Parsons, buried. Elizabeth Hill, aged ten, died at

Underwood. Mr. H. attended her in the morning as soon as he was sent

for. The progress of this case was fearfully rapid. The poor child did

not suffer much from pain; she appeared to sink entirely from exhaustion.

No remedy for restoring warmth and circulation had the least effect.

After visiting sick people at Underwood and at the Hospital, I went in

the evening to see Susan Taylor. She was in the collapsed stage of

cholera. The Messrs. Langworthy were present. It was proposed that the

saline injection should be resorted to, as her pulse had ceased to beat,

and she appeared to be rapidly sinking. I assisted in preparing the warm

fluid. Eight quarts were ready, and seven were injected into the vein.

She revived—the pulse returned—and she seemed to be relieved. We were

occupied a great part of the night with this case.

_August_ 16. Between nine and ten, a.m., more poor people than usual

applied for medicines, and strengthening things; such as arrow-root,

tapioca, carageen moss, &c.

The Board of Health met at my house. One principal object of the meeting

was to consider the state of the poor as to diet, both of those who were

slightly indisposed, as well as of those recovering from cholera. It was

resolved to call the especial attention of the parish officers to this

important subject, and to remind them of the fact, that, from the

commencement of the disease in the parish to the present time, all extra

expenses caused by its ravages had been met by the subscription fund,

which was now nearly exhausted. The necessity of increasing the relief

of the poor, especially by some allowance for extra diet under the

present distressing emergency, was strongly urged upon them, in a written

address; under the conviction that, even where the disease did not exist,

an addition to their ordinary support was highly essential.

As soon as the Board of Health adjourned, I set off for the Hospital, and

on my way there I called to enquire for Susan Taylor. Just as I arrived,

Mary Taylor, the sister, met me at the door, and was sobbing so bitterly,

she could scarcely tell me the cause of her distress. At last she said,

Susan was worse than ever—she could not live ten minutes. Oh! sir, where

is Mr. Langworthy? Well knowing that it was a case in which every moment

was of the utmost importance, I hastened to the Hospital, where we had

appointed to meet. He had not arrived. Having heard that he was at

Underwood, I rode there; and, fortunately, I came up to him as he was in

the act of mounting his horse at Gully’s cottage. In as few words as

possible, I told him my errand. Poor Susan’s life was an object of

peculiar anxiety to us. She had lost her husband and her only child

within a few days; and she had been particularly active and serviceable

as a nurse, in some of the most appalling cases. A very few minutes

elapsed before we were at the house at Plympton. Our horses were sent to

Mr. L.’s, as we knew that, if the patient did not die, we might be

detained some time. Mary Taylor was so unwell, with strong symptoms of

the same disease, Mr. L. gave her medicine, and advised her to remain

below. We ascended the stairs, and at the first moment of entering the

room, we thought it was all over. We found Susan quite cold—as cold as

death—insensible—discoloured,—having no indication of pulse. We had no

person to help us—we had no time to procure assistance. I knew my office

in preparing for a repetition of the expedient of injection. This Mr. L.

at once decided to be the only chance. Whilst he adjusted his

instruments, the syringe, &c., I went below to prepare the fluid. I had

about six quarts ready, and rejoined Mr. L. He was sitting on the bed,

and prepared to open the vein of the patient’s right arm. I held the

wrist, to keep it steady; and having endeavoured to ascertain whether

there was any pulse, the cold blue hand dropped when I let it go. Mr. L.

shook his head, and thought any attempt to restore animation would be

useless. Notwithstanding this, as we could not tell what might be the

effect under the hand of God, even in this most desperate case, I was

ready with the warm mixture. The syringe was applied to the flaccid

vein, which resembled a slight sinew. No blood flowed. To all

appearance it contained nothing but a dark, glutinous, substance, about

the colour and consistency of treacle; not more than a drop of which

could be extracted, after pressing the vein in the usual manner to

produce a flow of blood. Every heave of her labouring chest, seemed to

be the last—weaker—weaker—at less frequent intervals. Never surely was

life nearer extinct. The eyes were set upwards with a fixed and

inanimate expression. We were now ready. I had a thermometer in the

basin, and two jugs, one with the fluid hot, and the other cooler, so as

to keep up the temperature as exactly as possible 110 degrees. The

greatest nicety is also indispensible in using the syringe, which should

be an instrument of the best make, lest a single globule of air should be

injected with the fluid. I have been informed that, if, owing to

unforeseen circumstances this occurs, the consequences would be instantly

fatal. Mr. L. commenced the operation, and the fluid did not return, but

went upward through the vein. Mr. L. whispered, “that is well.” A

breathless silence ensued—one quart was injected—a slight indication of

movement followed;—another quart—and another—a trembling movement of the

eyelid was visible—gradually the ashy hue of death began to recede from

the forehead—then from the cheek—the dawn of returning life appeared;

soon afterwards, the eye changed from its fixed character of

unconsciousness to that of recognition. I ventured to ask, whether, if

blood could be procured, there might not be a better chance of saving the

patient’s life. Mr. L. replied that no one could be found who would

enter the room, much more to spare a pint of blood. Without further loss

of time, I went to a neighbour next door, who had been very attentive to

Susan, and who did not shew indications of fear. She was in the prime of

life, in strong health, and had no family. I told her in as few words as

possible the precarious state of Susan, and that the only apparent chance

of saving her life, was to obtain a pint of blood, to be transferred into

her vein. “Will you consent to spare that quantity? If you have the

least fear about it, do not hesitate to say so.” She instantly replied,

“You may take a quart if it is required.” She went with me into Susan’s

room. Two basins were instantly in readiness, one floating in the other,

in hot water, to prevent the blood from congealing. Mary Chapman’s vein

was opened. The purple stream gushed, and well performed its benevolent

design. This had scarcely been transfused to the amount of half-a-pint,

when the throbbing index of life returned; and what a thrill did it give

us when I was able to pronounce that “the pulse beats distinctly.” But,

at this instant, it was evident by the appearance of the eye, that the

utmost caution was necessary,—to avoid another extreme—apoplexy—to watch

the eye as well as the pulse,—scarcely a pint could be borne—the process

was instantly stayed—and the noble spirited woman was advised to return

as quickly as possible to her own apartment. Her conduct throughout was

heroic and cool to admiration. {65} Now on each side of the bed, Mr. L.

and I took our station. The poor sufferer seemed as one awaking from a

deep sleep. She knew us both, and spoke.

Mary Taylor, in the room below, very sick and faint, and with other

symptoms of incipient cholera, which appeared to be increased by her fear

about her sister. Every thing was said and done which could be thought

of, to calm her spirits, and to dispel the peculiarly restless anxiety

under which she had laboured some hours. She said she knew she should

have the disease, and it would be the death of her.

Susan had become very drowsy. Soon afterwards, a violent trembling came

on, this was followed by a profuse perspiration. In about an hour, she

became more tranquil; still requiring the greatest attention—life hanging

by a mere thread. This lasted three hours. Mr. L. then considered it

safe, at her request, to allow her to sleep. Her sleep was as tranquil

as that of an infant, with the exception of a start at intervals. A

nurse having been obtained, she was left under her care, with strict

orders from Mr. L. how to proceed.

We went to the Hospital, and found the poor people much the same as

yesterday, excepting Sarah Parsons, aged three years, whose case was

hopeless. At seven, p.m., Elizabeth Hill and James Parsons were buried.

Sarah Parsons died during my absence. This was the child already

referred to, as having been “put aside” for dead; but after active

treatment, she had revived, and appeared to be progressing towards

perfect recovery. At the end of a fortnight, a fever attacked her, which

harassed her to such a degree, that she required the constant attendance

of one person. Her mother, slowly mending, exhibited a state of apathy,

almost amounting to stupor, and no wonder; in addition to the effects of

her own severe attack, her mind had received a paralyzing shock, from the

death of her husband and, now, four children!

After prayers in the sick-ward, I again visited Susan Taylor. She was

going on favourably, but too weak to bear any thing to be said to her.

_August_ 17. A young person at Merafield, one mile from Underwood,

labouring under a rather severe attack of cholera, somewhat better than

yesterday. She spoke of her illness with great calmness; and the blessed

effects of full trust in God’s mercy, through the merits and intercession

of the Saviour, were beautifully displayed in her whole deportment. Into

the hands of God she implicitly and prayerfully cast herself. She

appears so free from that restless anxiety which frequently attends cases

that prove fatal, great hopes are entertained of her recovery.

_August_ 18. Mrs. Jenny Cocker, of Underwood, was seized this morning,

at five o’clock. Dr. Cookworthy, of Plymouth, and Mr. Hook, the family

surgeon, were present. The former had been sent for after the most

alarming symptoms had come on; and when he arrived, she was cold,

discoloured, and sinking under extreme prostration of strength. Her

husband was absent, upon the farm, during the early part of the day, and

was struck with horror and alarm when, on his return, he found her in

such a state of danger. She was quite sensible, and prayed continually

that she might be supported “in that hour when flesh and heart faileth.”

Whilst the medical gentlemen were consulting together in the adjoining

room, we all addressed ourselves to the Throne of Grace; and most

devoutly and heartily did the poor sufferer bear her part in that solemn

duty, as well as her relations who were assembled in the room. Fear and

dismay were strongly depicted upon their countenances. Mrs. Cocker, sen.

was in a state of extreme agitation, shewed symptoms of being ill, and

fainted. After the medical gentlemen returned into the room, active

stimulants and friction were resorted to, with the hope of restoring

warmth in their patient. She became weaker, the pulse had ceased, and so

had her power of speaking; and at two, p.m., her mortal career was

closed. During the last three or four hours, she indicated no appearance

of suffering; and perfect consciousness was maintained to the last.

After this scene of affliction, I remained with the family some time, all

of us having retired to an adjoining room. The relations gradually

became more tranquil, and when we separated, one sorrowing individual,

raising her eyes to heaven, though streaming with tears, exclaimed, “It

is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.”

Attended the funeral of Mr. Josias Cork, and went to the Hospital.

Blake’s child, aged one year, died there to-day.

_August_ 19. {70a} My kind friend, the Rev. Joseph Rosdew, preached for

me twice, as I was too unwell to undertake two full services. In the

evening, Mrs. Jenny Cocker and Elizabeth Blake were buried. Several

fresh cases of cholera reported. Received a letter from the secretary of

the Central Board. The Plympton St. Mary Board of Health regularly

appointed. {70b}

_August_ 20. Amongst others, I visited Betty Heard, at Underwood, a poor

industrious woman, aged seventy-two. She was quite alone—no one had been

near her—creeping about the cottage in great pain: she could hardly

stand, but refused to go to bed. She had taken some precautions to check

the premonitory attack. She stood near her spinning-wheel, and when she

perceived I was looking at it, she shook her head, and said, “Ah! sir,

that is of no use to me now. When I can use it, I get but a very small

matter to live upon! and now”—She could not finish the sentence; but sat

down and cried like a child. How gladly did I avail myself of the

subscription fund to relieve this helpless creature. In a short time, a

proper nurse was with her. Page’s children better; the cramp had

subsided.

A messenger came to me, requesting my immediate attendance at old Mrs.

Cocker’s. She was in a room below, harassed with incessant sickness,

&c., and in great pain. Her agitation of mind at the time of her

daughter’s death on Saturday, caused a shock from which she had by no

means recovered. Mr. Richard Langworthy {72} had seen her, and

administered a dose of calomel; but the progress of the disorder was

astonishingly rapid. She fainted: her son Elias was with her, and we

supported her as well as we could. When she revived, her countenance

assumed the common character of the collapsed stage of the disease. With

much difficulty, we carried the poor sufferer up stairs; two women were

sent for, and they assisted in putting her in bed. Having become a

little easier, she requested me to pray with her. From that moment, when

not in extreme pain, she was incessantly occupied in that sacred duty.

On the first indication of sickness, she said she had the cholera, and

she knew “she should not get over it.”

Being confident that this was a desperate case, from its exhibiting those

fatal symptoms which often terminate in death within twelve hours, I went

for Mr. L., who had, unfortunately, been detained at Shaugh, five miles

off, and did not return for two hours. On his arrival, he said he quite

approved of all the measures which had been adopted; and he considered it

an extreme case. The rooms were fumigated, and chloride of lime was

sprinkled all about the house. The poor creature suffered much from

cramp and spasms. It was, indeed, distressing to see her. Every limb

seemed to be contracted—her teeth grinding, and her blue shrivelled

fingers clenched so tight, it was very difficult to open her hand; and

her long grey locks, matted with perspiration, adhered to her cold damp

cheek. Mr. L. proposed, as a last resource to allay such misery, that a

vein should be injected. I prepared about six quarts of the fluid. The

vein was opened, one or two dark drops trickled out, like treacle; after

this, the vein appeared to be empty. The process of injection was

immediately commenced, and the suffering almost instantly subsided. We

knew her age was against her; but feeling that though life might not be

saved by it, yet that this experiment would be valuable, inasmuch as we

had remarked that all suffering from cramp ceased when recourse was had

to it; it was, therefore, adopted. The pulse returned; but it fluttered

and intermitted. She said she knew her time was very short. Her younger

son was hanging over her, the tears flowing down his cheeks. Throughout

this sad scene, his anxious and tender care for a dying mother was

incessant. She said, “Let us pray—it is my only comfort.” We all knelt

round the bed. Clasping her hands, she prayed aloud. Nothing could be

more devout; and there was something so indescribably affecting in the

plaintive tone of her voice and the aspirations she uttered at intervals,

that a common feeling of sympathy vibrated through the hearts of those

who witnessed the touching scene. She expressed herself cheered and

refreshed by such an employment; then with her cold hand she grasped

mine, and begged me not to leave her. She became rapidly weaker, the

pulse again intermitted and sunk, sickness returned, but not the cramp.

Although she had for a long time refused to take any nourishment, in

twenty minutes after the injection of the fluid, she vomited a great

quantity of what appeared to be water, with a dark sediment, like

decomposed blood, which sunk immediately. From this time, nothing would

stop the incessant sickness. Every animal function seemed to be

exhausted; yet her senses were perfectly unimpaired to the last. I did

not quit her—it was her dying request. “Thank you—thank you for

remaining,” she, faltering, said to me. I observed to her that although

_we_ must part, there was one above, who has promised to his faithful

disciples, “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” “Oh! yes—yes,”

she said, in a low whisper,—“it is true: I feel the comfort of it.

‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have

seen thy salvation.’ I am so—so weary,—when will this be over.” She

then sunk into silence: for some time it was difficult to say whether

life was extinct or not; at last she sighed, and her spirit departed in

peace.

This affecting scene lasted six hours after the violent symptoms of the

disease commenced. Returned home and endeavoured to answer some kind

notes from enquiring friends. I could not write, owing to the excited

state of my feelings; but, thankful to a merciful Providence for

preservation, I retired early, hoping to be refreshed by rest.

I was awakened from a sound sleep by a loud knocking at my door. It was

half past twelve at night, when my servant informed me that a person had

arrived from Plympton, entreating me to go instantly to Mary Taylor, a

parishioner of Plympton St. Mary, who was in the last stage of cholera,

and was particularly anxious to see me before she died. I was a little

refreshed by sleep; but still so unwell, my servant intimated that it

might be in time, if I went in the morning. The morning might be too

late! The idea of her having expressed an earnest desire to see me—in

her dying moments too—something, perhaps, required or to communicate,

which might tend to relieve her mind, and soothe the pillow of death. I

could not have rested, if I had delayed to go. Before one o’clock, I was

at the house. Mary Taylor had given up her own comfortable room to

Susan, from the kindest and most considerate feeling; and, that she might

be kept as quiet as possible, had removed to the dwelling of her parents,

which was, indeed, a miserable place for a sick person. Below sat her

father, by a small remnant of a fire, his face between his hands, his

elbows resting on his knees, not caring to speak. He told me Elizabeth

Job was with Mary, and that Mr. L. had been there in the evening, but not

since—that he was very unwell when he went away. I heard the poor

creature moaning—went up to her. The chamber where she lay was on the

landing-place, without a door or partition—no ceiling—open to the roof.

A common bedstead, without hangings or curtains, an old-fashioned oak

chest, and a broken chair, composed the whole of the furniture. In a

corner of the same room, covered with various old clothes, lay her

husband, who was also ill. A rushlight, flickering in a current of air

from the roof, only added to the wretchedness of the scene. The moment I

approached the bedside, poor Mary held out her hand to me, and burst into

an agony of tears. “I am going, sir,—I know I shall die. I wished so

much to see you once more. I feared it would be too much for you to

come; but I do not expect to see the morning. I do not wish to live; but

my poor dear little helpless infant—what will become of her when she has

lost her mother!” After some conversation, she became more tranquil, and

appeared greatly comforted by the presence of a Christian minister.

Spoke much of the awfulness of being on the brink of eternity—prayed

frequently that God would forgive her sins, and receive her to himself,

through the merits of a crucified Saviour. “Yes,” she said, “he died for

me.” Stayed by this anchor, she became resigned and calm.

Before I went upstairs, I ordered the fire to be made up, and plenty of

hot water to be in readiness. The poor old people very slow, and nothing

in the house which such a case of emergency required. The cramp was

gaining ground, and spasms had returned. Mr. L.’s residence not being

far off, I hastened there, thinking it possible that he might be up; but

could make no one hear, therefore I went away without disturbing him. I

knocked up the people at a shop, and got some mustard and vinegar. When

I returned, the medicines which were left, with directions, by Mr. L.

were given. I had brought the cholera lotion, or stimulating liniment,

with me, which was tried; but the poor sufferer was icy cold. Hot water

in a stone bottle was applied to the feet. The pain at the pit of the

stomach was very acute. I tried to get hot salt or sand; but nothing of

the sort could be obtained, it being past two, a.m. Having noticed that,

in the fire-place below, there were some loose bricks, I heated one of

them, and wrapped it in a piece of old drugget. This simple remedy

afforded her much relief, as soon as it was applied. She had been

extremely patient, and said she felt better; but from the cold

perspiration, and her discoloured appearance, I feared she would not

recover. At three, a.m., I became so unwell, I desired that Mr. L.

should be called, at all events. As he had been up the whole of the two

preceding nights, and was very unwell, I had hitherto deferred calling

him as long as I could; but I was obliged to return home.

_August_ 21. Being anxious to know the fate of Mary Taylor, I went at

eight o’clock to enquire for her. I learnt that Mr. L. came to her

almost immediately after I left her, and injected saline fluid into a

vein. She rallied for a time; but now, at nine, the alarming symptoms

had returned. I went to Mr. L. and reported the apparently hopeless

state of the patient. He returned to the house with me, and proposed a

repetition of the experiment. She said it was all in vain. Her pulse

had entirely ceased to beat. She enquired for Susan,—then spoke of her

child with the tenderest feeling. She “hoped God would forgive her

anxiety about the dear little soul. She would rather it had been taken

before her, or with her, that both might be buried together; but God’s

will be done. May we meet in a happier world.”

We had all joined with her in prayer, at her own request; she then

consented to the operation. After a small quantity of the saline fluid

had been injected, her husband’s sister offered to be blooded, as soon as

the transfusion of blood was proposed. The transfusion was commenced,

but no more than a teacupful could be borne, as a most startling effect

was produced; the eyes having in an instant become red and staring to a

frightful extent. Mr. L. saw this, and stopped the process

instantaneously. Her breathing was quick and laborious. The pulse

merely fluttered, and then stopped. It evidently was the will of God

that human means should not avail. She was dying! I left the room with

a sorrowing heart, sincerely lamenting her death. Before the attack of

cholera, she had been in a delicate state of health; therefore Mr. L.

feared that her constitution was not sufficiently strong to bear the

shock. Every thing tended to depress our spirits. Such touching scenes,

in such rapid succession—so great an accumulation of misery, nearly

overwhelmed us. The appalling reality is almost incredible! But we have

worked together, heart and hand; and we must trust that the same merciful

Providence which has hitherto protected us, will, through the aid of the

Spirit, grant us renewed strength for the conflict.

I called to see Susan Taylor; she was better, but requiring the greatest

care. Attended the funeral of Mrs. Cocker. Richard Hurl, aged one year

and half, died at Underwood. Elizabeth Hicks, of Underwood, seriously

ill—collapse had rapidly come on,—Mr. Osmond in attendance. Very active

treatment had been pursued. Towards the evening, she was much relieved,

but extremely weak. Richard Smaldridge taken ill. Mr. Hook attending

him.

_August_ 22. {83} A vestry meeting was held, also a meeting of the Board

of Health. On this day, the first order was made for assistance from the

parish, to be paid to the chairman of the Board of Health. Hurl’s child

buried. Elizabeth Hicks recovering.

_August_ 23. George Tarr, aged forty-four, received at the Hospital: a

bad case.

_August_ 24. George Tarr died. Ann Higgins, aged one year, died.

_August_ 25. I visited several people who laboured under great debility.

Not so many fresh cases during these three days.

_August_ 26. At eight o’clock, a message was brought to me from Mr.

Crewes’s family, at Plympton, {85a} requesting me, if I possibly could,

to go to them immediately, as their servant was alarmingly ill. Soon

after I arrived, Mr. Deeble Boger {85b} and the Messrs. Langworthy came.

It was one of those cases which exhibit great severity of

character—discolouration of the skin—incessant sickness and

restlessness—coldness of the flesh, tongue, and breath. There was very

little hope of her recovery. Perhaps this attack had been brought on and

aggravated by her own imprudence, in taking with her dinner, yesterday, a

quantity of vinegar, which had been left in a plate with some cucumber.

Debility and exhaustion rapidly increased. She became calm after awhile,

and was perfectly sensible. I left her and went to Church. The Rev. J.

Rosdew again kindly assisted me both parts of the day. But one feeling

pervaded the whole congregation—the ministers and the people—the deepest

solemnity! The plague is abroad. Who is to stand between the living and

the dead? The fervent prayer of faith availeth much. “Lord, hear our

prayer, and let our cry come unto thee!” How many appeared to pray in

earnest on this day! doubtless not here only, but through the nation.

May the supplication of a suffering people be received at the Throne of

Grace.

Mr. Crewes’s servant died in the afternoon, and Maria E. Taylor, aged six

months, of Underwood, died on this day.

_August_ 27. Whilst at breakfast, I was entreated to go as soon as

possible to Wm. Arthurs, at Underwood, as he was extremely ill, and he

was thought to be dying. After attending to a number of applications for

medicine, I went immediately to the sick man. His wife, in tears, was

standing at the door, watching my arrival. Her mother, Mary Martin, and

another woman, with dismay in their countenances, were near her. One of

the children ill with cholera, in a cradle, two other little creatures,

unconscious of what was passing, were playing about the room. I first

endeavoured to quiet the minds of the women, impressing upon them, that

there was not so much danger to be apprehended from the disease itself,

as from giving way to such excessive alarm. That all excitement and

agitation of the mind, tended to increase, if not to cause, an attack of

the malady. I found the poor man very ill. Upon enquiry, it appeared

that he had been “very bad all the night, and they thought he could not

have held out till the morning.” But, “why did you neglect to send for

medical advice at first?” “O, sir, we hoped it would pass.” I told them

they must send immediately for Mr. L. or for some other medical

gentleman; but they said it would be of no use, as Arthurs refused to

take any medicines; indeed, he had said the same to me: but, after much

persuasion, he consented to take what I gave him. At this time, he was

in a state of partial collapse—writhing with pain—large drops standing on

his icy cold forehead—his tongue cold—harassed with incessant and violent

sickness. The wife standing by, concealing her face with her apron, not

being able to look at him when the paroxysms came on. At a glance, the

appearance of every thing indicated the cleanliness of the family. A

white cloth was on a little table near the window—a second bed in the

room—a little store of potatoes in a basket, in a corner near the stairs.

The women were prompt and ready in preparing the stimulants—mustard and

hot vinegar, and hot water, in stone bottles, for the feet. All linen

was removed from the bed. The child below was, at this time, screaming

so violently, that we were obliged to use for her similar remedies.

Rhubarb and ginger had been given to the child. I gave a saline draught,

which appeared to check the sickness. The poor man required constant

attendance, sickness and cramp being most distressing. I had sent for

medical assistance, but at that moment it could not be obtained. What

was to be done? The poor man was in agony, and the sickness violent,

without an intermission of ten minutes. In this extremity, I gave him

the same medicine which I had taken myself. In half-an-hour, the man was

again extremely harassed, and the sickness was not abated. He complained

of insatiable thirst. I then prepared a saline mixture, composed of the

same ingredients which had in some instances been adopted by Mr. L.;

viz., carbonate of soda, one drachm, common salt, one drachm, oxymuriate

(chlorate) of potash, six grains, and a teaspoonful of salvolatile, to a

quart of cold water, of which he drank freely. After this, the vomiting

subsided for a time, but pain and nausea remained; friction with

stimulants were continued, and hot salt applied to the stomach. Being

somewhat relieved, he was desirous that I would pray with him. The poor

women knelt round the bed,—tears streaming down, though they held their

hands before their faces, to conceal their grief and apprehension. At

this time, the appearance of the man’s eyes began more decidedly to

assume the character which we had remarked in the worst cases of cholera.

Our prayer was shortened: but a sigh only, in faith, fails not to reach

the Throne of Grace. I sent again, with the hope of obtaining medical

aid, but without success. I began to tremble at the responsibility I had

taken upon myself; but I could not leave the patient at such a crisis,

and to have remained inactive might have been fatal. His pulse, when I

first saw him, was scarcely perceptible, it now began to improve;

sickness again came on, but not so violent as before. He drank freely of

the saline mixture. At two o’clock, I left him for half-an-hour, to

attend the funeral of Maria Taylor’s infant. Soon after my return (about

three o’clock), Arthurs became easier and more tranquil; the pulse had

improved, general warmth succeeded, and at four o’clock, profuse

perspiration: more clothing was put on the bed, to keep that up. He

wished for some tea and biscuit, and took a small quantity. In

half-an-hour afterwards, the pulse became extremely full and quick. At

five, p.m., I went to Mr. Langworthy’s, and found him just returned. I

informed him of Arthurs’s case, and we went there together; but before we

arrived, a medical gentleman had called, bled him sparingly, and had gone

away. Mr. L. ordered him medicine, and gave directions how to proceed.

The poor man then expressed himself as being weary, and soon sunk into a

calm sleep. The child was much better towards the evening.

I went across the way to John Andrews’s; their daughter, Mary Ann, aged

six, who was taken ill in the morning, having died at four p.m. The

other child who was ill on the 6th, recovered. Peggy Andrews, the

mother, though deeply afflicted, shewed much Christian resignation. At

her urgent request, I went upstairs to see the child as she lay a corpse.

She had been carried off so rapidly, they could scarcely believe she was

dead. Chloride of lime was used abundantly, and the poor people promised

that the rooms should be whitewashed on the following day. Their cottage

is kept particularly neat. Having remained some time in conversation

with them, I went to Richard Dunn’s. Their little girl, aged two years,

sinking from exhaustion in a low fever, like typhus, which immediately

followed an attack of cholera. Every possible attention was paid her,

but nothing would make her rally. She lay perfectly quiet, her clear

blue eye fixed on me, being a stranger; and just at that moment a parting

ray of the evening sun beamed through the casement upon her face, her

light silken locks shone upon her spotless brow, giving to her appearance

an unearthly effect, which I shall never forget. Very soon she was cold

and lifeless; but a smile rested on her countenance, so serene and

lovely, that the transition from life to death was not perceptible. I

could not be surprised at the distress of the parents. Difficult it was

at such a moment to acknowledge the reality, that their loss was the

child’s gain. Under what a variety of circumstances does this fatal

malady strike its victims! Equally varying, therefore, the occasions for

Christian consolation. May this be profitable to minister and people.

Wrote to the Central Board of Health. Two new cases.

_August_ 28. Mary Ann Andrews, buried. No death on this day: one new

case only reported—Betty Wills, of Underwood. The patients generally

extremely weak. Seven cases remaining.

_August_ 29. Attended Board of Health. Received a letter from the

Central Board, requesting a daily report to be transmitted as long as the

disease exists at Plympton St. Mary, as well as a return of all cases and

deaths from the commencement of the disease.

Upon referring to the several medical practitioners, it was found to be

impossible to obtain any thing like a regular return; because our Board

of Health had not been legally constituted until the 22nd instant; and no

authority for such a requirement having previously existed, no regular

notes of cases and deaths had been kept. Besides this, in consequence of

the scarcity of medical practitioners, those who were employed in cholera

cases, were engaged with their patients from morning till night, and had

little or no time for making regular memoranda.

Visited Arthurs;—better as to the original disease, but very severely

salivated. Elizabeth Hicks and Mary Martin, recovering. Buried Dunn’s

child. Visited Susan Taylor;—gradually recovering, but labouring under

great weakness. We had some serious conversation upon the afflicting

circumstances which had occurred, and the mercy of God in her own

particular case;—her preservation up to the present time, after all she

had gone through herself, and after what she had witnessed in others,

having herself, not only passed much time as a nurse in the midst of the

worst cases of the disease, but having also assisted in the last fearful

office for three of its victims. She entered fully into all this in a

right frame of mind. Whilst alluding to the state in which she lay under

the influence of the collapsed stage, she said she knew what was passing,

though she appeared unconscious of every thing; that the sensation

produced by injecting the saline fluid into the vein, was that of having

taken an unusual quantity of liquid or broth, the stomach seemed to be

very full; and when the blood was transfused, she felt it in the jugular

vein, on both sides, causing an oppressive fulness, as if it would burst;

but it subsided as soon as the process was stopped. As an instance of

consciousness being retained in the last stage of cholera,—while the

blood was being transfused, though she could neither move nor speak, she

heard me suggest that a handkerchief might be lightly thrown across her

eyes, lest she should be shocked if she revived and saw what was being

done; and Mr. L.’s reply, that it was of no consequence, as she was too

far gone.

_August_ 30. One new case, Mary Martin, Underwood. Five cases

remaining. Several people suffering from weakness and debility; all who

required it, had nourishing things sent to them. By Mr. L.’s advice, I

returned home sooner than usual, as I had been very unwell during the

last few days.

_August_ 31. Susan Taylor {96} was sufficiently recovered to return to

Underwood. No new cases reported to-day. What a mercy! The fearful

disease has nearly subsided in this parish, though as yet prevalent in

the adjoining parish of Plympton Maurice.

From this time, no death by cholera occurred in the parish; but through

the month of September, those who had been attacked by the disease,

laboured under great debility. Some new cases were reported; but of a

milder character, with the exception of two, which were taken to the

Hospital. One was that of an aged woman, who, on the 10th of September,

was discovered lying on the floor, at her house at Colebrook, in a state

of collapse. A medical gentleman had seen her as he passed by, and

called to inform me of the circumstance, at the same time recommending

what medicine should be given to her. I found her, as described, lying

on the stone floor, with all the symptoms of confirmed cholera, and in

great agony. After much persuasion, she took the medicine, and consented

to be removed to the Hospital, only upon the condition that I would take

charge of her goods, and keep the key of her room. Unhappily, she was

one of those whose thoughts are entirely engrossed by the objects of

time; therefore her mental agitation and alarm were proportionately

increased: and at such a moment, when life was ebbing on the brink of

eternity, there was no desire for religious exercise, although at the

eleventh hour; and all before her was worse than blank—not a shadow of

comfort!

After she arrived at the Hospital, her suffering was very considerable.

Mr. L. pursued the same treatment which had been previously adopted, with

the addition of active friction, and hot salt in bags applied to the

stomach. Warmth was restored in about four hours, and she became

gradually better. In three days afterwards, she walked home, recovered.

About this time, a man was found, in a wretched state, cold and

collapsed, in an open shed near Ridgeway. He was conveyed to the

Hospital immediately. Drinking and dissipation had most probably tended

to increase his sufferings, for they were excessive. His habits were

well known, and there was every reason to suppose he was in a state of

intoxication when seized with the disease. A strong emetic of mustard

and salt was first given to him, and active remedies were afterwards

resorted to. Some hours elapsed before warmth could be restored, and it

was thought the attack would terminate fatally; but God was merciful to

him, and he so far recovered as to be able to leave the Hospital in two

days. How far he was impressed with the awfulness of his situation, or

of thankfulness for his escape from impending danger, rested with his own

conscience. He gave no satisfactory proof of any salutary impression

having been made upon his mind. He was enveloped in utter darkness, and

religious duties were evidently irksome to him.

With the exception of these two cases, nothing occurred beyond the usual

routine of visiting convalescent patients, or those taken with slight

attacks, from the end of August to the 3rd of October. During that

period, the attendance at meetings of the Board of Health, and constant

communication with the Central Board, as well as ordinary parish duties,

were attended to. On the 3rd of October, it was reported, and with

devout thankfulness acknowledged, that the disease was mercifully

withdrawn from the parish—the plague was stayed—and the Board of Health

was adjourned. Thus terminated the progress of the fearful visitation in

this parish. Thirty deaths, chiefly from the village of Underwood, had

occurred between the 13th of July and the 27th of August. In the

adjacent town of Plympton, where the population by the census of 1831 was

804, there were twenty-two deaths between the 12th of August and the 21st

of September.