Part 2

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.