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.
