Part 2

Thus far, sanatory measures were adopted more than eight months before any symptoms of the disease appeared in the parish.

From this time to the month of July, 1832, it pleased God, in mercy, to spare us. The pestilence, however, was raging far and near. The dark and threatening cloud still lowered around. But months passed on; until, at last, it approached with awful warning. Then “fearfulness and trembling came upon us.” And “in the time of trouble we called upon the Lord.” Then were acknowledged “the neglect of God’s ordinances, the misuse of his bounties, and the offences which had been multiplied in the land.”

As, long before this, temporal precautions had been resorted to, with the hope that, under the blessing of God, they might be instrumental towards the averting of the impending danger; so, trembling penitents also sought, in humble prayer, the only effectual remedy to assist in setting their spiritual house in order,—the merciful aid of a pardoning God, through the merits and intercession of a crucified Saviour. Humbled to the dust, under a sense of sin and unworthiness, which now appeared in fearful reality, they pleaded for mercy before the Throne of Grace, comforted by the promise of their Heavenly Advocate, “Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” They fled in earnest to the “Rock of Ages,” for shelter from the storm. Having been thus prepared for the approaching trial, when it did fall on them, they experienced a merciful answer to their cry for help, and were supported in their last hour; for the nearer death approached, it was, in numerous instances, met with resignation, tranquillity, and peace.

When we ponder these things, and reflect upon the uncertainty of life, whether exhibited in the ordinary or the extraordinary course of nature, we cannot but feel how important it is to cherish within us a spirit of watchfulness and prayer. This, by the blessing of God, and the merits of the Saviour, will disarm death of its sting, and dispel, or at least mitigate, the fears which assail us in the time of danger. Amidst the varying scenes of life, this frame of mind carries a blessing with it; and, when we are about to quit them, it will bring us peace at the last.

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

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

God grant that the recollection of the fearful events which the following plain narrative recalls, may revive, and render permanent, not the terrors of the mere outward circumstances, but the pious vows and resolutions which accompanied them.

It may be necessary here to remark, in reference to the prominent allusion, in the following pages, to the writer himself, that in the details of a Diary it could not be avoided. A panic had spread in the neighbourhood, from a conviction that the disease was not only epidemic, but contagious. The consequence was, that all intercourse between the inhabitants of other villages with Underwood, was either prohibited, or avoided as much as possible. As one proof of this, a servant in another part of the parish, who went to Underwood to see a relation, at a house where there was no sickness, was immediately discharged.

Thus the difficulty of obtaining assistance, and of providing nurses, was lamentably increased. The sick and dying, who had no one to help them, sought their minister, as their only earthly friend: and in the closing scenes of their existence, they called aloud for his presence. Such an appeal, both to the common feelings of humanity, as well as to one of the highest obligations of a Christian minister, could not be otherwise than irresistible. There is nothing remarkable, therefore, in the circumstance of a clergyman, residing close to the village afflicted with such an awful visitation, having endeavoured to render all the assistance in his power, independently of attending to the important duties of his sacred office. Who, among the clergy, would not have done the same, in a similar case of emergency? Many names are on record, of those who exerted all their energies, in a manner far more valuable and important.

When we recollect the scenes at Bilston, Sedgly, Plymouth, and other populous districts, where the epidemic spread among thousands, it is evident that the labour and exertion of those whose duty called upon them to attend the sick, must have been past description. Few, under such circumstances, had an opportunity of remaining any great length of time to watch the progress of particular cases, or of taking minutes of them. But where the disease was confined within narrower limits, and not more than two or three hundred had been affected by it, the difficulty of taking notes became proportionably less. This has probably been done in many instances, which, at present, have not been made known. But it has been strongly urged that the publication of them might be highly useful; as an opportunity would be thus afforded for those who are the most competent for the undertaking, to compare the details of variation of character, which this extraordinary disease may have exhibited under different circumstances; and by these means to arrive at some additional conclusions as to how far it has resisted or yielded to the application of particular modes of treatment.

The Christian Observer (No. 381, Sept. 1833, page 511) expresses this opinion in the following words:—

“It might be well if clergymen, or other persons, would draw up a record of any remarkable circumstances, in their respective vicinities, connected with the visitation. These local narratives would form valuable notices towards a history of this mysterious disease.

“It would not be uninteresting to compare the memoranda, moral and physical, of an inland manufacturing town like Bilston, suffering under the affliction, with those of a scattered rural district, or a seaport population, such as that of Plymouth, which the disease visited with almost unexampled rigour.”

EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY, &c.

1832, July 13. Mellonia Thorn (who came from Plymouth, where the cholera was prevailing, on Wednesday, the 11th, in perfect health, to Underwood, on a visit to her daughter, Mary Pepperall), after a few hours’ illness, died this evening of that disease. I called to see her, but she was too near her end to derive benefit or consolation from any one.

So sudden was the attack which seized this poor woman, that the greatest dismay and confusion prevailed among the inmates of the house. She rose in the morning, apparently quite well, and was occupied during the day, until three o’clock, p.m., in ironing her son’s linen. About this time, she complained of sickness, and in less than half-an-hour, other symptoms of cholera followed with fearful rapidity.

While she was in this state, a neighbour called to see her, and advised her to try the effect of brandy. Her friends followed this advice, and gave her half a glass of brandy every ten minutes or quarter of an hour, until she had taken half a pint.

Between six and seven o’clock, Mr. Langworthy {14} arrived. But the second or cold stage had come on. The poor woman was more tranquil than she had been, but much exhausted, and harassed by continual thirst. The disease progressed so rapidly, that it baffled every effort to afford relief. Various remedies were tried, without the least effect. A vein was opened,—no blood flowed,—it was congealed,—and, gradually, between nine and ten o’clock, the poor sufferer ceased to breathe.

The news of this fearfully sudden death soon spread through the parish. Many a heart, with anxious throb, sickened under gloomy forebodings; and many lips, hitherto unaccustomed to prayer, began to seek, through that neglected resource, the mercy of God.

July 14. The funeral of Mellonia Thorn took place to-day. The advice, that as few persons as possible should be present, was strictly attended to. Two only, besides the bearers, were there! and, in the stillness of a lovely summer eve,—no sound interrupting the sublime burial service of our Church, and with an increased solemnity, consequent upon such an awakening occasion,—the mortal remains of this first victim of the cholera in our parish were consigned to the grave!

July 27. John Gulley, of Underwood, aged fifty-three, died this afternoon. He was unwell a few days; but thought that, as his indisposition was unaccompanied by pain, it was of no importance. Medical aid was not called in, until he had fallen into the second stage of cholera; and he was rapidly carried off.

July 28. Having been informed that precautionary measures were much required at the house where John Gulley died, I went there, enquired for the family, and gave directions for fumigating the rooms, the use of chloride of lime, &c.

When I quitted this house, some poor people implored me to go to Edward Tretheway’s cottage (situate very near John Gulley’s), to see his daughter, a little girl, ten years of age, who was “in a dying state.” She was much beloved by the neighbours; and several women were standing in groups about the house, anxiously enquiring about her. She was also an object of more than ordinary interest to myself, as she was one of the best-behaved children in our Sunday School.

On entering the cottage, the alarm of the family was manifested in the neglected state of every thing around,—tea-things scattered about the table—the homely meal left half-finished—by the fire-side, a poor man was endeavouring to pacify two or three frightened children—some women who had called to assist their neighbour, stood aghast, incapable of doing any thing. The afflicted mother pointed to the stairs, and begged me hasten to see the child before it was too late. In the room above, the scene was very affecting. The poor little creature was on a bed, with her clothes on, supported on her weeping father’s arm—her countenance collapsed, and her hands characterized by all the signs of the second stage of cholera,—no indication of pulse—scarcely a sign of life—from all appearances, the disease had secured its prey.

That no time might be lost before the arrival of Mr. Langworthy, who had been sent for, I recommended that she should be immediately undressed, and placed between hot blankets; and I went home for some medicines, {18} blankets, &c. Mr. Langworthy came, and the application of friction was adopted with apparent success, as indications of returning animation were shortly visible, but not of warmth about the body. On recovering her recollection, and being timid of strangers, she could not be prevailed upon to take any thing except from myself. I left her for a short time, to attend the funeral of John Gulley. When I returned, a hot-air bath had been procured, and a fair trial given to it; but the only effect produced was a profuse, but cold, perspiration. The harassing symptoms of the disease were not subdued. Every thing was tried which human aid could suggest to relieve her, but she was rapidly sinking.

Mr. L. requested me to remain with her during his absence, which was unavoidably prolonged two hours. When he returned, she was sensible, and free from pain; but no warmth could be produced. About twelve o’clock, her countenance suddenly resumed its natural appearance—her eyes, their intelligence. I took her hand, which she held out to me. The icy chill seemed to have yielded in a slight degree. We thought the crisis was over, and that she was on the recovery; but, in an instant—without a sigh—without even a lengthened breath—her eyes were glazed! and her gentle spirit winged its flight, I trust, to that blessed Lord, who said, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

I called the parents aside, before they were conscious of what had happened, and remained conversing with them, until their minds were sufficiently tranquillized to offer up an evening prayer, in which all the family devoutly joined; and at one in the morning, I concluded my pastoral visit, sincerely sympathizing with that poor family.

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