Part 4

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.