CHAPTER VIII. IN THE DOOMED CITY.
The clocks in the church steeples were chiming the hour of ten asDinah and her two companions started forth a second time upon theirerrand of mercy and charity. It was an hour at which in ordinarytimes all the city should be alive, the streets filled withpassersby, wagons lumbering along with heavy freights, fine folksin their coaches or on horseback picking their way from place toplace, and shopmen or their apprentices crying their wares fromopen doorways.
Now the streets were almost empty. The shops were almost all shutup. Here and there an open bake house was to be seen, orders havingbeen issued that these places were to remain available for thepublic, come what might; and women or trembling servant maids wereto be seen going to and fro with their loads of bread or dough forbaking.
But each person looked askance at the other. Neighbours were afraidto pause to exchange greetings, and hurried away from all contactwith one another; and children breaking away from their mothers'sides were speedily called back, and chidden for their temerity.
Some of the churches stood wide open, and persons were seen tohurry in, lock themselves for a few minutes into separate pews, andpour out their souls in supplication. Often the sound oflamentation and weeping was heard to issue from these buildings. Atcertain hours of the day such of the clergy as were not scared awaythrough fear of infection, or who were not otherwise occupiedamongst the sick, would come in and address the persons gatheredthere, or read the daily office of prayer; but although at firstthese services had been well attended--people flocking to thechurches as though to take sanctuary there--the widely-increasedmortality and the fearful spread of the distemper had caused apanic throughout the city. The magistrates had issued warningsagainst the assembling of persons together in the same building,and the congregations were themselves so wasted and decimated bydeath and disease that each week saw fewer and fewer able toattend.
From every steeple in the city the bells tolled ceaselessly for thedead. But it was already whispered that soon they would toll nomore, for the deaths were becoming past all count, and there mightlikely enough be soon no one left to toll.
At one open place through which Dinah led her companions, a tallman, strangely habited, and with a great mass of untrimmed hair andbeard, was addressing a wild harangue to a ring of breathlesslisteners. In vivid and graphic words he was summing up thewickedness and perversity of the city, and telling how that thewrath of God had descended upon it, and that He would no longerstay His hand. The day of mercy had gone by; the day of vengeancehad come--the day of reckoning and of punishment. The innocent mustnow perish with the guilty, and he warned each one of his hearersto prepare to meet his Judge.
The man was gazing up overhead with eyes that seemed ready to startfrom their sockets. Every face in the crowd grew pale with horror.The man seemed rooted to the spot with a ghastly terror. Theyfollowed the direction of his gaze, but could see nothing save thequivering sunshine above them.
Suddenly one in the crowd gave a shriek which those who heard itnever forgot, and fell to the ground like one dead.
With a wild, terrible laugh the preacher gathered up his long gownand fled onwards, and the crowd scattered helter skelter, terrifiedand desperate. None seemed to have a thought for the miserable mansmitten down before their very eyes. All took care to avoidapproaching him in their hasty flight. He lay with his faceupturned to the steely, pitiless summer sky. A woman comingfurtively along with a market basket upon her arm suddenly set up adolorous cry at sight of him, and setting down her basket rantowards him, the tears streaming down her face.
"Why, it is none other than good John Harwood and his wifeElizabeth!" cried Janet, making a forward step. "Oh, poorcreatures, poor creatures! Good aunt, prithee let us do what we canfor their relief. I knew not the man, his face was so changed, butI know him now. They are very honest, good folks, and have workedfor us ere now. They live hard by, if so be they have not changedtheir lodgings. Can we do nothing to help them?"
"We will do what we can," said Dinah. "Remember, my children, allthat I have bidden you do when approaching a stricken person. Benot rash, neither be over-much affrighted. The Lord has preservedme, and methinks He will preserve you, too."
With that she stepped forward and laid a hand upon the shoulder ofthe poor woman, who was weeping copiously over her husband, andcalling him by every name she could think of, though he lay rigidwith half-open eyes and heeded her not.
"Good friend," said Dinah, in her quiet, commanding fashion, "it isof no avail thus to weep and cry. We must get your goodman withindoors, and tend him there. See, there is a man with a handcart overyonder. Go call him, and bid him come to our help. We must not letyour goodman lie out here in the streets in this hot sunshine."
"God bless you! God bless you!" cried the poor distracted woman,unspeakably thankful for any help at a time when neighbours andfriends were wont alike to flee in terror from any stricken person."But alas and woe is me! Tell me, is this the plague?"
"I fear so," answered Dinah, who had bent over the smitten man;"but go quickly and do as I have said. There be some amongst thesick who recover. Lose not heart at the outset, but trust in God,and do all that thou art bidden."
The woman ran quickly, and the man, who was indeed one of thoseforlorn creatures who, for a livelihood, were even willing to scourthe streets and remove from thence those that were stricken down bydeath as they went their way amongst their fellows, came with herat her request, and lifting her husband into his cart, wheeled himaway towards a poor alley where lay her home.
As she turned into it she looked at the three women who followed,and said:
"God have mercy upon us! I would not have you adventure yourselveshere. There be but three houses in all the street where thedistemper has not come, and of those, mine, which was one, must nowbe shut up. Lord have mercy upon us indeed, else we be all deadmen!"
Dinah paused for a brief moment, and looked at her young charges.
"My children," she said, "needs must that I go where the need is sogreat. But bethink you a moment if ye have strength and wish tofollow. I know not what sad and terrible sights we may have toencounter. Think ye that ye can bear them? Have ye the strength togo forward? If not, I would have you go back ere you have reachedthe contamination."
Janet looked at Gertrude, and Gertrude looked at Janet; but thoughthere was great seriousness and awe in their faces, there was nofear. Gertrude had gone through so much already within the walls ofher home that she had no fear greater than that of remaining inhelpless idleness there, alone with her own thoughts and memories.As for Janet, she had much of the nature of her aunt--much of thateager, intense sympathy and compassion for the sick and sufferingwhich has induced women in all ages to go forth in times of direneed, and risk their lives for their stricken and afflictedbrethren.
So after one glance of mutual comprehension and sympathy, they bothanswered in one breath:
"No, we will not turn back. We will go with you. Where the need issorest, there would we be, too."
"God bless you! God bless you for angels of mercy!" sobbed the poorwoman, who heard their words, and knowing both Dinah and Janet,understood something of the situation, "for we be perishing likesheep here in this place, shut away from all, and with never anurse to come nigh us. There be some rough fellows placed outsidethe houses to see that none go in or out, and perchance they dotheir best to find nurses; but at such a time as this it is smallwonder if ofttimes none are to be found. And some they have broughtare worse than none. The Lord protect us from the tender mercies ofsuch!"
The narrow court into which they now turned was cool in comparisonwith the sunny street; but there was nothing refreshing in thecoolness, for fumes of every sort exhaled from the houses, and atthe far end there burned a fire of resinous pine logs, the smokefrom which, when it rolled down the court, was almost choking.
"They say it will check the spread of the distemper to the streetsbeyond," said the woman, "but methinks it does as much harm a
sgood. If the Lord help us not, we be all dead men. The cart tookaway a score or more of corpses last night. Pray Heaven it take notaway my poor husband tonight!"
The bearer of the handcart stopped at the door indicated by thewoman, and lifted the stricken man in his arms. It was one of thevery few doors all down that street which did not bear the ominousred cross.
As Gertrude looked up and down the court her heart sank within herfor pity. The houses were closed. Watchers lounged at the doors,drinking and smoking and jesting together, being by this timerecklessly and brutally hardened to their office. They knew notfrom day to day when their own turn might come; but this knowledgeseemed to have an evil rather than a sobering effect upon them.
The better sort of watchmen were employed, as a rule, to keep thebetter sort of houses. When these crowded courts and alleys wereattacked, the authorities had to send whom they could rather thanwhom they would. Indefatigable and courageously as they worked, themagnitude of the calamity was such that it taxed their resources tothe utmost; and had it not been for the bountiful supplies of moneysent in by charitable people, from the king downwards, for therelief of the city in this time of dire need, thousands must haveperished from actual want, as well as those who fell victims to theplague itself. Yet do as these brave and devoted men could, thesufferings of the poor at this time were terrible.
As the sound of voices was heard in the street below, windows werethrown up, and heads protruded with more or less of caution. Fromone of the windows thus thrown up there issued a lamentablewailing, and a woman with a white, wild face cried out in tones ofpassionate entreaty:
"Help! help! help! good people. Ah, if that be a nurse, let hercome hither. There be five dying and two dead in the house, andnone but me to tend them, and methinks I am stricken to the death!"
"Janet," said Dinah, with a searching glance at her niece,"methinks I must needs answer that cry. Go with this good woman,and do what thou canst for her husband. Thou dost know what is bestto be done. I will come to thee anon; but thou wilt not fear to bethus left? There is but one sick in this house. The need is sorerelsewhere."
"Go, I will do my best. At least I can make a poultice, and seethat he is put to bed. I have medicaments in my bag. I would nothinder thee. Sure there is work for all in this terrible place!"
"And this is only one of many scattered throughout the city!"breathed Gertrude softly, her heart swelling within her.
Ever since she had halted before this house she had been aware ofthe sound of plaintive weeping and wailing proceeding from theadjoining tenement; and as Dinah moved away towards the dooropposite, she asked Elizabeth Harwood what the sound meant, and ifthere was trouble in the next house.
"Trouble?--trouble and death everywhere!" was the answer. "The manwas taken away in the cart yesternight. God alone knows who isalive in the house now. There be seven little children there withtheir mother, but which of them be living and which dead by now noone knows. I have heard nothing of the woman's voice these manyhours. Pray Heaven she be not dead--and the little helplesschildren all alone with the dead corpse!"
"Oh, surely that could not be!" cried Gertrude. "Surely thewatchman would go to them! Oh, that must not be! I will go andspeak with him. He would not leave them to perish so!"
The woman shook her head, and hurried up the stairs whither herhusband had been carried. Her heart was too full of her own anxiousmisery to have room for more than a passing sympathy for the needsand troubles of others.
But Gertrude could not rest. She neither followed Janet into thishouse nor her aunt across the street. She went to the door of thenext house, upon which the red cross had been painted; and seeingher so stand before it, a man detached himself from a group hard byand asked her business, since the house was closed.
"I am a nurse," answered Gertrude, boldly. "I have come to nursethe sick. Let me into this house, I pray, for I hear the need isvery sore."
"Sore enough, mistress," answered the man, fumbling with his key,for of course there was admittance to plague nurses and doctorsinto infected houses; "but if you take my advice, you'll notventure within the door. The dead cart has had four from it theselast two days. Like enough by this time they are all dead. Theyhave asked for nothing these past ten hours--not since the cartcame last night."
With a shudder of pity and horror, but without any personalshrinking, Gertrude signed to the man to open the door, which heproceeded to do in a leisurely manner. Then she stepped across thethreshold, the door was closed behind her, and she heard the keyturn in the lock.
Truly her work had now begun. She was incarcerated in aplague-stricken house, and this time by her own will.
For the first few seconds she stood still in the dark entry, unableto see her way before her; but soon her eyes grew used to the dimlight, and she saw that there was a door on one side of the passageand a steep flight of stairs leading upwards, and it was from someupper portion of the house from which the sound of cryingproceeded.
Just glancing into the lower room, which she found quite empty, andwhich was unexpectedly clean, she mounted the rickety staircase,the wailing sound growing more distinct every step she took. Thehouse was a very tiny one even for these small tenements, and therewere only two little rooms upon the upper floor. It was from one ofthese that the crying was proceeding, but Gertrude could not besure which.
With a beating heart she opened the first door, and saw a sightwhich went to her heart. Upon a narrow bed lay two little formswrapped in the same sheet, rigidly still, waiting their lasttransit to the common grave. Except for the two dead children theroom was empty, and Gertrude, softly closing the door, andbreathing a silent prayer, she scarce knew whether for herself, forthe living, or for the dead, she opened the other, and came upon ascene, the pathos and inexpressible sadness of which made a lastingimpression upon her, which even after events did not efface fromher memory.
There was a bed in this room too, and upon it lay the emaciatedform of a woman; asleep, as the girl first thought--dead, as sheafterwards quickly discovered. By her side there nestled a littlechild, hardly more than an infant, wailing pitifully with thatplaintive, persistent cry which had attracted her attention at theoutset. Three children, varying in age from four to eight, sathuddled on the floor in a corner, their tear-stained faces allturned in wondering expectancy upon the newcomer. Stretched uponthe floor beside the bed was another child, so still that Gertrudefelt from the first that it, too, was dead, and when she lifted upthe little form, she saw the dreaded death tokens upon the waxenskin.
With a prayer in her heart for grace and strength and guidance,Gertrude laid the dead child beside its dead mother--for she sawthat the woman was cold and stiff in death; and then she gatheredthe living children round her, and taking the infant in her arms,she led them all down into the lower room, and quickly kindled thefire that was laid ready in the grate.
She found nothing of any sort in the house, and the children werecrying for food; but the watchman quickly provided what wasneedful, being, perhaps, a little ashamed of the condition in whichthis household had been found.
Gertrude tended and fed and comforted the little ones, her heartoverflowing with sympathy. They clung about her and fondled her aschildren will do those who have come to them in their hour of direnecessity; and as their hunger became appeased, and they grewconfident of the kindness of their new friend, they told theirpathetic tale with the unconscious graphic force of childhood.
There had been a large household only a few days before. Father,mother, two grownup sons, and one or two daughters--evidently by aformer marriage. The big brothers had gone away--probably to act asbearers or watchmen--and the little ones knew nothing of them. Oneof the sisters had been in service, but came home suddenly,complaining of illness, sat down in a chair, and died almost beforethey realized she was ill. They had kept that death a secret, hadobtained a certificate of some other ailment than the distemper,and for a week all had gone on quietly, when suddenly three becameill together.
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mbers of houses were shut up all round them. Theirs was reportedand closed. For a few days there had been hope. Then the fathersickened, and all the grownup persons had died almost together,save the mother, and had been taken away the night before last.
What had happened since was dim and confused to the children. Theirmother had seemed like one stunned--had hardly noticed them, orattended to their wants. Then two of them had been taken away intothe other room. They had heard their mother weeping aloud for awhile, but she would not let them in to her. By and by she had comeback to them, and had taken the baby in her arms and lain down uponthe bed. She had never moved after that--not even when little Harryhad called to her, and had lain crying and moaning on the floor.The children thought she was asleep, and by and by Harry had goneto sleep too. They had slept together on the floor, huddledtogether in helpless misery and confusion of mind, until awakenedby the ceaseless wailing of the baby, which never roused theirmother. They were too much bewildered and weakened to make anyattempt to call for help, and were just waiting for what wouldhappen, when Gertrude had come amongst them like an angel of mercy.
Her tears fell fast as the story was told, but the children hadshed all theirs. They were comforted now, feeling as thoughsomething good had happened, and they crept about her and clunground her, begging her not to leave them.
Nor had she any wish to do so. It seemed to her as though this mustsurely be her place for the present--amongst these helpless littleones to whom Providence had sent her in the hour of their extremenecessity.
The baby was sleeping in her arms. She looked down into its tinyface, and wondered if it would be possible that its life could besaved. For a whole night it had lain at its dead mother's side.Could it have escaped the contagion? The three older childrenappeared well, and even grew merry as the hours wore slowly away.
From time to time Gertrude looked out into the street, but therewas nothing to be seen save the men on guard; and only from time totime was the silence broken by the cry of some delirious patient,or a shriek for mercy from some half-demented woman driven franticby the terrors by which she was surrounded.
When afternoon came, she prepared more food for the children, andpartook of it with them, and wondered how and where she shouldspend the night. The infant in her arms had grown strangely stilland quiet. It could not be roused, and breathed slowly and heavily.
"Harry looked just like that before he went to sleep," said theeldest of the children, coming and peeping into the small waxenface; and Gertrude gave a little involuntary shiver as she thoughtof the four still forms lying sleeping upstairs, and wonderedwhether this would make a fifth for the bearers to carry forth atnight.
Just as the dusk began to fall, there came the sound of a slightparley without. Then the key turned in the house door, and the nextminute, to Gertrude's unspeakable relief, Dinah entered the room.
"My poor child, did you think I was never coming to you?"
"I did not know if you could," answered Gertrude. "Oh, tell me,what must I do for all these little ones--and for the baby? Is hedying too? It is so long since he has moved. I am afraid to look athim lest I disturb him, but--but--"
Dinah bent over the little form, and lifted it gently fromGertrude's arms.
"Poor little lamb, its troubles are all over," she said, after afew moments. "The little ones often go like that--quite peacefullyand quietly. It has not suffered at all. It has been a gentle andmerciful release. You need not weep for it, my child."
"I think my tears are for the living rather than for the dead,"answered Gertrude, with brimming eyes. "There are but three leftout of seven living yesterday, and what is to become of them?"
"We must report their case to the authorities. There are numbers ofpoor children left thus orphaned, and it is hard to know what willbecome of them. I will send at once to my brother-in-law, andreport the matter to him. He will know what it were best to do.Meantime I shall remain here with you. Janet is busy next door. Herpatient is mending, and none besides in the house is sick. But oh,the things I have seen and heard this day! There is not one livingnow in the house to which I went first, and I have seen ten men andwomen die since I saw you last.
"God alone knows how it is to end. It seems as though His hand wereoutstretched, and as though the whole city were doomed!"
The Sign of the Red Cross: A Tale of Old London Page 8