One ingenious mountebank realized a fortune by announcing that he gave advice to the poor for nothing: crowds flocked to consult him; but he took half-a-crown for his remedy, on the plea that, although his advice was given gratis, he was obliged to sell his physic. While these speculations were going on, all “plays, bear-baiting, games, singing of ballads, and buckler-play,” were prohibited; all feasting, “particularly by the companies of this city,” was punished; watchmen guarded the doors of the pestiferated, to prevent their egress, and a red cross was painted on their houses. The inhabitants, thus shut up to suffer the pangs of starvation in addition to those of pestilence, made the best of their way out of their prison by every possible stratagem and bribery. While fervent prayers and loud ejaculations for mercy were heard amongst distracted families, the most offensive blasphemy and ribaldry prevailed amongst the gravediggers, dead-cart drivers, and their wanton companions. If any one ventured to rebuke them, he was asked, with a volley of oaths, “what business he had to be alive, when so many better fellows were shovelled in their graves?” to which was added a salutary recommendation to go home and pray, until the dead-cart called for him. The watchmen got their share of ill-usage and abuse.
All the guards had been marched out of town, with the exception of small detachments at Whitehall and the Tower. Robbery of every description was of course in full vigour, and every vice indulged in with impunity, while despair drove many to madness and suicide,—several individuals rushing naked out of their houses, and running to the river to drown themselves if not stopped by the watch. People fell dead while making purchases of provisions in the market; where, instead of receiving the meat from the butcher’s hands, each buyer unhooked his purchase, and paid for it by throwing the value in a vessel filled with vinegar. Mothers destroyed their children, and nurses smothered their patients, while the bedclothes were stolen from the couch of the dead.
Among the curious anecdotes of the time, the following is worth insertion: “A neighbour of mine, having some money owing to him from a shopkeeper in Whitecross-street, sent his apprentice, a youth of eighteen years of age, to get the money; he came to the door, and finding it shut, knocked pretty hard until he heard somebody coming down stairs. At length the man of the house came to the door; he had on his breeches or drawers, a yellow flannel waistcoat, no stockings, and a pair of slipt shoes, a white cap on his head, and death in his face. When he opened the door, he said, ‘What do you disturb me thus for?’—‘I come from such a one, my master,’ replied the boy, ‘to ask for the money you owe him.’—‘Very well, my child,’ returns the living ghost; ‘call as you go by at Cripple-gate church, and bid them toll the bell.’ So saying, he went up stairs again, and died the same hour.”
The story of the piper is founded on fact. This poor fellow having made merry in a public-house in Coleman-street, fell fast asleep under a stall near London Wall, Cripplegate; the under-sexton of St. Stephen’s, one John Hayward, was going his rounds with his dead-cart, when he espied the piper, and, conceiving him to be a dead man, tumbled him on his heap of corpses, till, arrived at the burying-pit at Mount Hill, as they were about shooting the cart, the musician awoke, and, to the utter terror of the sexton and his comrades, began to set up his pipes.
The following relation of a case of grief is rather remarkable. “A man was so much affected by the death of all his relations, and overcome with the pressure upon his spirits, that by degrees his head sunk into his body so between his shoulders, that the crown of his head was very little seen above the bones of his shoulders, and, by degrees losing both voice and sense, his face looking forward, lay against his collar-bone, and could not be kept up any otherwise unless held up by the hands of other people; and the poor man never came to himself again, but languished near a year in this condition, and died.” This was depression with a vengeance!
Some of these unfortunate victims of the pestilential disease seem to have had poetical inspirations, for one of two men who had fled to the country was found dead with the following inscription cut out with his knife on a wooden gate near him:
OmIsErY
WE. BoTH ShaLL. DyE
WoE. WoE:
and our historian, who fortunately escaped the calamity, terminates his work with the following lines:
A dreadful plague in London was
In the year sixty-five,
Which swept an hundred thousand souls
Away; yet I alive.
Astrologers were of opinion that the plague of London arose from a conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in Sagittarius on the tenth of October, or from a conjunction of Saturn and Mars in the same sign on the twelfth of November.[15]