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]