August 20. Amongst others, I visited Betty Heard, at Underwood, a poor industrious woman, aged seventy-two. She was quite alone—no one had been near her—creeping about the cottage in great pain: she could hardly stand, but refused to go to bed. She had taken some precautions to check the premonitory attack. She stood near her spinning-wheel, and when she perceived I was looking at it, she shook her head, and said, “Ah! sir, that is of no use to me now. When I can use it, I get but a very small matter to live upon! and now”—She could not finish the sentence; but sat down and cried like a child. How gladly did I avail myself of the subscription fund to relieve this helpless creature. In a short time, a proper nurse was with her. Page’s children better; the cramp had subsided.
A messenger came to me, requesting my immediate attendance at old Mrs. Cocker’s. She was in a room below, harassed with incessant sickness, &c., and in great pain. Her agitation of mind at the time of her daughter’s death on Saturday, caused a shock from which she had by no means recovered. Mr. Richard Langworthy [72] had seen her, and administered a dose of calomel; but the progress of the disorder was astonishingly rapid. She fainted: her son Elias was with her, and we supported her as well as we could. When she revived, her countenance assumed the common character of the collapsed stage of the disease. With much difficulty, we carried the poor sufferer up stairs; two women were sent for, and they assisted in putting her in bed. Having become a little easier, she requested me to pray with her. From that moment, when not in extreme pain, she was incessantly occupied in that sacred duty. On the first indication of sickness, she said she had the cholera, and she knew “she should not get over it.”
Being confident that this was a desperate case, from its exhibiting those fatal symptoms which often terminate in death within twelve hours, I went for Mr. L., who had, unfortunately, been detained at Shaugh, five miles off, and did not return for two hours. On his arrival, he said he quite approved of all the measures which had been adopted; and he considered it an extreme case. The rooms were fumigated, and chloride of lime was sprinkled all about the house. The poor creature suffered much from cramp and spasms. It was, indeed, distressing to see her. Every limb seemed to be contracted—her teeth grinding, and her blue shrivelled fingers clenched so tight, it was very difficult to open her hand; and her long grey locks, matted with perspiration, adhered to her cold damp cheek. Mr. L. proposed, as a last resource to allay such misery, that a vein should be injected. I prepared about six quarts of the fluid. The vein was opened, one or two dark drops trickled out, like treacle; after this, the vein appeared to be empty. The process of injection was immediately commenced, and the suffering almost instantly subsided. We knew her age was against her; but feeling that though life might not be saved by it, yet that this experiment would be valuable, inasmuch as we had remarked that all suffering from cramp ceased when recourse was had to it; it was, therefore, adopted. The pulse returned; but it fluttered and intermitted. She said she knew her time was very short. Her younger son was hanging over her, the tears flowing down his cheeks. Throughout this sad scene, his anxious and tender care for a dying mother was incessant. She said, “Let us pray—it is my only comfort.” We all knelt round the bed. Clasping her hands, she prayed aloud. Nothing could be more devout; and there was something so indescribably affecting in the plaintive tone of her voice and the aspirations she uttered at intervals, that a common feeling of sympathy vibrated through the hearts of those who witnessed the touching scene. She expressed herself cheered and refreshed by such an employment; then with her cold hand she grasped mine, and begged me not to leave her. She became rapidly weaker, the pulse again intermitted and sunk, sickness returned, but not the cramp. Although she had for a long time refused to take any nourishment, in twenty minutes after the injection of the fluid, she vomited a great quantity of what appeared to be water, with a dark sediment, like decomposed blood, which sunk immediately. From this time, nothing would stop the incessant sickness. Every animal function seemed to be exhausted; yet her senses were perfectly unimpaired to the last. I did not quit her—it was her dying request. “Thank you—thank you for remaining,” she, faltering, said to me. I observed to her that although we must part, there was one above, who has promised to his faithful disciples, “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” “Oh! yes—yes,” she said, in a low whisper,—“it is true: I feel the comfort of it. ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.’ I am so—so weary,—when will this be over.” She then sunk into silence: for some time it was difficult to say whether life was extinct or not; at last she sighed, and her spirit departed in peace.
This affecting scene lasted six hours after the violent symptoms of the disease commenced. Returned home and endeavoured to answer some kind notes from enquiring friends. I could not write, owing to the excited state of my feelings; but, thankful to a merciful Providence for preservation, I retired early, hoping to be refreshed by rest.
I was awakened from a sound sleep by a loud knocking at my door. It was half past twelve at night, when my servant informed me that a person had arrived from Plympton, entreating me to go instantly to Mary Taylor, a parishioner of Plympton St. Mary, who was in the last stage of cholera, and was particularly anxious to see me before she died. I was a little refreshed by sleep; but still so unwell, my servant intimated that it might be in time, if I went in the morning. The morning might be too late! The idea of her having expressed an earnest desire to see me—in her dying moments too—something, perhaps, required or to communicate, which might tend to relieve her mind, and soothe the pillow of death. I could not have rested, if I had delayed to go. Before one o’clock, I was at the house. Mary Taylor had given up her own comfortable room to Susan, from the kindest and most considerate feeling; and, that she might be kept as quiet as possible, had removed to the dwelling of her parents, which was, indeed, a miserable place for a sick person. Below sat her father, by a small remnant of a fire, his face between his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, not caring to speak. He told me Elizabeth Job was with Mary, and that Mr. L. had been there in the evening, but not since—that he was very unwell when he went away. I heard the poor creature moaning—went up to her. The chamber where she lay was on the landing-place, without a door or partition—no ceiling—open to the roof. A common bedstead, without hangings or curtains, an old-fashioned oak chest, and a broken chair, composed the whole of the furniture. In a corner of the same room, covered with various old clothes, lay her husband, who was also ill. A rushlight, flickering in a current of air from the roof, only added to the wretchedness of the scene. The moment I approached the bedside, poor Mary held out her hand to me, and burst into an agony of tears. “I am going, sir,—I know I shall die. I wished so much to see you once more. I feared it would be too much for you to come; but I do not expect to see the morning. I do not wish to live; but my poor dear little helpless infant—what will become of her when she has lost her mother!” After some conversation, she became more tranquil, and appeared greatly comforted by the presence of a Christian minister. Spoke much of the awfulness of being on the brink of eternity—prayed frequently that God would forgive her sins, and receive her to himself, through the merits of a crucified Saviour. “Yes,” she said, “he died for me.” Stayed by this anchor, she became resigned and calm.
Before I went upstairs, I ordered the fire to be made up, and plenty of hot water to be in readiness. The poor old people very slow, and nothing in the house which such a case of emergency required. The cramp was gaining ground, and spasms had returned. Mr. L.’s residence not being far off, I hastened there, thinking it possible that he might be up; but could make no one hear, therefore I went away without disturbing him. I knocked up the people at a shop, and got some mustard and vinegar. When I returned, the medicines which were left, with directions, by Mr. L. were given. I had brought the cholera lotion, or stimulating liniment, with me, which was tried; but the poor sufferer was icy cold. Hot water in a stone bottle was applied to the feet. The pain at the pit of the stomach was very acute. I tried to get hot salt or sand; but nothing of the sort could be obtained, it being past two, a.m. Having noticed that, in the fire-place below, there were some loose bricks, I heated one of them, and wrapped it in a piece of old drugget. This simple remedy afforded her much relief, as soon as it was applied. She had been extremely patient, and said she felt better; but from the cold perspiration, and her discoloured appearance, I feared she would not recover. At three, a.m., I became so unwell, I desired that Mr. L. should be called, at all events. As he had been up the whole of the two preceding nights, and was very unwell, I had hitherto deferred calling him as long as I could; but I was obliged to return home.
August 21. Being anxious to know the fate of Mary Taylor, I went at eight o’clock to enquire for her. I learnt that Mr. L. came to her almost immediately after I left her, and injected saline fluid into a vein. She rallied for a time; but now, at nine, the alarming symptoms had returned. I went to Mr. L. and reported the apparently hopeless state of the patient. He returned to the house with me, and proposed a repetition of the experiment. She said it was all in vain. Her pulse had entirely ceased to beat. She enquired for Susan,—then spoke of her child with the tenderest feeling. She “hoped God would forgive her anxiety about the dear little soul. She would rather it had been taken before her, or with her, that both might be buried together; but God’s will be done. May we meet in a happier world.”
We had all joined with her in prayer, at her own request; she then consented to the operation. After a small quantity of the saline fluid had been injected, her husband’s sister offered to be blooded, as soon as the transfusion of blood was proposed. The transfusion was commenced, but no more than a teacupful could be borne, as a most startling effect was produced; the eyes having in an instant become red and staring to a frightful extent. Mr. L. saw this, and stopped the process instantaneously. Her breathing was quick and laborious. The pulse merely fluttered, and then stopped. It evidently was the will of God that human means should not avail. She was dying! I left the room with a sorrowing heart, sincerely lamenting her death. Before the attack of cholera, she had been in a delicate state of health; therefore Mr. L. feared that her constitution was not sufficiently strong to bear the shock. Every thing tended to depress our spirits. Such touching scenes, in such rapid succession—so great an accumulation of misery, nearly overwhelmed us. The appalling reality is almost incredible! But we have worked together, heart and hand; and we must trust that the same merciful Providence which has hitherto protected us, will, through the aid of the Spirit, grant us renewed strength for the conflict.
I called to see Susan Taylor; she was better, but requiring the greatest care. Attended the funeral of Mrs. Cocker. Richard Hurl, aged one year and half, died at Underwood. Elizabeth Hicks, of Underwood, seriously ill—collapse had rapidly come on,—Mr. Osmond in attendance. Very active treatment had been pursued. Towards the evening, she was much relieved, but extremely weak. Richard Smaldridge taken ill. Mr. Hook attending him.
August 22. [83] A vestry meeting was held, also a meeting of the Board of Health. On this day, the first order was made for assistance from the parish, to be paid to the chairman of the Board of Health. Hurl’s child buried. Elizabeth Hicks recovering.