This year appears as a terrible one in the annals of London.[461] Two men in Drury Lane had sickened in the previous December. Upon inquiry, headache, fever, burning sensations, dimness of sight, and livid spots had indicated that the Plague was in the capital of England. The intelligence soon spread. The weekly bills of mortality, for the next four months, exhibited an increase of deaths. The month of May showed that the disease was extending; and in the first week of July, 1006 persons fell victims to the destroyer. Men fled in terror; vehicles of all kinds thronged the highways, filled with those whose circumstances enabled them to change their abode; but multitudes, especially of the poorer class, remained, and, being crowded together in narrow streets and alleys, they were soon marked by the Angel of Death. The mortality reported from week to week rose from hundreds to thousands, until during the month of September, the terrific number of 10,000 occurred in one week. In one night, it is said, 4,000 expired. Shop after shop, and house after house was closed. The long red cross, with the words, "Lord, have mercy upon us" inscribed upon the door, indicated what was going on within. Watchmen stood armed with halberds, to prevent communication between the inmates and their neighbours. Instead of the crowds which once lined the thoroughfares, only a few persons crept cautiously in the middle of the road, fearful of contact with each other. "The highways were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through by-ways." A coach was rarely seen, save when, with curtains drawn, it conveyed some Plague-stricken mortal to the pest-house. Wagons, laden with timber or stone, had disappeared, for men had no heart to build; and the half-finished structure sunk into premature decay. Carts, bringing provision, were not suffered within the gates; markets were held in the outskirts, where the seller would not touch the buyer's money, until it had been purified by passing through a vessel of vinegar. Similar precautions were used at the post office, which was so fumed morning and evening,--whilst "letters were aired over vinegar,"--that the people employed in it could hardly see each other; but, says the writer, who mentions that fact, "had the contagion been catching by letters, they had been dead long ago."[462] Grass sprung up in the streets, and a fearful silence brooded over the wide desolation. London cries, sounds of music, the murmur of cheerful groups, and the din of business had ceased. The lonely passenger, as he walked along, shuddered at the shrieks of miserable beings tortured by disease, or at the still more awful silence. Doors and windows were left open--houses were empty--the inmates gone.