Historical fiction; London (England) -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Plague -- Fiction
It is true, the plague was still at a frightful height, and the next
bill was no less than 6,460, and the next to that 5,720; but still my
friend's observation was just, and it did appear the people did recover
faster, and more in number, than they used to do; and indeed if it had
not been so, what had been the condition of the city of London? For,
according to my friend, there were not fewer than 60,000 people at that
time infected, whereof, as above, 20,477 died, and near 40,000
recovered; whereas, had it been as it was before, 50,000 of that number
would very probably have died, if not more, and 50,000 more would have
sickened; for in a word the whole mass of people began to sicken, and it
looked as if none would escape.
But this remark of my friend's appeared more evident in a few weeks
more; for the decrease went on, and another week in October it decreased
1,843, so that the number dead of the plague was but 2,665; and the next
week it decreased 1,413 more, and yet it was seen plainly that there was
abundance of people sick, nay, abundance more than ordinary, and
abundance fell sick every day; but, as above, the malignity of the
disease abated.
Such is the precipitant disposition of our people (whether it is so or
not all over the world, that is none of my particular business to
inquire; but I saw it apparently here), that, as upon the first sight of
the infection they shunned one another, and fled from one another's
houses and from the city with an unaccountable, and, as I thought,
unnecessary fright, so now, upon this notion spreading, viz., that the
distemper was not so catching as formerly, and that if it was catched it
was not so mortal, and seeing abundance of people who really fell sick
recover again daily, they took to such a precipitant courage, and grew
so entirely regardless of themselves and of the infection, that they
made no more of the plague than of an ordinary fever, nor indeed so
much. They not only went boldly into company with those who had tumors
and carbuncles upon them that were running, and consequently contagious,
but eat and drank with them, nay, into their houses to visit them, and
even, as I was told, into their very chambers where they lay sick.
This I could not see rational. My friend Dr. Heath allowed, and it was
plain to experience, that the distemper was as catching as ever, and as
many fell sick, but only he alleged that so many of those that fell sick
did not die; but I think that while many did die, and that at best the
distemper itself was very terrible, the sores and swellings very
tormenting, and the danger of death not left out of the circumstance of
sickness, though not so frequent as before,--all those things, together
with the exceeding tediousness of the cure, the loathsomeness of the
disease, and many other articles, were enough to deter any man living
from a dangerous mixture[308] with the sick people, and make them[309]
as anxious almost to avoid the infection as before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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