End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
As I wandered on thus ruminating, a number of country people passed me.
They seemed full of careful thought, and a few words of their
conversation that reached me, induced me to approach and make further
enquiries. A party of people flying from London, as was frequent in
those days, had come up the Thames in a boat. No one at Windsor would
afford them shelter; so, going a little further up, they remained all
night in a deserted hut near Bolter’s lock. They pursued their way the
following morning, leaving one of their company behind them, sick of
the plague. This circumstance once spread abroad, none dared approach
within half a mile of the infected neighbourhood, and the deserted
wretch was left to fight with disease and death in solitude, as he best
might. I was urged by compassion to hasten to the hut, for the purpose
of ascertaining his situation, and administering to his wants.
As I advanced I met knots of country-people talking earnestly of this
event: distant as they were from the apprehended contagion, fear was
impressed on every countenance. I passed by a group of these
terrorists, in a lane in the direct road to the hut. One of them
stopped me, and, conjecturing that I was ignorant of the circumstance,
told me not to go on, for that an infected person lay but at a short
distance.
“I know it,” I replied, “and I am going to see in what condition the
poor fellow is.”
A murmur of surprise and horror ran through the assembly. I
continued:—“This poor wretch is deserted, dying, succourless; in these
unhappy times, God knows how soon any or all of us may be in like want.
I am going to do, as I would be done by.”
“But you will never be able to return to the Castle—Lady Idris—his
children—” in confused speech were the words that struck my ear.
“Do you not know, my friends,” I said, “that the Earl himself, now Lord
Protector, visits daily, not only those probably infected by this
disease, but the hospitals and pest houses, going near, and even
touching the sick? yet he was never in better health. You labour under
an entire mistake as to the nature of the plague; but do not fear, I do
not ask any of you to accompany me, nor to believe me, until I return
safe and sound from my patient.”
So I left them, and hurried on. I soon arrived at the hut: the door was
ajar. I entered, and one glance assured me that its former inhabitant
was no more—he lay on a heap of straw, cold and stiff; while a
pernicious effluvia filled the room, and various stains and marks
served to shew the virulence of the disorder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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