Historical fiction, American; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
The ball at the province-house supplied a topic of conversation for the
colonial metropolis for some days after its occurrence, and might still
longer have been the general theme, only that a subject of
all-engrossing interest thrust it for a time from the public
recollection. This was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic which in
that age, and long before and afterward, was wont to slay its hundreds
and thousands on both sides of the Atlantic. On the occasion of which
we speak it was distinguished by a peculiar virulence, insomuch that it
has left its traces—its pitmarks, to use an appropriate figure—on the
history of the country, the affairs of which were thrown into confusion
by its ravages. At first, unlike its ordinary course, the disease
seemed to confine itself to the higher circles of society, selecting
its victims from among the proud, the well-born and the wealthy,
entering unabashed into stately chambers and lying down with the
slumberers in silken beds. Some of the most distinguished guests of the
province-house—even those whom the haughty Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe had
deemed not unworthy of her favor—were stricken by this fatal scourge.
It was noticed with an ungenerous bitterness of feeling that the four
gentlemen—the Virginian, the British officer, the young clergyman and
the governor’s secretary—who had been her most devoted attendants on
the evening of the ball were the foremost on whom the plague-stroke
fell. But the disease, pursuing its onward progress, soon ceased to be
exclusively a prerogative of aristocracy. Its red brand was no longer
conferred like a noble’s star or an order of knighthood. It threaded
its way through the narrow and crooked streets, and entered the low,
mean, darksome dwellings and laid its hand of death upon the artisans
and laboring classes of the town. It compelled rich and poor to feel
themselves brethren then, and stalking to and fro across the Three
Hills with a fierceness which made it almost a new pestilence, there
was that mighty conqueror—that scourge and horror of our
forefathers—the small-pox.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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