University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Constantia had now leisure to ruminate
upon her own condition. Every day added to
the devastation and confusion of the city. The
most populous streets were deserted and silent.
The greater number of inhabitants had fled, and
those who remained were occupied with no cares
but those which related to their own safety. The
labours of the artizan and the speculations of the
merchant were suspended. All shops, but those
of the apothecaries were shut. No carriage but
the herse was seen, and this was employed,
night and day, in the removal of the dead. The
customary sources of subsistence were cut off.
Those, whose fortunes enabled them to leave the
city, but who had deferred till now their retreat,
were denied an asylum by the terror which pervaded
the adjacent country, and by the cruel

prohibitions which the neighbouring towns and
cities thought it necessary to adopt. Those who
lived by the fruits of their daily labour were
subjected, in this total inactivity, to the alternative
of starving, or of subsisting upon public
charity.

The meditations of Constance, suggested no
alternative but this. The exactions of M`Crea
had reduced her whole fortune to five dollars.
This would rapidly decay, and her utmost ingenuity
could discover no means of procuring a new
supply. All the habits of their life had combined
to fill both her father and herself with aversion to
the acceptance of charity. Yet this avenue, opprobrious
and disgustful as it was, afforded the
only means of escaping from the worst extremes
of famine.

In this state of mind it was obvious to consider
in what way the sum remaining might be most
usefully expended. Every species of provision
was not equally nutritious or equally cheap. Her
mind, active in the pursuit of knowledge and fertile
of resources, had lately been engaged, in
discussing with her father, the best means of retaining
health, in a time of pestilence. On occasions,
when the malignity of contagious diseases
has been most signal, some individuals have escaped.
For their safety, they were doubtless indebted
to some peculiarities in their constitution
or habits. Their diet, their dress, their kind
and degree of exercise, must some-what have
contributed to their exemption from the common
destiny. These, perhaps, could be ascertained,
and when known it was surely proper to conform
to them.

In discussing these ideas, Mr. Dudley introduced
the mention of a Benedictine of Messina,
who, during the prevalence of the plague in that

city, was incessantly engaged in administering
assistance to those who needed. Notwithstanding
his perpetual hazards, he retained perfect
health, and was living thirty years after this
event. During this period, he fostered a tranquil,
fearless, and benevolent spirit, and restricted
his diet to water and pollenta. Spices,
and meats, and liquors, and all complexities of
cookery were utterly discarded.

These facts now occurred to Constantia's reflections
with new vividness, and led to interesting
consequences. Pollenta and hasty-pudding
or samp, are preparations of the same substance;
a substance which she needed not the experience
of others to convince her was no less grateful
than nutritive. Indian meal was procurable at
ninety cents per bushel. By recollecting former
experiments, she knew that this quantity, with
no accompaniment but salt, would supply wholesome
and plentiful food for four months to one
person.[1] The inference was palpable. Three
persons were now to be supplied with food, and
this supply could be furnished, during four
months, at the trivial expence of three dollars.
This expedient was at once so uncommon and so
desirable, as to be regarded with temporary disbelief.
She was inclined to suspect some latent
error in her calculation. That a sum thus applied,
should suffice for the subsistence of a year,
which, in ordinary cases, is expended in a few days,
was scarcely credible. The more closely, however,
the subject was examined, the more incontestably
did this inference flow. The mode of
preparation was simple and easy, and productive
of the fewest toils and inconveniences. The attention

of her Lucy was sufficient to this end, and
the drudgery of marketing was wholly precluded.

She easily obtained the concurrence of her father
and the scheme was found as practicable
and beneficial as her fondest expectations had
predicted. Infallible security was thus provided
against hunger. This was the only care that was
urgent and immediate. While they had food and
were exempt from disease, they could live, and
were not without their portion of comfort. Her
hands were unemployed, but her mind was kept
in continual activity. To seclude herself as much
as possible from others, was the best means of
avoiding infection. Spectacles of misery which
she was unable to relieve, would merely tend to
harrass her with useless disquietudes and make
her frame more accessible to disease. Her father's
instructions were sufficient to give her a
competent acquaintance with the Italian and
French languages. His dreary hours were beguiled
by this employment, and her mind was
furnished with a species of knowledge, which she
hoped, in future, to make subservient to a more
respectable and plentiful subsistence than she had
hitherto enjoyed.

Meanwhile the season advanced, and the havoc
which this fatal malady produced, increased with
portentous rapidity. In alleys and narrow
streets, in which the houses were smaller, the
inhabitants more numerous and indigent, and the
air pent up within unwholesome limits, it raged
with greatest violence. Few of Constantia's
neighbours possessed the means of removing from
the danger. The inhabitants of this alley consisted
of three hundred persons. Of these eight
or ten experienced no interruption of their
health. Of the rest two hundred were destroyed

in the course of three weeks. Among so many
victims, it may be supposed that this disease assumed
every terrific and agonizing shape.

It was impossible for Constantia to shut out
every token of a calamity thus enormous and thus
near. Night was the season usually selected for
the removal of the dead. The sound of wheels
thus employed was incessant. This, and the images
with which it was sure to be accompanied,
bereaved her of repose. The shrieks and laments
of survivors, who could not be prevented
from attending the remains of an husband or child
to the place of interment, frequently struck her
senses. Sometimes urged by a furious delirium,
the sick would break from their attendants, rush
into the streets, and expire on the pavement,
amidst frantic outcries and gestures. By these
she was often roused from imperfect sleep, and
called to reflect upon the fate which impended
over her father and herself.

To preserve health in an atmosphere thus infected,
and to ward off terror and dismay in a
scene of horrors thus hourly accumulating, was
impossible. Constanee found it vain to contend
against the inroads of sadness. Amidst so dreadful
a mortality, it was irrational to cherish the
hope that she or her father would escape. Her
sensations, in no long time, seemed to justify her
apprehensons. Her appetite forsook her, her
strength failed, the thirst and lassitude of fever
invaded her, and the grave seemed to open for
her reception.

Lucy was assailed by the same symptoms at the
same time. Household offices were unavoidably
neglected. Mr. Dudley retained his health, but
he was able only to prepare his scanty food, and
supply the cravings of his child, with water from
the well. His imagination marked him out for

the next victim. He could not be blind to the
consequences of his own indisposition, at a period
so critical. Disabled from contributing to
each others assistance, destitute of medicine and
food, and even of water to quench their tormenting
thirst, unvisited, unknown, and perishing in
frightful solitude!—These images had a tendency
to prostrate the mind, and generate or ripen
the seeds of this fatal malady, which, no doubt,
at this period of its progress, every one had imbibed.

Contrary to all his fears, he awoke each morning
free from pain, though not without an increase
of debility. Abstinence from food, and
the liberal use of cold water seemed to have a
medicinal operation on the sick. Their pulse
gradually resumed its healthful tenor, their
strength and their appetite slowly returned, and
in ten days they were able to congratulate each
other on their restoration.

I will not recount that series of disastrous
thoughts which occupied the mind of Constance
during this period. Her lingering and sleepless
hours were regarded by her as preludes to death.
Though at so immature an age, she had gained large
experience of the evils which are allotted to man.
Death, which, in her prosperous state, was peculiarly
abhorrent to her feelings, was now disrobed
of terror. As an entrance into scenes of
lightsome and imperishable being, it was the
goal of all her wishes. As a passage to oblivion
it was still desirable, since forgetfulness was better
than the life which she had hitherto led, and
which, should her existence be prolonged, it was
likely that she could continue to lead.

These gloomy meditations were derived from
the langours of her frame. When these disappeared,
her cheerfulness and fortitude revived.

She regarded with astonishment and delight, the
continuance of her father's health and her own
restoration. That trial seemed to have been safely
undergone, to which the life of every one was
subject. The air which till now had been arid
and sultry, was changed into cool and moist.
The pestilence had reached its utmost height,
and now symptoms of remission and decline began
to appear. Its declension was more rapid
than its progress, and every day added vigour to
hope.

When her strength was somewhat retrieved,
Constantia called to mind a good woman who
lived in her former neighbourhood, and from
whom she had received many proofs of artless affection.
This woman's name was Sarah Baxter.
She lived within a small distance of Constantia's
former dwelling. The trade of her husband was
that of porter, and she pursued, in addition to the
care of a numerous family, the business of a
Lanndress. The superior knowledge and address
of Constance, had enabled her to be serviceable
to this woman in certain painful and perplexing
circumstances.

This service was repaid with the utmost gratitude.
Sarah regarded her benefactress with a
species of devotion. She could not endure to behold
one, whom every accent and gesture proved
to have once enjoyed affluence and dignity, performing
any servile office. In spite of her own
multiplied engagements, she compelled Constance
to acsept her assistance on many occasions,
and could scarcely be prevailed upon to receive
any compensation for her labour. Washing cloaths
was her trade, and from this task she insisted on
relieving her lovely patronness.

Constantia's change of dwelling produced much
regret in the kind Sarah. She did not allow it to

make any change in their previous arrangements,
but punctually visited the Dudleys once a week,
and carried home with her whatever stood in need
of ablution. When the prevalence of disease disabled
Constance from paying her the usual wages,
she would, by no means, consent to be absolved
from this task. Her earnestness on this
head was not to be eluded, and Constance, in
consenting that her work should, for the present,
be performed gratuitously, solaced herself with
the prospect of being able, by some future change
of fortune, amply to reward her.

Sarah's abode was distant from danger, and her
fears were turbulent. She was, nevertheless,
punctual in her visits to the Dudleys, and anxious
for their safety. In case of their sickness,
she had declared her resolution to be their attendant
and nurse. Suddenly, however, her visits
ceased. The day on which her usual visit was
paid, was the same with that on which Constantia
sickened, but her coming was expected in
vain. Her absence was, on some accounts, regarded
with pleasure, as it probably secured her
from the danger connected with the office of a
nurse, but it added to Constantia's cares, inasmuch
as her own sickness, or that of some of her
family, was the only cause of her detention.

To remove her doubts, the first use which Constantia
made of her recovered strength, was to
visit her laundress: Sarah's house was a theatre
of suffering. Her husband was the first of his
family assailed by the reigning disease. Two
daughters, nearly grown to womanhood, well-disposed
and modest girls, the pride and support
of their mother, and who lived at service, returned
home, sick, at the same time, and died in a
few days. Her husband had struggled for eleven

days with his disease, and was seized, just before
Constantia's arrival, with the pangs of death.

Baxter was endowed with great robustness and
activity. This disease did not vanquish him but
with tedious and painful struggles. His muscular
force now exhausted itself in ghastly contortions,
and the house resounded with his ravings.
Sarah's courage had yielded to so rapid a succession
of evils. Constantia found her shut up in a
chamber, distant from that of her dying husband,
in a paroxysm of grief, and surrounded by her
younger children.

Constantia's entrance was like that of an angelic
comforter. Sarah was unqualified for any office
but that of complaint. With great difficulty
she was made to communicate the knowledge of
her situation. Her visitant then passed into Baxter's
apartment. She forced herself to endure
this tremendous scene long enough to discover
that it was hastening to a close. She left the
house, and hastening to the proper office, engaged
the immediate attendance of an hearse. Before
the lapse of an hour, Baxter's lifeless remains
were thrust into a coffin and conveyed away.

Constance now exerted herself to comfort and
encourage the survivors. Her remonstrances incited
Sarah to perform with alacrity the measures
which prudence dictates on these occasions.
The house was purified by the admission of air
and the sprinkling of vinegar. Constantia applied
her own hand to these tasks, and set her
humble friend an example of forethought and activity.
Sarah would not consent to part with her
till a late hour in the evening.

These exertions had like to have been fatally
injurious to Constance. Her health was not sufficiently
confirmed to sustain offices so arduous.
In the course of the night her fatigue terminated

in fever. In the present more salubrious state of
the atmosphere, it assumed no malignant symptoms,
and shortly disappeared. During her indisposition,
she was attended by Sarah, in whose
honest bosom no sentiment was more lively than
gratitude. Constantia having promised to renew
her visit the next day, had been impatiently expected,
and Sarah had come to her dwelling in
the evening, full of foreboding and anxiety, to
ascertain the cause of her delay. Having gained
the bed-side of her patronness, no consideration
could induce her to retire from it.

Constantia's curiosity was naturally excited as
to the causes of Baxter's disease. The simple-hearted
Sarah was prolix and minute in the history
of her own affairs. No theme was more
congenial to her temper than that which was now
proposed. In spite of redundance and obscurity
in the style of the narrative, Constantia found in
it powerful excitements of her sympathy. The
tale, on its own account, as well as from the connection
of some of its incidents with a subsequent
part of these memoirs, is worthy to be here inserted.
However foreign the destiny of Monrose
may at present appear to the story of the Dudleys,
there will hereafter be discovered an intimate
connection between them.