by Daniel Defoe
shut up their churches and fled, as otherpeople did, for the safety of their lives, yet all did not do so. Someventured to officiate, and to keep up the assemblies of the people byconstant prayers, and sometimes sermons, or brief exhortations torepentance and reformation; and this as long as they would hear them.And dissenters[167] did the like also, and even in the very churcheswhere the parish ministers were either dead or fled; nor was there anyroom for making any difference at such a time as this was.
It pleased God that I was still spared, and very hearty and sound inhealth, but very impatient of being pent up within doors without air, asI had been for fourteen days or thereabouts. And I could not restrainmyself, but I would go and carry a letter for my brother to theposthouse; then it was, indeed, that I observed a profound silence inthe streets. When I came to the posthouse, as I went to put in myletter, I saw a man stand in one corner of the yard, and talking toanother at a window; and a third had opened a door belonging to theoffice. In the middle of the yard lay a small leather purse, with twokeys hanging at it, with money in it; but nobody would meddle with it. Iasked how long it had lain there. The man at the window said it hadlain almost an hour, but they had not meddled with it, because they didnot know but the person who dropped it might come back to look for it. Ihad no such need of money, nor was the sum so big that I had anyinclination to meddle with it or to get the money at the hazard it mightbe attended with: so I seemed to go away, when the man who had openedthe door said he would take it up, but so that, if the right owner camefor it, he should be sure to have it. So he went in and fetched a pailof water, and set it down hard by the purse, then went again and fetchedsome gunpowder, and cast a good deal of powder upon the purse, and thenmade a train from that which he had thrown loose upon the purse (thetrain reached about two yards); after this he goes in a third time, andfetches out a pair of tongs red hot, and which he had prepared, Isuppose, on purpose; and first setting fire to the train of powder, thatsinged the purse, and also smoked the air sufficiently. But he was notcontent with that, but he then takes up the purse with the tongs,holding it so long till the tongs burnt through the purse, and then heshook the money out into the pail of water: so he carried it in. Themoney, as I remember, was about thirteen shillings, and some smoothgroats[168] and brass farthings.[169]
Much about the same time, I walked out into the fields towards Bow; forI had a great mind to see how things were managed in the river and amongthe ships; and, as I had some concern in shipping, I had a notion thatit had been one of the best ways of securing one's self from theinfection to have retired into a ship. And, musing how to satisfy mycuriosity in that point, I turned away over the fields, from Bow toBromley, and down to Blackwall, to the stairs that are there forlanding, or taking water.
Here I saw a poor man walking on the bank, or "sea wall" as they callit, by himself. I walked awhile also about, seeing the houses all shutup. At last I fell into some talk, at a distance, with this poor man.First I asked how people did thereabouts. "Alas, sir!" says he, "almostdesolate, all dead or sick; here are very few families in this part, orin that village," pointing at Poplar, "where half of them are not deadalready, and the rest sick." Then he, pointing to one house, "They areall dead," said he, "and the house stands open: nobody dares go into it.A poor thief," says he, "ventured in to steal something; but he paiddear for his theft, for he was carried to the churchyard too, lastnight." Then he pointed to several other houses. "There," says he, "theyare all dead, the man and his wife and five children. There," says he,"they are shut up; you see a watchman at the door:" and so of otherhouses. "Why," says I, "what do you here all alone?"--"Why," says he, "Iam a poor desolate man: it hath pleased God I am not yet visited, thoughmy family is, and one of my children dead."--"How do you mean, then,"said I, "that you are not visited?"--"Why," says he, "that is my house,"pointing to a very little low boarded house, "and there my poor wife andtwo children live," said he, "if they may be said to live; for my wifeand one of the children are visited; but I do not come at them." Andwith that word I saw the tears run very plentifully down his face; andso they did down mine too, I assure you.
"But," said I, "why do you not come at them? How can you abandon yourown flesh and blood?"--"O sir!" says he, "the Lord forbid! I do notabandon them, I work for them as much as I am able; and, blessed be theLord! I keep them from want." And with that I observed he lifted up hiseyes to heaven with a countenance that presently told me I had happenedon a man that was no hypocrite, but a serious, religious, good man; andhis ejaculation was an expression of thankfulness, that, in such acondition as he was in, he should be able to say his family did notwant. "Well," says I, "honest man, that is a great mercy, as things gonow with the poor. But how do you live, then, and how are you kept fromthe dreadful calamity that is now upon us all?"--"Why, sir," says he, "Iam a waterman, and there is my boat," says he, "and the boat serves mefor a house; I work in it in the day, and I sleep in it in the night:and what I get I lay it down upon that stone," says he, showing me abroad stone on the other side of the street, a good way from his house;"and then," says he, "I halloo and call to them till I make them hear,and they come and fetch it."
"Well, friend," says I, "but how can you get money as a waterman? Doesanybody go by water these times?"--"Yes, sir," says he, "in the way I amemployed there does. Do you see there," says he, "five ships lie atanchor?" pointing down the river a good way below the town; "and do yousee," says he, "eight or ten ships lie at the chain there, and at anchoryonder?" pointing above the town. "All those ships have families onboard, of their merchants and owners, and such like, who have lockedthemselves up and live on board, close shut in, for fear of theinfection; and I tend on them to fetch things for them, carry letters,and do what is absolutely necessary, that they may not be obliged tocome on shore. And every night I fasten my boat on board one of theship's boats, and there I sleep by myself, and, blessed be God! I ampreserved hitherto."
"Well," said I, "friend, but will they let you come on board after youhave been on shore here, when this has been such a terrible place, andso infected as it is?"
"Why, as to that," said he, "I very seldom go up the ship side, butdeliver what I bring to their boat, or lie by the side, and they hoistit on board: if I did, I think they are in no danger from me, for Inever go into any house on shore, or touch anybody, no, not of my ownfamily; but I fetch provisions for them."
"Nay," says I, "but that may be worse; for you must have thoseprovisions of somebody or other; and since all this part of the town isso infected, it is dangerous so much as to speak with anybody; for thevillage," said I, "is, as it were, the beginning of London, though it beat some distance from it."
"That is true," added he; "but you do not understand me right. I do notbuy provisions for them here. I row up to Greenwich, and buy fresh meatthere, and sometimes I row down the river to Woolwich,[170] and buythere; then I go to single farmhouses on the Kentish side, where I amknown, and buy fowls and eggs and butter, and bring to the ships as theydirect me, sometimes one, sometimes the other. I seldom come on shorehere, and I came only now to call my wife, and hear how my little familydo, and give them a little money which I received last night."
"Poor man!" said I. "And how much hast thou gotten for them?"
"I have gotten four shillings," said he, "which is a great sum, asthings go now with poor men; but they have given me a bag of bread too,and a salt fish, and some flesh: so all helps out."
"Well," said I, "and have you given it them yet?"
"No," said he, "but I have called; and my wife has answered that shecannot come out yet, but in half an hour she hopes to come, and I amwaiting for her. Poor woman!" says he, "she is brought sadly down; shehas had a swelling, and it is broke, and I hope she will recover, but Ifear the child will die. But it is the Lord!"--Here he stopped, and weptvery much.
"Well, honest friend," said I, "thou hast a sure comforter, if thou hastbrought thyself to be resigned to the will of God: he is dealing with usall in judgment."
"O sir!" says
he, "it is infinite mercy if any of us are spared; and whoam I to repine!"
"Say'st thou so?" said I; "and how much less is my faith than thine!"And here my heart smote me, suggesting how much better this poor man'sfoundation was, on which he stayed in the danger, than mine: that he hadnowhere to fly; that he had a family to bind him to attendance, which Ihad not; and mine was mere presumption, his a true dependence and
