Plague- Outbreak in London (1665-1666)

by Tony Bradman

  After we left my family’s house, we went back to Blowbladder Street to begin work. Once there, Josiah simply walked up and down, waiting for the suffering to approach him. He told me he had no real need to proclaim himself.

  “My outer garments do that very well,” he said. “Especially the mask.”

  Around mid-morning, people began coming up to him, seeking medicines for their stricken family or friends. He would talk to them, his voice made strangely muffled by his mask, asking them what tokens of the sickness their loved ones displayed. When they answered he would pause to think for a while, nodding his beaked head, and then turn to me. I would open the box and he would remove whatever potion he deemed suitable.

  The first time this happened, I was shocked to hear Josiah ask to be paid. I suppose I had never thought that money would be involved when it came to saving people’s lives. The price of the potion was five shillings, which seemed a lot to me – the vial of liquid was quite small. The man who wanted it for his wife was clearly a labourer, his clothes rough and homespun, and five shillings was a lot of money for someone like that, enough to live on for a week. Yet he put the coins in Josiah’s hand without hesitation and looked at the potion with wonder. But then Josiah had just told him it was made of the tears Jesus himself had cried.

  “You know the story, my friend,” said Josiah. “Jesus wept when he saw Lazarus lying dead, but then our Lord brought Lazarus back to life. Go now and give your wife this potion to drink so she will be strong enough to fight death…”

  A few moments later another man came up to us and asked for medicine. I could tell immediately that he was wealthier than the first man. This one wore a good hat, jacket and breeches, and his shoes were of a decent quality. He had the look of the printers and booksellers you might see in the streets near St Paul’s – a man with a stake in life, as my father would have said. But he was as desperate as the first man and wanted a potion to save his two daughters.

  “Ah, I have just the thing,” said Josiah, handing him a vial of liquid, which looked identical to the one he had given to the first man. “This is the finest aqua vitae, distilled by philosophers at Oxford University, and guaranteed to keep the four humours balanced in anyone who drinks it regularly. And all that for just five pounds. You’ll take two? Don’t stand there gawping, Daniel – serve the gentleman!”

  I was gawping because I could hardly believe what I had just heard. Ten pounds was enough for a family to live on for a whole month! But the man paid up and he dashed off, carefully holding the two little vials as if they were most precious things in all God’s creation. I could understand that, though. I was sure Father would have paid all the money he had to save William, Henry, Mother and me. Yet I still felt uneasy and I began to watch Josiah more closely.

  Over the next few days, my uneasiness deepened. We visited different parts of the city, selling cures to the rich and poor. Josiah’s prices varied wildly, he spoke differently to everyone and he sold a lot more than just potions. There were amulets to wear round the neck, small bags of “magical herbs” and “garlic to ward off evil spirits”, and even simple good luck charms like rabbits’ feet. It all sounded like nonsense to me or, even worse, sorcery. There were “soothing elixirs” too, and more “aqua vitae distilled by philosophers at Oxford”. Josiah also sold quite a few of his pamphlets to those who could read. No wonder the box I carried for him was so heavy.

  Sometimes we were invited into the houses of the sick. It turned out that some watchmen were happy to be bribed by the people they were supposed to be guarding. For the right amount of money they would let visitors into the houses, and I soon found myself wondering if they could be bribed to let families out as well. Perhaps the people with the tokens of the plague I had seen at St Paul’s had bought their way out instead of escaping.

  To me those visits were like journeys into Hell itself. I will never forget the darkened houses, the foul smells of the sickness, the desperate, anxious families watching over loved ones. Josiah sold them all the things he had in his box – potions and amulets and herbs, as well as herbal plasters for the swellings. In some houses he prayed like a priest, begging God to spare the sinners who were dying. In others he chanted strange rhymes and talked about the influence of the stars.

  Each night, long after the sun had set over the city, we would return to his house. Once there I would make supper for us both. After the first night, Josiah had made it clear my duties also included preparing his meals, washing his clothes and cleaning his home. We ate well, as Josiah supplied several shopkeepers with potions and cures in return for food. Supplies in London were growing short, as farmers were reluctant to bring their produce to the city for fear of the plague. People were beginning to go hungry, so I knew I was lucky. But I didn’t feel it. One evening, my unhappiness must have shown on my face.

  “I see doubt in your eyes, Daniel,” Josiah said, pushing his bowl aside and turning to me. “What have I done to offend you?”

  My parents had taught me to be honest, so I told him the things that were worrying me.

  “How can you charge so much money for your cures?” I asked. “I know you prepare all the potions and remedies yourself. Why do you charge rich people more? And why—”

  “Ah, Daniel,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “These mysteries are easily solved. A man must make a living and I fix my prices according to what I judge each person can pay. I also talk to them in ways that I think will have most influence on them – some prefer religion, while others like a little magic with their medicine. But it is all for a good cause, is it not? I am doing God’s work, if sometimes not in God’s way.”

  It sounded reasonable when he put it like that. Perhaps it didn’t matter how he performed his work, so long as it calmed people who were frightened and cured those who were ill. So I decided to keep believing that he was a good man – at least until I had sure proof that he wasn’t.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  CHAPTER

  6

  One morning a few days later, Josiah announced that we would be going somewhere different to sell his wares. I wasn’t surprised. I had noticed there were fewer and fewer people around the streets we usually visited. The plague had done its work all too well in that part of the city, and now that it was July and the height of summer, it was raging more fiercely through the eastern streets and had even jumped across the River Thames to Southwark. The Bills of Mortality were still being pasted up and they showed that thousands of people were dying in the city every week.

  We set off, heading towards Bishopsgate. It was a warm, sunny day and there had been no rain for weeks, so the streets were dry and dusty. The box of potions and remedies felt even heavier in the heat, the leather strap biting into my shoulder. I couldn’t help thinking that the “cures” didn’t seem to have saved many people, judging by the rising number of plague victims. We passed several bodies left lying in the street, even though the dead carts seemed to be everywhere, each one heaped with corpses, rich and poor thrown in together.

  Eventually we came to the small square outside St Helen’s Church at Bishopsgate, where we found more people. Soon business was quite brisk, although I could tell Josiah was struggling in the heat, sweat running down his neck from beneath his mask. But I realized that without it he would lose the very strangeness that was part of his appeal. I doubted people would be so easily convinced by his cures if he no longer looked like Doctor Beak, just an ordinary man like anyone else. So he kept going, huffing and puffing and getting cross. But he soon got fed up.

  “That’s enough for one day,” he said after only an hour or so. “I am sorely in need of a drink.”

  He hurried off, ignoring the people who still wanted to buy potions, angrily waving away those who came up to him, and headed for the small tavern in the corner of the square. He ducked through the door, removing his mask as he did so. I made as if to follow him, but he waved me away too, telling me to wait outside. So I found a patch of shade a
nd did as I was told. But after a few minutes I was just too thirsty and decided to risk going into the tavern in search of a cooling drink.

  I pushed the door open and went inside. The tavern consisted of a long room with a low ceiling. One side was divided into several booths, each with a table and benches. On the other side stood a bar with a bald, ugly man behind it. To begin with I couldn’t see Josiah, but then I heard his voice and that of another man coming from a booth. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but there was something about the tone of their voices that made me suspicious. The man behind the bar was looking the other way, so I slipped into the booth next to Josiah’s and listened.

  “So you’ve come to steal my thunder, have you, Josiah?” said the other man. “Well, if that’s the case, you can turn right round and go back to Blowbladder Street this instant. There certainly isn’t enough business around here for two Doctor Beaks.”

  “Don’t be like that, Isaac. I only came in for a pot of ale. Making a profit from the sick is thirsty work. But you have nothing to fear from me – I am thinking of retiring. I am far too old to be trudging round London in this heat wearing that mask. Some days I can hardly breathe…”

  “I know what you mean,” said this Isaac. “But it’s a small price to pay, isn’t it? Why, thanks to the plague, I have more money than I’ve ever had before. Death has been very kind to me, so I hope the plague keeps going for quite some time.”

  “I agree, my friend,” said Josiah, laughing. “I must also confess it gives me even more pleasure to know that I am taking money from fools. Anyone who is stupid enough to believe they can be cured by one of my potions is probably better off dying from the plague anyway…”

  As I sat there listening, any faith I still had in Josiah drained away. I saw that he was wicked after all, a villain like Bad Barnaby, although of a different kind. Josiah’s weapons were the smooth words that flowed from his mouth. He had realized that I came from a godly family, so he had spoken to me like a godly man himself. But that had been all lies and pretence, as was everything about him.

  I felt a dark cloud of gloom settle over me. So much for the “worthy task” that would give my life meaning. All I had done was help a rogue give false hope to those who were suffering and dying, just so he could take whatever money they had.

  “I tell you what, Josiah,” said Isaac, his words penetrating the fog of despair in my brain. “I hear you’ve got a new boy and that he looks a lot healthier than your last one. If you’re really thinking of retiring, I’d be happy to take him off your hands. Shall we say two pounds?”

  “What kind of a fool do you take me for?” said Josiah. “I’ve had three boys as my assistants and none of them lasted long. But I have begun to think young Daniel will live forever, such is his resistance to the sickness. Why, you can say he is proof of your remedies… For that reason I will not take a penny less than twenty pounds. He will be a sound investment, Isaac, one guaranteed to bring you a profit.”

  They haggled over my price as if I were a farm animal to be bought and sold at a whim, and I sat there horrified, my mind reeling. Was it true that I had some kind of special resistance to the sickness? I had begun to wonder why so many people around me became ill and died, while I stayed healthy. Then I felt a hot wave of anger. The only thing that mattered now was to tell these two evil men they couldn’t do what they wanted with me. I would not be their slave.

  I rose from my seat and went round to stand at the end of their booth. Both men fell silent and looked up at me. Isaac was a scrawny man with a hard face and mean eyes that bored into mine. Josiah looked a little surprised, then he frowned.

  “I thought I told you to stay outside, Daniel,” he said.

  “I’ve been listening to you,” I said, spitting the words out. “You won’t sell me to this man, nor to anyone else. Goodbye, Josiah, I hope I never see you again.” I turned to leave, but Josiah grabbed my wrist and pulled me sharply towards him.

  “Not so fast,” he muttered. Our eyes met and it was as if a second mask had suddenly fallen from his face, revealing the evil of his true nature. He slowly tightened his grip on my wrist, doing his best to hurt me and make me do what he wanted. Isaac and the man behind the bar looked on, smirking. I lowered my head and bit Josiah’s hand, sinking my teeth in. He cursed and pushed me away. I almost fell, but managed to stay on my feet and get to the door. I could taste Josiah’s blood in my mouth as I ran across the square. I didn’t stop to spit it out for a very long time.

  When I finally stopped running, I was back on Cheapside, near the Church of St Mary-le-Bow. I ducked down a narrow alley and found a quiet corner where I could catch my breath and work out what to do next. I was sure Josiah and Isaac would come after me eventually – it seemed I was worth money to them. I would have to watch out for them wherever I went, which would make life difficult. But then it was going to be difficult anyway – I had no home and no means of making a living.

  In fact I had nothing except for my satchel and our family’s Bible. Both were still under my bed in Josiah’s house. I knew it would have been wise to leave them there, but I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t going to let Josiah keep them. Apart from my clothes, they were the only things that linked me to my family. I reckoned Josiah would stay in the tavern with Isaac for a while longer. I would hopefully have time to do what I needed to.

  I ran through the streets under the hot sun and soon arrived at Blowbladder Street, when I realized the flaw in my plan. Josiah worried constantly that thieves might break into his house, so he always made sure his door was locked while he was out, and he kept the only key on a chain round his neck.

  How was I going to get inside? I remembered one of the windows at the rear of the house had a loose catch. I crept down the alley beside the house and found the right window. I got my fingertips under the frame and pulled. It took a while, but the catch eventually gave and the window swung open. I climbed up, scrambled inside and made straight for the scullery, where I grabbed my things.

  I stuffed the Bible into the satchel, then had a last look round Josiah’s house. I felt like smashing his jars and bottles so he couldn’t concoct his fake potions any more, but I knew there was no point in that. Even if Josiah didn’t make and sell them, there were others who would, villains like Isaac. In any case, I needed to get out of there as quickly as possible – Josiah might return at any moment.

  I couldn’t go through the front door as it was still locked – I would have to leave the way I’d come in. So once again I found myself throwing my satchel into the street and climbing through a window, as I had the night I had left my family home. This one was just as tight a fit and I fell awkwardly onto the cobbles as before.

  Someone stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the street and stood over me, although all I could see of him was a pair of heavy boots.

  “God’s blood!” said a voice I half recognized. “It’s that boy who escaped!”

  I slowly raised my eyes and terror filled my heart – it was Bad Barnaby!

  Then he hit me with his cudgel and the world went dark.

  CHAPTER

  7

  When I came round, my hands were tied behind my back and I was being dragged down the street. My legs and feet bumped over the cobbles, Bad Barnaby’s boots striding ahead of me. After a while we stopped, a door was opened and I was taken into a small, evil-smelling room and dumped on the floor.

  I lay there for a moment trying to pull myself together. Then someone emptied a bucket of cold water on my face and I sat up sharply, coughing and spluttering. I shook my head, wiped my eyes and looked around. Bad Barnaby was looking down on me with a horrible smirk on his face. Behind him were the other two watchmen who had chased me on the night I had escaped from Bear Alley. My heart was thudding and I wondered why they hadn’t killed me already.

  “Well, this is a strange encounter and no mistake,” said Bad Barnaby. “I’d have thought you’d be dead and buried in a plague pit by now. The re
st of your family probably ended up that way. But here you are, large as life, breathing like the rest of us. Although I’ll wager you’ve been spreading the pestilence to all and sundry. Not that it needs much help, does it lads? Welcome to Armageddon!”

  The three of them laughed, but my attention had been caught by a small part of what Bad Barnaby had said – “your family probably ended up that way”. Those few words opened up all sorts of possibilities – perhaps Mother was alive after all!

  “Don’t you know for sure what happened to my mother, then?” I said. “You were our watchman. I thought you were supposed to stay right until the end, until everyone was dead.”

  Bad Barnaby stopped laughing and his smile vanished. He bent down to look in my eyes, his nose almost touching mine, his breath foul. I turned my face to the side.

  “You put an end to that, you little swine,” he hissed, spit from his mouth spraying onto my cheek. “I lost my position that night because you escaped, so I have no idea what happened to your mother. I know what’s going to happen to you, though.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” I said. I had been shaking with fear, but now I went still. There was no longer a part of me that wanted to die. I badly wanted to live.

  “You’re going to be our little helper,” he said, smiling once more. “I lost a lot of money because of you, so you owe me. I should think you could pay off your debt to me in, oh, a couple of years. So long as you don’t catch the plague and die, and you might where you’re going…”

  All three of them laughed, slapping each other on the back as if that was the funniest thing they had ever heard in their lives. I sat on the floor watching them and wondered what new world of madness I had fallen into. They stopped laughing after a while and Bad Barnaby turned to me again.