A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 325 pages of information about A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London.

A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 325 pages of information about A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London.

‘Oh, sir!’ says he, ’it is infinite mercy if any of us are spared, and who am I to repine!’

‘Sayest 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’s foundation was on which he stayed in the danger than mine; that he had nowhere to fly; that he had a family to bind him to attendance, which I had not; and mine was mere presumption, his a true dependence and a courage resting on God; and yet that he used all possible caution for his safety.

I turned a little way from the man while these thoughts engaged me, for, indeed, I could no more refrain from tears than he.

At length, after some further talk, the poor woman opened the door and called, ‘Robert, Robert’.  He answered, and bid her stay a few moments and he would come; so he ran down the common stairs to his boat and fetched up a sack, in which was the provisions he had brought from the ships; and when he returned he hallooed again.  Then he went to the great stone which he showed me and emptied the sack, and laid all out, everything by themselves, and then retired; and his wife came with a little boy to fetch them away, and called and said such a captain had sent such a thing, and such a captain such a thing, and at the end adds, ‘God has sent it all; give thanks to Him.’  When the poor woman had taken up all, she was so weak she could not carry it at once in, though the weight was not much neither; so she left the biscuit, which was in a little bag, and left a little boy to watch it till she came again.

‘Well, but’, says I to him, ’did you leave her the four shillings too, which you said was your week’s pay?’

‘Yes, yes,’ says he; ‘you shall hear her own it.’  So he calls again, ‘Rachel, Rachel,’ which it seems was her name, ’did you take up the money?’ ‘Yes,’ said she.  ‘How much was it?’ said he.  ’Four shillings and a groat,’ said she.  ‘Well, well,’ says he, ‘the Lord keep you all’; and so he turned to go away.

As I could not refrain contributing tears to this man’s story, so neither could I refrain my charity for his assistance.  So I called him, ‘Hark thee, friend,’ said I, ’come hither, for I believe thou art in health, that I may venture thee’; so I pulled out my hand, which was in my pocket before, ‘Here,’ says I, ’go and call thy Rachel once more, and give her a little more comfort from me.  God will never forsake a family that trust in Him as thou dost.’  So I gave him four other shillings, and bid him go lay them on the stone and call his wife.

I have not words to express the poor man’s thankfulness, neither could he express it himself but by tears running down his face.  He called his wife, and told her God had moved the heart of a stranger, upon hearing their condition, to give them all that money, and a great deal more such as that he said to her.  The woman, too, made signs of the like thankfulness, as well to Heaven as to me, and joyfully picked it up; and I parted with no money all that year that I thought better bestowed.

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A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.