Chapter X · (continued 2)

This enterprising tradesman had been at Oxford, where he failed to take a degree in medicine, but he was a licentiate of the College of Physicians. He is the single literary representative of the faculty, so far as appears, in 1625; and there is nothing in his essay that concerns us, except the following corroboration of a well-known character of the epidemic:

“Poor people, by reason of their great want, living sluttishly, feeding nastily on offals, or the worst and unwholesomest meats, and many times, too, lacking food altogether, have both their bodies much corrupted, and their spirits exceedingly weakened; whereby they become (of all others) most subject to this sickness. And therefore we see the plague sweeps up such people in greatest heaps.”

It is impossible to know whether any considerable proportion recovered. It appears that, as in 1603, the buboes and boils might come out in the same person more than once, and that the best chance was from their suppuration:

But the best hope was in flight, as Bradwell was candid enough to say, although he remained behind with his shilling powders and half-crown electuaries. Cito cede, longé recede, tardé redi—is the proverbial advice which he quotes.

However, the people in their flight, unless they were nobles or squires with country houses, fared but ill in the provinces. The story of their reception in country towns and villages is so like that of 1603 that one might suppose in this, as in other things, that the writers of 1625 were copying from Dekker. One of the versifiers, Brewer, has a section specially devoted to a “Relation of the many miseries that many of those that fly the City do fall into in the country.” They are driven back by men with bills and halberds, passing through village after village in disgrace until they end their journey; they sleep in stables, barns and outhouses, or even by the roadside in ditches and in the open fields. And that was the lot of comparatively wealthy men. Taylor says that when he was with the queen’s barge at Hampton Court and up the river almost to Oxford, he had much grief and remorse to see and hear of the miserable and cold entertainment of many Londoners:

Taylor gives various instances in prose:

“A man sick of an ague lying on the ground at Maidenhead in Berkshire, with his fit violently on him, had stones cast at him by two men of the towne (whom I could name), and when they could not cause him to rise, one of them tooke a hitcher, or long boat-hook, and hitched in the sick man’s breeches, drawing him backward with his face grovelling on the ground, drawing him so under the bridge in a dry place, where he lay till his fit was gone, and having lost a new hat, went his way.”

One at Richmond was drawn naked in the night by his own wife and boy, and cast into the Thames, where the next day the corpse was found. The village of Hendon distinguished itself by relieving the sick, burying the dead, and collecting eight pounds, at the least (being but a small village) for the poor of St Andrew’s, Holborn, besides allowing good weekly wages to two men to attend and bury such as died. The village of Tottenham appears to have been equally hospitable; but as it was on the road to Theobalds, and some of his majesty’s servants dwelt there, the Privy Council on July 19, wrote to the justices of Middlesex to order the inhabitants of Tottenham, who had received into their houses “multitudes of inmates,” to remove the new-comers and not to receive any in future[1019]. Although the king was not at Richmond, yet as there was a royal residence there, the inhabitants sought to drive away citizens on the ground of the warrant forbidding them to approach any of his majesty’s houses[1020]. At Woodstock, where the Court was in August, no one was allowed to go from thence to London, nor any to come thither, and for contraveners a gibbet was set up at the Court gate[1021]. It was hardly possible to get a letter smuggled into London[1022]; in the provinces “no one comes into a town without a ticket, yet there are few free places.” At Southampton on August 27, a stranger died in the fields: “He came from London. He had good store of money about him, which was taken before he was cold[1023].” Dr Donne, the dean of St Paul’s, confirms these experiences in a letter of November 25, from Chelsea[1024]:

“The citizens fled away as out of a house on fire, and stuffed their pockets with their best ware, and threw themselves into the highways, and were not received so much as into barns, and perished so: some of them with more money about them than would have bought the village where they died. A justice of the peace told me of one that died so with £1400 about him.”

Meddus, rector of St Gabriel’s, heard of one sad case of a citizen in Leadenhall-street who removed to the country with his seven children, “but having buried all there is come again hither,” in July[1025]. In October, the people began to come back, although the infection was by no means over; Salvetti, who was himself near Huntingdon, says that many of the returning artisans caught the infection in the city, which is probable enough, as it happened also in 1665. On October 15, a correspondent of Mead’s wrote that in his passing through London he found the streets full of people, and the highways full of passengers, horse and foot. On October 24, we hear of great distress among tradesmen, artificers and farmers round London, and of discontent at the forced loan[1026]; although the Court itself was in as great extremity during the plague for want of money as any private house could have been. On November 22, the lord mayor and aldermen wrote to the Privy Council that the great mortality, although it had taken many poor people away, yet had made more poverty by decay of tradesmen, the want and misery being still very great[1027]. Still, the effect of this great plague on London, cutting off some fifty thousand in a year, or more than a fifth part of the population, must have been, like that of all other great plagues in London, to cut off the fringe of poverty and broken fortunes, and to raise the general average of well-being of those that remained. Trade would come back; but the submerged tenth, or sixth, or fourth, or whatever fraction they made, were drowned for good.

London soon filled up the gaps made by the plague, doubtless by fresh blood from the country. In 1627, the christenings were again at 8,408, having been at a maximum of 8,299 the year before the plague. In 1629 they actually exceeded the burials by more than a thousand (9,901 to 8,771), and continued to be slightly in excess until the next plague of 1636.

The Plague of 1625 near London.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the capital the parishes on the Kentish chalk below London, such as Deptford, Greenwich, Lewisham, Eltham and Bromley had more plague in 1625 than in 1603. Kensington, for some unknown reason, has 80 deaths from all causes in the register, as against 32 in 1603 and 62 (of plague 25) in 1665. The group of parishes in Middlesex, such as Enfield, Edmonton and Finchley, had each a large number of deaths, but somewhat less than in 1603 and 1665, and the same holds for Hackney and Stoke Newington, Islington and Hampstead. Places up the Thames all the way from Battersea to Windsor were infected, including Wandsworth, Putney, Isleworth, Richmond, Kingston and Hampton Court. Eton was “visited;” even the sequestered village of Stoke Pogis had houses shut up “by reason of the contagion” and a collection made for their impoverished inmates. Among the Hertfordshire towns to which Londoners resorted in plague-times, Watford is known to have had plague-deaths in 1625. In Essex,—Stratford, Tottenham, Romford and Barking had each a large number of plague-deaths, and, in Surrey, Croydon and Streatham. At Carshalton, oddly enough, the heavy mortality was the year after (1626) “not from plague, but from a disease somewhat akin to it[1028].”

Plague in the Provinces in 1625 and following years.

It is stated by Salvetti and other gossips of the time that the infection of plague in 1625 was carried all over the country from London by the fleeing citizens, and that few places remained free from it, just as it was said afterwards for the plague of 1665. So far as records show, one would not be warranted in inferring a great provincial prevalence of plague either in 1625 or in 1665. There was plague at Plymouth, and in the south-western counties, under very special circumstances, as we shall see. There was plague also at Norwich, said to have been brought from Yarmouth, and at Colchester the year after. Newcastle, also, which hardly ever escaped the infection when it was afoot, had one of its minor visitations. But, on the whole, it is impossible to show by local evidences that the plague of 1625 was diffused universally over England, either in that or in the following year, or that it grew to a great epidemic in but a few provincial centres[1029]. Probably all the plague-deaths in the provinces together, in 1625 and 1626, would not have made a fifth part of the mortality in London.

The interest centres in the plague at Plymouth, with which the outbreaks at Ashburton, Exeter, Dartmouth, Bridport, and perhaps Portsmouth, Rye and other places, may be connected, if not causally, yet in neighbourhood. The first that we hear of sickness at Plymouth is under date July 26, 1625; some of the ships arrived there had been visited with sickness, and the sick had been landed and lodged under sails[1030]. It is not called “the sickness,” and it is not clear that it was bubo-plague. There may, indeed, have been real plague on board ships of war: Stow says that it was in the fleet in 1603, and there is evidence of its existence now and again in the Venetian galleys of an earlier day. But we are now come to the period of the beginnings of ship-fever, as we shall see in the next chapter; and, for the present, we must not assume that the sickness on board ship in 1625 was all plague, or chiefly plague.

The ships at Plymouth in July were doubtless a part of the squadron of ninety sail, which sailed thence in autumn, carrying ten thousand men to make war on Spain, in accordance with the anti-Catholic policy which had been forced upon James I. in the last years of his reign, and was now being carried out by Charles I. and Buckingham. This was not the first fruit of that policy. The immediate result of it was Mansfeld’s English troops for the recovery of the Palatinate to Protestant rule. That expedition failing to effect a landing was speedily broken with disease, and before it had been many days on shore in Holland was burying 40 or 50 men a day. The fleet eight months later had a similar experience. The ships were victualled with rotten food, and the men were supplied with worthless clothing. As the facts were never investigated, the king having interfered to shield the duke of Buckingham from the attack on him by Sir John Eliot, peculation and jobbery were never proved, although it was known to everyone that honesty was the last quality to be looked for in those about the king and the favourite. The fleet reached the Bay of Cadiz and made a futile demonstration there. It is in the month of November that we begin to hear of sickness. On the 9th Viscount Wimbledon writes from on board the ‘Anne Royal’ to Secretary Conway that there are not men enough to keep the watches owing to sickness. On December 22, the Commissioners at Plymouth write to the Council that about thirty sail had arrived there with 4,000 soldiers “in such miserable condition as for the most part to be incapable of such comforts as the country would afford them.” Captain Bolles, who died since their coming in, declared the occasion of his sickness to be scarcity and corruption of the provisions. Great numbers of the soldiers are continually thrown overboard. Yesterday seven fell down in the streets. The rest are weak, and want clothes, for the supply of which some thousands of pounds were needed. The despatch of December 29, says, “They stink as they go, and the poor rags they have are rotten and ready to fall off if they be touched”[1031].

So far there is no word of plague; on the other hand there is a strong probability that the sickness was ship-fever, or typhus. It is not until the spring of 1626 that the plague is mentioned at Plymouth. On March 18, sickness increases at Plymouth and the plague is wondrous rife. On March 28, the plague is dispersed about the town. On April 5, the sickness increases very much. On the 11th, 40 died last week and twenty houses are shut up; some of the sick died and were buried in less than twenty-four hours. On 8th June, the plague is very bad in Plymouth, and the town is destitute of its best inhabitants. The town-council records bear witness to a rate having been levied for the relief of the plague-stricken, and to attempts as late as 1628 to collect their share of it from those who had fled the town in 1626. The deaths at Plymouth are stated in a manuscript book of the municipal annals to have been 2,000[1032].

Meanwhile plague appeared in other parts of Devonshire. In Exeter it had been prevalent sooner than in Plymouth itself; a letter of November 17, 1625, speaks of the afflicted state of the city, and of the weekly contributions for the plague-stricken. Some particulars of the state of Exeter at this time are given in a memorial to the Privy Council by the mayor and bailiffs of the city, dated October 15, 1627. During the great sickness which fell on their city, and was not cleared in sixteen months, all trading was stopped and the inhabitants generally left the town. To appease a mutiny of the more disordered people, who threatened to burn the city, a rate was assessed generally on the city, but most of the inhabitants being absent, the corporation took up the amount at interest on their own credit. The persons whose names are inclosed, being inhabitants who have returned to the city, now refuse to pay the rate assessed in their absence; and the Council is petitioned to summon them before it[1033].

On May 17, 1626, the plague is reported to be rife “in Devonshire,” and specifically, on July 28, at Okehampton and Ashburton. The epidemic at Ashburton was on the same severe scale as at Plymouth. It began in the end of 1625, but was most fatal in April and May, 1626. The deaths in a twelvemonth were 365, “probably a fourth of the inhabitants[1034].” (In 1627 there were only 27 deaths, doubtless from the empty state of the town.) The same summer it is heard of in Dorsetshire. On September 2, the deputy lieutenants and justices of the county petition the Privy Council that the 1000 soldiers who were to be removed from Devon and Cornwall, should not be quartered in Dorset, but in Somerset, as the former was visited with the plague[1035]. Perhaps Bridport was the centre of plague referred to. Sometime later in the year, perhaps in November, the bailiffs and burgesses of that town explain to the Council that, although they had subscribed to the loan, yet they were unable to pay the amount subscribed as the town was destitute by reason of a twenty weeks’ visitation of plague[1036].

The last of this series of outbreaks in the south-west appears to have been at Dartmouth in the summer of 1627. On June 29, it was reported that the plague was so hot there that the inhabitants had left. The mayor wrote on July 19 to the Privy Council that it was true the inhabitants were still away, but the plague had ceased; only 15 houses had been infected, the inhabitants of which had all been removed to the pest-houses remote from the town[1037].

Farther east on the Channel coast, Portsmouth had a visitation of plague previous to September 28, 1625, perhaps in connexion with the Cadiz fleet; the mayor and bailiffs, being at the end of their year’s office, had refused to take steps to sever the infected[1038]. At Southampton, only one house was infected on August 27. The infection is reported also from Rye in 1625, and from Canterbury, where the famous composer, Orlando Gibbons, died in the beginning of June, 1625, “not without suspicion of the sickness,” says Chamberlain, but, according to Anthony Wood, of the smallpox. The king and queen lodged at Canterbury on June 14; but on July 23 the place had to be avoided “for the great infection.”

From Oxford, where the Parliament met on August 1, the vice-chancellor wrote on July 27, that Sir John Hussey came thither infected from London, and died, that Dr Chaloner, being in the same house, was since dead, that the infection was in other parts of Oxford, and that All Souls College was shut up. There was a slight revival of it in January, 1626, which caused the exercises and the sermons at St Mary’s to be put off[1039]. Anthony Wood gives much the same account as for 1603, and blames the great increase of “cottages” erected by townsmen, to which scholars were enticed.

Cambridge kept free in 1625; but on October 3, three deaths are reported at Trumpington—one Peck, his wife, and maid. On the same date three houses were shut up at Royston, and the infected “translated into the fields[1040].”

The outbreak at Norwich was one of the severer degree[1041]. It was said to have been brought in the end of June, 1625, from Yarmouth, where nothing is recorded of it. A king’s order to the mayor imposed extensive cleansings, &c., but the plague increased from 26 deaths in a week in July, to 40 in September, reaching a maximum of 73 from plague in a week, besides 18 from other causes. On August 27, Mead, the Cambridge don, writes that he had met the Norwich carrier, who told him that the number of burials there the last week was 77, whereof of the plague 67, and but 14 the week before. The infection lingered on until December of the year after (1626), the total deaths from plague having been 1431. The plague at Norwich was made the excuse, by the mayor and aldermen writing to the Privy Council on January 30, 1627, for not contributing towards shipping for the king’s service; the city was distressed from inundations and the plague, “many hundreds of houses” standing empty. There appears to have been some plague at Lynn in the end of 1625, a Privy Council order of January, 1626, authorising the fair to be held there, the disease having ceased.

In April, 1627, the bailiffs and aldermen of Colchester offer the same excuse as Norwich; they are unable to set forth any ships as directed on account of the heavy visitation of their town by the plague, the decay of their trade in the new draperies and baize, and the loss of their ships at sea.

Leicestershire, also, would appear to have had another visitation in 1626. On July 28, the muster in that county was respited on account of the shire town and nine or ten other towns being visited with the plague. Of that there is no trace in the excellent county history by Nichols. Leicester, like Bristol and other places, is known to have imposed quarantine against Londoners in the summer of 1625. It is probable that plague was also in Warwickshire in 1626[1042].

Among other outbreaks in 1625 was one at Newcastle, but it does not compare in extent with some earlier and later plagues there. On September 10, Lord Clifford writes from Appleby Castle to Secretary Conway that Newcastle is so infected with plague, so ill fortified, and ill neighboured, that 500 men would disarm it. In his own county of Cumberland there was plague in Lord William Howard’s house. Sir Francis Howard’s lady took the infection from a new gown she had from London, so as she died the same day she took it; they are all dispersed most miserably, with the greatest terror in the world. Cheshire also had the infection in 1625[1043].

After a clear interval of two or three years, the history of plague begins again in London, and in the provinces. The London plague of 1630 was a small affair (1317 deaths), the city being otherwise so healthy that the christenings exceeded the total burials (9315 to 9237). In 1630, at the same time as the small London outbreak, Cambridge had what appears to have been its most considerable plague, but a very small one at the worst. It began about February 28, caused the colleges to break up and the midsummer assizes to be transferred to Royston, and from first to last produced 214 deaths, known or suspected from plague[1044].

Along with it there were a good many cases at Wymondham (Windham), and some straggling cases at Norwich and Colchester, continuing into 1631, some 20 or 30 dying at Norwich of plague in the latter year[1045]. The other centre in 1630 was in the north-west. Shrewsbury, an old-world town which seldom escaped, had a localised epidemic in St Chad’s parish. It began on May 24 in Frankwell, but was confined to that street by cutting off the residents therein from the rest of the town, and by removing the infected to pest-houses in Kingsland[1046]. It continued at Shrewsbury into 1631, and is heard of also at Preston, Wrexham, and Manchester, collections having been made in neighbouring places for the infected[1047]. But the one great outbreak of those years fell upon the town of Louth, in Lincolnshire, of which the sole particulars are that the plague from April to the end of November, 1631, swept away 754 persons of whom nearly 500 in July and August[1048].

After four years clear in London and in all parts of England (years occupied with the growing quarrel between the king and the Parliament), plague broke out again not far from Louth, where we saw it last, namely at Hull. A century and a half had passed since Hull’s last great devastation by plague year after year from 1472 to 1478. It was then a medieval town, with a chain drawn across the mouth of its creek of the Humber, surrounded by great abbeys, and owing its importance to its trade in stock fish from Iceland and the North Sea. In the Tudor times it had experienced one small epidemic about the Blackfriars Gate in 1576, causing about a hundred deaths. The date of the outbreak in 1635 is not given exactly; but, as in the 15th century, it was the peculiarity of Hull among provincial towns that it kept the infection for several years,—down to June, 1638. Business was paralysed, schools shut up, and the town deserted by the wealthier classes. The deaths from plague from first to last are counted at 2730, besides those which occurred in flight to other places. Upwards of 2,500 persons, once in easy circumstances, are said to have been reduced to seek relief, to which the county of York contributed[1049]. In 1643 Hull stood a siege, but there is no farther mention of plague; nor did the town suffer in 1665.

The year 1635, which saw the beginning of the Hull plague, at a time when the infection was absolutely quiet in the capital, saw also the beginning of an outbreak at Sandwich, with accompanying cases at Canterbury, and a beginning at Yarmouth, Lynn and Norwich[1050], in all which places the infections lingered at a low endemic level for a year or more. The dates are important only as showing that these provincial infections were looking up some months before the sharp outburst in London in the late autumn of 1636 made any sign. In Sandwich, on the 12th of March, 1637, there were 78 houses “visited,” and 188 persons infected; on June 30, 24 houses shut up, with 103 persons, some of them lodged in tents; from July 6 to October 5, there were buried of the plague about ten every week in St Clement’s parish. Considerable expenses were incurred (more than £40 a week), to which the county of Kent and the other Cinque Ports contributed[1051].

Besides these lingering endemics in Kent and Norfolk, the great plague epidemics of 1636 were in Newcastle and London. The Newcastle epidemic was both earlier and relatively far more severe than that of the capital. For a town of some 20,000 inhabitants, the following weekly figures[1052] indicate a plague of the first degree, comparable to the London death-rates of 1625 and 1665:

Died of plague at Newcastle, within the liberties, from May 7 to December 31, 1636:

Week ending Plague deaths

May 14 59

21 55

28 99

June 4 122

11 99

18 162

25 133

July 2 172

9 184

16 212

23 270

30 366

Aug. 7 337

14 422

21 346

28 246

Sept. 4 520

11 325

To end of Dec. 908

Total to 31st Dec. 5027

Besides in Garthside, from May 30 to October 17, 515, making a total of 5542.

This tremendous visitation of Tyneside is said to have begun in October, 1635, at North Shields, where the infection rested during the winter cold, to begin again at Newcastle in spring. During the height of the epidemic in summer and autumn all trade was suspended, no one being about in the streets or in the neighbouring highways. The means tried to check the infection were fumigations with pitch, rosin, and frankincense. Newcastle had one other visit from the plague, as we shall see, in 1644 and 1645, during and after the siege by the Scots Presbyterian army; but in 1665 it is said to have escaped, although Defoe says that the infection was introduced by colliers returning from the Thames.

The London Plague of 1636.

The London plague of 1636 was one of the second degree, for the capital, and was otherwise peculiar as being rather later in the autumnal season than usual. The following table of the weekly mortalities shows how it increased, reached a height, and declined.

Christened Buried in all Buried of plague

Dec. 24 231 170 0

31 195 174 0

1636

Jan. 7 217 189 0

14 242 174 0

21 220 190 0

28 214 171 0

Feb. 4 227 183 0

11 234 160 0

18 207 203 0

25 198 238 0

Mar. 3 221 198 0

10 231 194 0

17 244 187 0

24 215 177 0

31 193 196 0

Apr. 7 202 199 2

14 221 205 4

21 202 205 7

28 271 210 4

May 5 197 206 4

12 199 254 41

19 171 244 22

26 160 263 38

June 2 189 276 51

9 153 275 64

16 145 325 86

23 149 257 65

30 141 273 82

July 7 152 265 64

14 142 298 86

21 146 350 108

28 183 365 136

Aug. 4 152 394 181

11 166 465 244

18 167 546 284

25 161 690 380

Sept. 1 163 835 536

8 153 921 567

15 166 1106 728

22 172 1018 645

29 168 1211 796

Oct. 6 170 1195 790

13 164 1117 682

20 174 855 476

27 133 779 404

Nov. 3 153 1156 755

10 164 966 635

17 143 827 512

24 162 747 408

Dec. 1 168 550 290

8 175 335 143

15 134 324 79

9,522 23,359 10,400

The parishes chiefly affected were the same as in 1625 and 1603. Stepney is still wanting from the general bill; but after 1636 it was included therein, along with Newington, Lambeth, Westminster, Islington and Hackney. These omitted parishes doubtless contributed largely, Stepney in particular, so that the total of plague-deaths would have to be increased by perhaps two thousand. The following parishes had the severest mortalities:

Total deaths Plague-deaths

St Giles’s, Cripplegate 2374 870

St Mary’s, Whitechapel 1766 1060

St Olave’s, Southwark 1537 847

St Botolph’s, Aldgate 1506 735

St Sepulchre’s, Newgate 1327 566

St Saviour’s, Southwark 1269 742

St Botolph’s, Bishopsgate 1239 515

St George’s, Southwark 1044 514

St Andrew’s, Holborn 922 419

St Giles’s in the Fields 863 428

Like the greater plagues of 1603 and 1625, that of 1636 appears to have begun in the suburbs[1053]. Taylor, the Water-poet, in reprinting his poem on the plague of 1625, with some notes for 1636, says that of 1076 plague-deaths from April 7 to July 28 (the summation in the annual bill comes to 864), only 40 had occurred within the walls, so that the general infection of the City must have followed that of the Liberties and out-parishes. As early in the epidemic as 31 May, according to a record of the Middlesex Sessions, “the plague increases most at Stepney,” wherefore the Greengoose Fair at Stratford was prohibited, (the parish of Stepney extending as far as Shoreditch)[1054]. From Taylor we learn that Gravesend and Faversham had calamitous visitations, and that the infection was in many other towns and villages.

The epidemic of 1636 was like the plague of 1625 in having been preceded by much typhus fever in London, and accompanied by the same, as many as 2360 deaths being put down to fever in the plague-year in the classified causes of death now issued regularly (since 1629) in their printed bills by the Parish Clerks’ Hall. The letters and state papers of the time bear witness to the usual exodus from the City, the movements of the Court, and personal incidents, which have no farther interest after the samples given for 1625. One incident relating to the worst week of the plague in London in 1636 is preserved: eleven persons were committed to Newgate on 5 October for going with one Samuel Underhill, a trumpeter, who died of the plague, to his grave with trumpets and swords drawn in the night time in Shoreditch[1055]. The profession still makes no appearance in the way of epidemiological writing; but some “necessary directions” were drawn up by the College of Physicians, in substance the same as certain statutes issued on the alarm of plague in 1630[1056].

Next year, 1637, the plague continued in London, causing 3082 deaths out of a total of 11,763 in the bills. In 1638 there were only 363 plague-deaths, but the total mortality was 13,624, or nearly 2000 more than in the previous year, when plague alone had claimed its 3000. What were the epidemic types of disease that caused the high mortality in 1638?

Fever in London.

There ought to have been no difficulty in answering the question. The causes of death in the metropolis had been assigned in the books kept at Parish Clerks’ Hall since 1604, and had been printed since 1629. The printed series was in the hands of Graunt, from 1629 down to the date of his writing, January 1662; and he did abstract the deaths under each head of disease and casualty from 1629 to 1636 inclusive, and again from 1647 to 1661; but the ten years from 1637 to 1646 inclusive, he omitted as presenting nothing of importance and as being “inconsistent with the capacity” of his sheet of paper[1057]. All the original documents prior to 1658 appear to have been lost in the fire of 1666, so that Graunt’s omission cannot now be made good. One could wish that the worthy citizen had made no difficulty about the size of his paper. The omitted years are not only those of great political revolution, which may have had an effect upon the public health, but they are of special interest for the beginning of that great period of fever and smallpox in London which continued all through the 18th century.

The following section of London mortality, down to the end of our present period, will show, by reference to the total deaths, how important the omitted years are for the epidemiological history.

Year Plague Fever Smallpox Total deaths

1629 0 956 72 8771

1630 1317 1091 40 10554

31 274 1115 58 8562

32 8 1108 531 9535

33 0 953 72 8393

34 1 1279 1354 10400

35 0 1622 293 10651

36 10400 2360 127 23359

37 3082 — — 11763

38 363 — — 13624

39 314 — — 9862

1640 1450 — — 12771

41 1375 — — 13142

42 1274 — — 13273

43 996 — — 13212

44 1492 — — 10933

45 1871 — — 11479

46 2365 — — 12780

47 3597 1260 139 14059

48 611 884 401 9894

49 67 751 1190 10566

1650 15 970 184 8754

51 23 1038 525 10827

52 16 1212 1279 12569

53 6 282 139 10087

54 16 1371 832 13247

55 9 689 1294 11357

56 6 875 823 13921

57 4 999 835 12434

58 14 1800 409 14993

59 36 2303 1523 14756

1660 13 2148 354 12681

61 20 3490 1246 16665

62 12 2601 768 13664

63 9 2107 411 12741

64 5 2258 1233 15453

65 68596 5257 655 97306

1666 1998 741 38 12738

The year 1638, and the four successive years 1640-43, have exceptional mortalities, which plague alone can by no means account for. In one of those years, 1641, we know that smallpox was rife, along with plague, in the autumn; in the third week of August there were 118 deaths from smallpox (133 from plague), and in the second week of September 101 from smallpox (185 from plague), the plague continuing at even higher figures all through September and October, while smallpox ceases to be mentioned in the letters of the time[1058]. According to earlier and later experience, the epidemic of smallpox would have been followed by a quiet interval of that disease; so that the high mortality, beyond what plague could account for, would have been due to some other epidemic type. There is little doubt that that type was fever, less heard of in letters of the society people because it was, in its steady prevalence from year to year, an infection of the crowded quarters of the poor.

We begin about this period to find fever, or typhus fever, taking that place in the medical history of England which it continued to hold down to the generation before our own. What remains of the history of plague until its extinction in 1665-66, is so closely interwoven with the history of malignant fever, that it will be more convenient to carry the latter on side by side with it instead of in a separate chapter.

The first medical essay upon the malignant fever which got the name of typhus at the beginning of the 19th century, was that of a physician, Sir Edward Greaves, published at Oxford in 1643 in connexion with the sickness in that city while the king and the Royalist army lay there, and with the sickness in the Parliamentary army of the earl of Essex which lay at Reading. Greaves describes the unmistakable characters of spotted fever or typhus, and calls it, in his title “Morbus Epidemicus Anni 1643, or the New Disease.” In his text he speaks of “this so frequently termed the New Disease.” The name of “New Disease” was used also for influenza; but there can be no doubt that typhus did become common in England during the Civil Wars, between the Royalists and the Parliamentarians, which were the first and also the only sieges and campaigns on English soil that really touched the life of the nation.

The continent of Europe had been familiar with the same type of fever ever since the beginning of the 16th century, now in Italy, now in Spain, another time in the Low Countries, or in Hungary, or in Germany in the Thirty Years’ War. Greaves, our first writer on epidemic typhus, had been preceded a whole century by Fracastori, whose description of the fever at Verona in 1505 is perhaps the first account of epidemic sickness free from subservience to ancient or medieval authority, and based upon direct observations made in modern Europe. At the same time typhus or spotted fever was not new to England in 1643. There is always the difficulty whether some epidemics of fever should be called influenza or typhus; but the fever of the Black Assizes, as well as the standing “sickness of the house,” was certainly typhus, and so probably was the “new disease” in 1612.

The history of fever in England has been partly traced in the chapter on gaol-fevers in the Tudor period and on the Protean “hot agues,” “new sickness,” “strange fevers” or influenzas of 1540, 1557-8 and 1580. At a much earlier period, fevers of the same type (with dysenteries, lienteries, and pestilent sore throats) have been described, with whatever details there are, in connexion with the periodic famines, especially since the Conquest. But we are now come to a time in the history when typhus fevers appeared in the country unconnected with gaols or with famines. We are come, indeed, to the new era of epidemics, which is revealed more clearly after the plague was extinguished for good, but was really concurrent with the last half-century of plague, preparing, as it were, to succeed the long reign of that infection. The Civil Wars may be admitted to have given the new types of sickness an impulse, but the wars did not originate them, nor did they serve in any way to establish them as the predominant forms of epidemic sickness for nearly two centuries. Whatever it was in the condition of England that favoured the prevalence of fevers, fluxes, and smallpox, that factor was beginning to make itself felt shortly after the Tudor period ended: it continued in operation through all political changes of Restoration, Revolution, and Georgian rule; and if the conditions at length changed, largely for the better so far as the adult population is concerned, and for the better even as regards infancy, there has followed the “nova cohors febrium” of our own time, appropriate to its own state of society, as was the old troop before it. This theme is really the subject with which a new volume should open; but as the plague-period overlaps its successor the fever-period by half a century, and as one must pay heed to the chronology, it remains to insert some facts about fevers in this place.

Review of Fever in England to 1643.

Of the prevalence of malignant fevers in England in the earlier years of the 17th century we have only occasional glimpses. Thus, in London in November, 1612, there were several deaths of prominent personages. Prince Henry, eldest son of James I., died of a fever in the course of that month, the illness being thus referred to by Chamberlain in one of his letters to Carleton, written on November 12 from London:

“It is verily thought that the disease was no other than the ordinary ague that hath reigned and raged almost all over England since the latter end of summer, which, by observation, is found must have its ordinary course, and the less physic the better, but only sweating and an orderly course of keeping and government. The extremity of the disease seemed to lie in his head [a sure sign of typhus], for remedy whereof they shaved him and applied warm cocks and pigeons newly killed, but with no success.”

Sir Theodore Mayerne, the king’s physician (who had been driven from Paris by the intolerance of the Galenists towards those who used antimony and other Paracelsist remedies), was a good deal blamed because he had purged the patient instead of bleeding him.

Writing again on the 19th November, Chamberlain says: “On Friday Sir Harry Row, our alderman died, and, same morning, Sir George Carey, master of the wards, of this new disease.” Chamberlain’s statement that an epidemic fever, which he calls “the ordinary ague,” had raged all over England from the end of summer, 1612, is supported by Short’s abstracts of the parish registers for that year, while the following year, 1613, stands out as still more unhealthy. The next unwholesome year in Short’s tables is 1616; and of that sickly time we have one great personal illustration. Shakespeare died on April 23 at Stratford-on-Avon, after three days’ illness of a fever (but possibly of a chill) having just completed his 52nd year. So far as is known, he was not in failing health. It is a singular coincidence that he made his will on March 25 preceding, the first day of the year, old style; but the customary phrase, “in perfect health and memory (God be praised!),” would have been perhaps varied a little if illness had been creeping upon him. Now the year 1616 is the most unhealthy in Short’s tables from the beginning of the century; the parish registers do not bear witness again to so much sickness until 1623, which, as we have seen, was a year of typhus. The winter of 1615-16 was altogether exceptional: warm and tempestuous south-westerly and westerly winds prevailed from November until February; on the 8th February, there were East Indiamen lying in the Downs, which had been at anchor there for ten weeks waiting for a change of wind to take them down the Channel. The warm winds brought “perpetual weeping weather, foul ways and great floods,” and brought also an early spring. In the last week of January the archbishop found a nest of young blackbirds in his garden at Lambeth, and had “another sent to him from Croydon about four days after.” That was proverbially the kind of Christmas to make a fat churchyard; but it is impossible to say whether one type of sickness, such as fever, predominated, as in the preceding sickly years, 1612-13, and in the next following 1616, namely 1623-24. The following figures from Short’s tables will prove, at least, that there was excessive mortality.

In the year 1616, twenty-one parish registers out of eighty-eight examined, showed excessive mortality, the burials being 601 and the baptisms 417, the year 1617 showing a somewhat improved state of health. In the market towns for the same two years, the excessive proportion of burials to christenings is equally striking: of sixteen town registers examined, ten showed a bad state of health in 1616 (714 burials to 568 baptisms), and in 1617, nine towns had 786 burials to 652 baptisms. But neither in town nor country do the years 1616-17 stand out so unhealthy as the years 1623-24. Those two biennial periods are the only very conspicuous ones in Short’s list for the first quarter of the 17th century, the year 1613 coming next in unhealthiness.

Let us now seek for any causes such as unwholesome conditions of living upon which these epidemic fevers might have depended. One of the most notorious forms of typhus in the 18th century was the ship-fever. The problem how to destroy its infection in the hulls of transports and ships of war occupied the attention of the men of science, Stephen Hales among the rest. Parliament, eager for any cure of so disastrous a pest, voted some thousands of pounds to a projector whose method, when tried, resulted in nothing but the burning of three ships to the water’s edge. This ship-fever became notorious early in the 17th century, having occurred before in 1588. If the Elizabethan naval annals in Hakluyt’s collection were less engrossed than they are with adventures and doughty deeds, we should probably have had more glimpses of an unwholesome state of things in the ’tween-decks. At all events there is no doubt that fever infested the shipping of England as well as of France about the year 1625. The conditions on board ship are, of course, special; there might have been ship-fever, when there was no gaol-fever, workhouse-fever, or domestic typhus in general. But what happened on board ship was no bad index of what was happening on shore. The nation, both on sea and on land, was expanding far beyond its old medieval limits, with very crude notions of the elbow-room that it needed. The ideas of cubic space, ventilation, and the like, with which we are now so familiar, had then no existence. A few facts about the shipping, gaols and houses will serve to illustrate this statement.

The fleet which sailed from Plymouth to make war on Spain in the autumn of 1625 consisted of 90 sail, and carried 10,000 men. Whether there was overcrowding would depend, of course, on the size of the ships; and it may be safely said that the largest ship of the fleet was not a fourth part the size of a transport that would be allowed to carry five hundred men today. The expedition came back in a few weeks broken by sickness and mutiny, just as the expedition of Mansfeld for the relief of the Palatinate had fared. The wretched state of the thirty ships which arrived at Plymouth in November, 1625, has been mentioned already. At the same date we read of French ships of war also throwing overboard two or three dead men every day. There are some more precise figures for French ships in 1627, to be given in the next chapter, which will enable us to measure the provocation to ship-fever afforded by the conditions of a transport service in those years.

Besides ship-fever, in the great typhus period of the 18th century, there used to be named gaol-fever, and workhouse-fever. Of the gaol-fever one hears little in these years. It was severe in the Queen’s Bench prison in Southwark in March, 1579; a petition of that date complains that the prison held double the usual number, that “the sickness of the house” was rife, and that near a hundred had died of it there during the previous six years, many more having been sick[1059]. “The sickness of the house” is a name suggestive of what was usual. These events of prison life made little stir unless they involved the health of classes far removed from the prison-class, as in the three memorable instances of the Black Assizes at Cambridge, Oxford and Exeter. But it is not certain that even such cases have been all recorded, or that instances of gaol-fever spreading to those outside may not have been more frequent than appears. Whitmore in his book of 1659 on fevers in London and the country, quotes Bacon’s remarks upon the Black Assizes of the Tudor period and adds: “and within this eight or nine years there happened the like at Southwark, as I am credibly informed.” That would have been in the King’s Bench prison some time about 1650, which is not far from the date we have brought the history down to[1060].

The overcrowding of the ships and of the gaols had its counterpart in the dwelling-houses of London and other towns such as Portsmouth. The proclamations against the erection of houses on new sites within three miles of the city gates continued to be issued to the time of Cromwell. The effect of them was merely to call into existence a class of poor tenements in odd corners or to overcrowd the existing houses. Thus, on June 27, 1602: “The council have spied an inconvenient increase of housing in and about London by building in odd corners, in gardens and over stables. They have begun to pull down one here and there, lighting in almost every parish on the unluckiest, which is far from removing the mischief[1061].” Again, on February 24, 1623, certain inhabitants of Chancery Lane were indicted at the Middlesex Sessions for subletting, “to the great danger of infectious disease with plague and other diseases[1062].” Again, in May, 1637, there were found in one house eleven married couples and fifteen single persons; in another the householder had taken in eighteen lodgers[1063]. The monstrous window-tax, which did more than anything else to breed typhus and perpetuate smallpox, was not imposed until after the Revolution; but there was enough in the London of the Stuarts to explain the great increase of those diseases.

We have already had evidence of the wide prevalence of spotted fever in 1624, even in the houses of the rich. In the harvest of 1625, Mead, of Cambridge, heard of much sickness which he calls “ague,” about Royston and Barkway, localities by no means malarious; so many were ill that the people wanted help to gather the harvest out of the fields. The nature of these “agues” is a question of great difficulty. The intermissions or remissions of the country fevers are clearly enough asserted by Willis and others, whatever they were; at the same time the general characters of the disease, or diseases, are not those of intermittent malarial fever; and “influenza” does not help us. Chamberlain calls the fever of 1624 “the spotted fever,” and Sir Theodore Mayerne, physician to James I., in a long opinion upon the king’s state of health and the treatment, dated Aug. 20, 1624, introduces a paragraph “Ad Febrem Purpuream,” which, he says, was prevalent that year, “not so much contagious as common through a universal disposing cause,” seizing upon many in the same house, and destroying numbers, being most full of malignity etc. These various accounts for town and country point to a form of typhus; and we find that diagnosis confirmed for the country fevers which were again widely prevalent a few years later, about 1638.

Among other statistics in Graunt’s essay of 1662 we find the figures from the register of “a parish in Hampshire” from 1569 to 1658. There were several years of excessive mortality in that period just as in Short’s tables, but the worst were 1638 and 1639—the years of high mortality (not plague) in London also. Of that mortality in the Hampshire parish Graunt has given a brief account, which he seems to have based on first-hand information. The parish contained about 2700 inhabitants, and enjoyed average good health during the period of 90 years covered by the figures, the births exceeding the deaths by twelve on an average in the year. In the year 1638 the deaths were 156 and the births 66 (about the average); in 1639 the deaths were 114 and the births 55. The cause of this great excess of mortality in a country parish was, says Graunt, not plague, “but a malignant fever raging so fiercely about harvest that there appeared scarce hands enough to take in the corn; which argues, considering there were 2700 parishioners, that 7 might be sick for one that died; whereas of the plague more die than recover. They lay longer sick than is usual in plague,” and there were no plague-tokens.

This considerable epidemic of fever, which must have affected some hundreds of people, occurred in a Hampshire parish. In the very same season (autumn and winter of 1638) we hear of what is obviously the same sickness being epidemic all over the county of Monmouth. On April 23, 1639, the sheriff of Monmouthshire thus explained his delay in executing the king’s writ for an assessment: “In January last I sent forth my warrants for the gathering and levying thereof, but there has been such a general sickness over all this country, called ‘the new disease,’ that they could not possibly be expedited.... Besides, the plague was very hot in divers parts of the county, as Caerleon, Abergavenny, Bedwelty, and many other places[1064].” Here the sheriff uses the same name as Greaves put on his title-page five years after, and he distinguishes clearly between the fever and the plague. The mayor and others of Northampton, in a memorial to the Recorder, dated May 1, 1638, touching the exclusion of Northampton tradesmen from fairs in the vicinity owing to suspicions of the plague in their town, had been informed by the physicians that some cases were of the plague, and some of “the spotted fever[1065].” The same distinction had been made at Norwich, in 1636: in October there was a suspicion of the plague, “but the physicians say it is some other contagious disease which die with the spots[1066].” At Northampton, the coexistence of plague and some other sickness is asserted also by the sheriff (Sept. 18, 1638), who had to excuse himself, like so many other sheriffs, for his failure to remit the ship-money: he himself and his servants had had sickness, and the plague was so great and so long in Northampton that the county still allowed £148 a week for relief of the sick. The deaths in that epidemic from March to September were 533[1067]. The sheriff of Montgomery, making a like excuse on October 25, 1638, speaks of the plague only: “It pleased God to visit a great part of the county with the plague, and three of the greatest towns, Machynlleth, Llanidloes and Newton[1068].” The sheriff of Radnorshire, in his excuse to the Privy Council, on November 14, says he could not collect the ship-money at Presteign “by reason of the plague, which continued there for two years together, and did not cease until the latter end of April last[1069].” We may take it, then, that there was a great deal of plague in Wales about 1637 and 1638, that there was also “the new disease,” or spotted fever, all over Monmouth and probably other Welsh counties, that the same two forms coexisted at Norwich and Northampton, just as they coexisted in London, and that Graunt’s parish in Hampshire in 1638 had probably the fever only.

Short’s statistical tables again bear out the concrete history. In 1638, nineteen country parishes, out of ninety-four examined, had 699 burials to 542 baptisms, and in 1639, eighteen parishes had 585 burials to 386 baptisms. In the market towns the unhealthy period (which may have been due to plague in great part) is a year earlier. In 1637, ten towns out of twenty-four whose registers were added up, show 1474 burials to 1008 baptisms, the proportion in 1638 for the same number of unhealthy towns being 1438 to 1025.

It would have been one of the country epidemics of those years that Boghurst brings into his account of the plague of London in 1665: “I was told by an ancient woman that in Somersetshire the spotted fever was very epidemical, so that whole families died; but being told that plantan [plantain] was very good, all of them almost took it, which wrought an admirable change, for very few died that took it, whereas before they died very fast.” He thinks plantain was as likely to have effected a cure as “higher priced medicines.” We shall find a corresponding prevalence of fever described by a competent physician, Whitmore, for rural parts of Cheshire and Shropshire in 1651 and 1658. Thus we have a remarkable epidemiological phenomenon, somewhat new to England unless, indeed, we bring all those spotted fevers and the like under the generic name of influenza. It was in country districts in 1612-13 and from 1623 to 1625, it was extensively prevalent in 1638 in places as far apart as Hampshire, Monmouth and Northampton, it appeared in Berkshire and Oxfordshire in 1643 in connexion with the military movements of the Royalist and Parliamentary armies, it caused a disastrous loss of life in Tiverton within a few weeks of Essex’s army passing through the town in 1644; it is heard of again in Shropshire and Cumberland in 1651-52, and in the same parts in 1658, as well as in Somerset, and in London steadily from year to year.

It was in its steadiness from year to year in the poor quarters of towns, as well as in its more frequent recurrences as a country epidemic, that the spotted fever deserved the name of “new disease” in the reign of Charles I. But more than one epidemic fever had been called a “new disease” in England before; and no fewer than five epidemics were so called from 1643 to 1685, of which only one or two can be classed among the influenzas.

If it had been possible to keep in mind the history of sicknesses from century to century or even from generation to generation, the “new disease” might have been recognised as not unlike the type that overran England in 1087, that was described by William of Newburgh in 1196, by Matthew Paris in 1258, and by Trokelowe in 1315-16. The conditions producing it or favouring it were not, indeed, the same in all particulars in the medieval period, in the Tudor period, and in the Stuart period. In the medieval period, the extreme want and misery which brought epidemic sickness were due to occasional sharp famines at long intervals, from failure of the crops. In the Tudor period epidemics were still so occasional (so far as is known) that something more special will have to be blamed for them than the swarms of vagrants and criminals all over England, which made the reign of Henry VIII. notorious, and were still a source of trouble until late in the reign of Elizabeth; the four chief periods were in 1540, 1557-8, 1580-82, and 1596-97 so that some special cause would have to be assumed in those years to account for their peculiar “epidemic constitution.” Almost from the beginning of the Stuart period, the seasons of fever (to say nothing of flux and smallpox), seem to come in quicker succession; they are heard of in 1612-13, 1623-25, 1638, 1643-44, 1651, 1658-9, and 1661-65, and heard of in those years over wide tracts of rural England as well as in London and other towns. It was from such experiences that the doctrine arose, so unintelligible to us now, of an “epidemic constitution of the air,” which may be traced, indeed, to much earlier writings than those of the 17th century, but finds its most frequent applications in the latter. The fevers were in part contagious and not contagious; contagion could not explain them all, and yet there was an undoubted infective element in them. The universality or generality of their incidence was accounted for by assuming, on the one hand, something common in the state of the air and, on the other hand, some common predisposition in the bodies of men, which might itself have had seasonal causes. We have now only one name for such common infection of the air, namely influenza; and it is significant that the catarrhal influenzas of 1658 and 1659 were regarded by some at the time as only the appropriate vernal form of the fever which in the hot weather of 1657 and 1658 had prevailed almost in the same general way as influenza, but with the symptoms of typhus. One thing which should not be overlooked, is that plague was still in the country, not always at the same time as the fever, and perhaps not usually coincident with it. Another thing, which will come out in its due order at a later part of the history, is that after the extinction of plague, fever became far more steady in the towns from year to year, and in certain years was not less prevalent in influenza-like epidemics all over the country. One might offer some suggestions as to the meaning of these epidemiological phenomena; but it will perhaps be more convenient that critics who have a speculative turn or a craving for generalities should exercise the one or gratify the other at their own risk.

Along with the prevalence of plague in 1637-38 in many towns of Wales, we may associate the outbreak of 1638 in Gloucester on the one side and in the small Salopian town of Clun on the other. From a letter of the Privy Council to the justices of Gloucestershire, it appears that a rate in aid of the plague-stricken in the city had been imposed upon the county in December, 1637, and that the infection still continued in Gloucester in September, 1638. Contributions made in Bridgenorth for the relief of the visited in Clun appear to belong to the same year. At Reading a tax for the “visited” had been collected once or oftener between 1638 and 1641. In 1641 the town of Leicester was put to some expense (£46. 8s. 7d.) in watching to keep out the sickness which prevailed in Thurmaston, Birstal, Whetstone and Oakham. The very severe plague in Stamford the same year would have been the most intense part of the epidemic in that corner of England; “Camden,” quoting from bishop Sanderson’s manuscript, says that it began at St James’s tide, 1641, and ended in March following, whereof are said to have died between 500 and 600 persons[1070].

Another centre of plague in 1641 was Congleton, in Cheshire, if we may trust the accuracy of the date given in a manuscript written some time after and seemingly based upon tradition[1071]. The infection was traced to a box of clothes which had belonged to one dead of the plague in London and were sent to the dead man’s relations at North Rede Hall. The family who received the box “caught the infection and died.” It spread “all over the country,” and came to Congleton, where it made dreadful ravages. The traditions which the anonymous narrator has put on record are, indeed, those of a plague of the greater degree—stories of corpses that no one would bury, of the sick left to their fate, of money dropped into water before it changed hands. This somewhat doubtful narrative ends with the statement that “the greatest part of the inhabitants died.”

The period from 1643 to 1650 contains all the outbreaks of plague that remain, whether in London or the provinces, until we come to the final explosion of 1665. In London the plague continued at a low endemic level from the outburst of 1636 until 1648, the deaths in 1647 reaching the considerable figure of 3597. This series of plague-years has no other interest than as showing how regularly every season the infection increased from a few cases in May or June to a maximum in September or October. One incident, out of many, may find a place. In August, 1647, Sir Philip Stapleton, one of the Eleven Members, leaders of the Presbyterian party, who were accused of treason by the Army, went over to Calais with five more of the accused, and died of the plague almost as soon as he landed. The people of the house where he died made the rest of the party pay them £80 before they would let them come forth, for bringing the sickness into their house[1072].

The plagues in provincial towns were in those years much more serious relatively than those in London. All of them occurred in towns that were besieged, or had been besieged, or had been occupied by bodies of troops or by garrisons. At the same time most of them were towns which had suffered plagues before. But the first effects of the war in the way of epidemic sickness were not of the type of plague.

War-typhus in Oxfordshire and Berkshire.

It was in the spring and summer of 1643 that England had a first experience of the war-typhus which had been familiar to the continent of Europe for a century and a half, having reached perhaps its greatest prevalence in the Thirty Years’ War. It is only in the sense of war-typhus that Shakespeare’s boast, put into the mouth of John of Gaunt, holds good:

The medieval civil wars in England do not seem to have bred infection among the people, unless, perhaps, during the anarchy of Stephen’s reign: there is reason to think that the faction-fights of York and Lancaster had no such result. But the wars of the Parliament against the Royalists produced war-sickness in its most characteristic form, and that too, at the very beginning of the struggle.

The existence of sickness in 1643 among the troops of the Parliament in Berkshire and Oxfordshire, under the earl of Essex, is briefly stated by Rushworth. But, for the first time in the history, we find a medical account of the type of sickness, of its circumstances, and of the extent of its prevalence, which is not without interest even for the military history. It happened that the afterwards celebrated Dr Thomas Willis, chemist, anatomist, physiologist and physician, was at Christ Church, Oxford, in 1643, being then aged twenty-one, and intending to enter the Church. In 1659 he published at the Hague his first medical essays, one on Fermentation and the other on Fevers[1073]; and in the latter he recalls many particulars of what he had seen in his earlier years in and around Oxford. The sickness of 1643 was also the subject of a tract published that year in Oxford, by his majesty’s command, by Sir Edward Greaves, physician to the king, which appears to have been in sufficient request in the town to be reprinted within the year[1074].

The preceding events may be briefly summarized[1075]. In November, 1642, the king moved from Oxford with his army towards London and seized Brentford. The forces of the Parliament, under Essex, concentrated round the capital, where they were joined by the trainbands of the City, so that the king recrossed the Thames at Kingston and retired upon Reading and Oxford. All through the months from January to April 1643, tedious negociations went on for a treaty, the details largely relating to the places to be occupied by the Parliamentary troops on the one hand (around Windsor) and by the Royalist troops on the other (in Oxfordshire and Bucks). In April the negociations fell through, and Essex came before Reading on the 15th, with an army of 15,000 foot and 3000 horse. The king and prince Rupert attempted to raise the siege by a march from Oxford, but were stopped at Caversham bridge, and on the 26th April, Reading was surrendered to the Lord General, the garrison marching out the day after.

The siege had lasted only eleven days; the Royalist commandant was sentenced to death at Oxford for betraying the town, but was pardoned. When Essex entered Reading he found the place “infected,” and a great mortality ensued among his men, who were discontented at the want of plunder and of pay. In June he moved his troops across the chalk downs to Thame, on the borders of Bucks; but the weather being wet and unseasonable in the early summer, and afterwards hot, the sickness so increased among them that “he judged the design upon Oxford impracticable” (Rushworth), and on July 9, wrote to the Parliament advising a peace. In his letter, Essex explained that it was impossible to keep the counties from being plundered, “so that they must suffer much wrong, and the cries of the people are infinite.” Eventually he brought what remained of his army to the neighbourhood of London, and having received 2000 recruits from the City, he held a muster on Hounslow Heath, when his whole force amounted to 10,000 men. With his recruited army he marched to the relief of Gloucester[1076], raised the siege, and on September 20 won the (first) battle of Newbury.

The realities of that inactive summer at Reading and Thame may be conceived from what Willis tells us of the state of things within the Royalist lines in Oxfordshire. These things, he says, “fell under our own observation,” he being then at Christ Church and not yet entered on the physic line.

In the spring of 1643, Reading being held for the king,

“In both armies there began a disease to arise very epidemical; however they persisting in that work till the besieged were forced to a surrender, this disease grew so grievous that in a short time after, either side left off and from that time for many months fought not with the enemy, but with the disease; as if there had not been leisure to turn aside to another kind of death....

Essex’s camp moving to Thame, pitched in the places adjacent, where he shortly lost a great part of his men.

But the king returned to Oxford, where at first the soldiers, being disposed in the open fields, then afterwards among the towns and villages, suffered not much less. For his foot (which it chiefly invaded) being pact together in close houses, when they had filled all things with filthiness and unwholesome nastiness and stinking odours (that the very air seemed to be infected) they fell sick by troops, and as it were by squadrons. At length the fever, now more than a camp fever, invaded the unarmed and peaceable troops, to wit, the entertainers of the soldiers, and, generally, all others: yet at first (the disease being but yet lightly inflicted) though beset with a heavy and long languishment, however, many escaped. About the summer solstice this fever began also to increase with worse provision of symptoms, and to lay hold on the husbandmen and others inhabiting the country, then afterwards spread through our city and all the country round for at least ten miles about. In the mean time they who dwelt far from us in other counties remained free from hurt, being as it were without the sphere of the contagion. But here this disease became so epidemical that a great part of the people was killed by it; and as soon as it had entered a house it ran through the same, that there was scarce one left well to administer to the sick. Strangers, or such as were sent to help the sick, were presently taken with the disease; that at length for fear of the contagion, those who were sick of this fever were avoided by those who were well, almost as much as if they had been sick of the plague.

Nor indeed did there a less mortality or slaughter of men accompany this disease; because cachectic and phthisical old men, or other ways unhealthful, were killed by it; also not a few children, young men, and those of a more mature and robust age. I remember in some villages that almost all the old men died this year, that there were scarce any left who were able to defend the manners and privileges of the parish by the more anciently received traditions[1077].”

Willis recalls how this epidemic disease changed its type as the season wore on. At first it was a “putrid synochus,” which seemed to be helped by a sweat or a looseness; a relapse or renewal followed the crisis. Later, it became a continual fever of six or seven days, with no crisis; when the fever ceased the sick kept their beds, sometimes raging, more often in a stupor, great weakness continuing, and sometimes convulsions ensuing. About midsummer “the disease betrayed its malignancy by the eruption of whelks and spots.” It would often begin with an insidious languishing, the strength being totally withdrawn. At length buboes appeared in many, as in the plague. At this time, during the dog-days, the disease began to be handled, not as a fever, but as a lesser plague—by vomits, purges, and sudorifics. The autumn coming on, the disease by degrees remitted its wonted fierceness, so that fewer grew sick of it, and of them many grew well. At the approach of winter the fever almost wholly vanished, and health was fully restored to Oxford and the country round about. Among the victims are mentioned “some belonging to the king’s and queen’s Court, with a few scholars[1078].”

Of the causes, Willis says that, so far as concerned the army, the evident causes were “errors in the six non-naturals.” The spring was very moist and “flabbery,” with almost continual showers, to which a hot summer succeeded. The tract upon the Oxford fever by Greaves, a short piece of some 25 pages, which was written for use in the city during the epidemic, bears out the account by Willis, without developing the doctrine of increasing malignancy. He is concerned to prove that it was not the plague “as the relations and hopes of your enemies, and the fears of others, have suggested.” One of his proofs is the insidious mode of invasion, which Willis ascribes to the sickness in its later type—great weakness without any manifest cause appearing, such as sweating or looseness, so that even strong men were prostrated, with a quick, weak and creeping pulse, sometimes intermittent, with pains in the head, vertigo &c. The most distinctive thing was the spots; “But what need we any farther signs than the spots, which appear upon half the number, at least, of those that fall sick?” Greaves seems to claim that Oxford had some immunity for a time: “God hath been most merciful to this city in sparing us heretofore, when our neighbours round about us were visited.”

Among the causes, he mentions putrid exhalations from stinking matters, dung, carcasses of dead horses and other carrion; “and were there care taken for the removing of these noisome inconveniences, and keeping the streets sweet and clean, it would doubtless tend much to the abatement of the disease.” The diet, also, may have had something to do with it; more particularly the brewers should dry their malt better, boil their beer longer, and put in a sufficiency of hops. But the great cause was the presence of the army.

“We need not look far for a cause where there is an army residing, which the Athenians called to mind in their calamity, or as Homer speaks of his Greeks:

εἰ δὴ ὁμοῦ πόλεμός τε δαμᾷ καὶ λοιμὸς ’Αχαιούς.

—it being seldom or never known that an army, where there is much filth and nastiness in diet, worse lodging, unshifted apparel, etc., should continue long without contagious disease.” Whole families were infected, “and seldom in any house where sick soldiers of either side are quartered, but the inhabitants likewise fall sick of the same disease.”

There appears to have been the almost inevitable doubt in some minds, whether the disease were contagious: “But if anyone be yet obstinate, and will not believe it contagious, let him go near and try.” Among the remedies, he mentions a favourite one of the empiric sort, “Lady Kent’s powder,” which Willis also refers to; but Greaves, as became an academical physician, would not admit that it had any advantage over medicines of known ingredients.

This widespread epidemic of typhus, perhaps not without some relapsing fever, and, according to what Willis says in one of his general chapters, complicated, in its diffusive form in the villages around, “with squinancy [sore throat], dysentery, or deadly sweat,” is the only one medically recorded of the Civil Wars. But there was certainly a renewal of it, in the same circumstances, next year at Tiverton; and it seems probable, from the heavy mortality which the parish registers witness to in that year (1644) that some kind of epidemic sickness had spread far and near. Thus, in Short’s abstracts of the burials and christenings in country parishes and market towns, the years 1643 and 1644, and especially the latter, stand out as the most unhealthy for a long time before and after, the next sickly period, as we shall see, being the years 1657-1659. In the year 1643, out of eighty-eight country registers examined, twenty-nine showed a sickly death-rate, although the disproportion of births to deaths does not appear great (821 to 847). That was the year of the epidemic fever in Berkshire, Oxfordshire and Bucks. Next year, which was the year of the Tiverton epidemic, there are again twenty-nine country registers indicating unusual sickness (715 baptisms to 938 burials). In nineteen out of twenty-four market towns, the same two years come out still more unhealthy (844 births to 1193 deaths in 1643 and 1008 births to 1647 deaths in 1644). The registers examined by Short were mostly from Northern and Midland parishes; but they included two or three from Devonshire, and among his market towns was Tiverton. We shall now see what these bald figures mean in that concrete instance.

War-typhus at Tiverton in 1644.

Tiverton was then a town of some 8000 inhabitants, mostly occupied in the weaving industry. On July 5, 1644, Essex arrived with his army on his way to Cornwall to subdue prince Maurice, and lay there till the 18th. The diary of one farmer Roberts has an entry that Mr Thomas Lawrence, who came from Tiverton, reported to him that the earl had 350 and odd carriages, and of horse belonging thereto for draught 2000[1079]. This would have been his large artillery train, baggage and ammunition waggons, etc. His infantry would be some 6000, and his cavalry perhaps 1000. The king’s force meanwhile advanced after Essex, and on July 25 lay in the great meadow at Crediton. They had advanced by Yeovil and may or may not have passed through Tiverton. The two armies came to blows in Cornwall, a prolonged series of encounters in the country around Lostwithiel in wet August weather ending in the escape of Essex to the coast, the retreat of his cavalry through the Royalist lines, and the surrender of the infantry on 1st September. The disarmed foot-soldiers were convoyed back to Poole and Wareham, and did not trouble Tiverton again. The retreating cavalry passed that way, but did not enter the town, which was now held by the Royalists. But the king’s army came back by the way of Tiverton, which they reached on Saturday, the 21st September. They had got no farther than Chard on the 30th, and may have halted in Tiverton some days. A Royalist garrison of 200 men was left in it, and held the place until October 1645, when it was taken by Fairfax after a short siege[1080].

Tiverton was thus occupied by both armies in the summer and autumn of 1644, that of Essex having been quartered in and around the town for a fortnight in July. A serious epidemic followed, especially in the suburb on the western side of the Exe. The particulars of it are in the parish register, from which it would appear that the sickness began in August and lasted until November. The greatest mortality was in October, when 105 were buried, the whole mortality of the year having been 443. The ordinary monthly burials would hardly have exceeded a dozen or fifteen; and as the 105 burials in October would have meant some eight or ten times as many sick, it is not surprising to read that the town was desolate, and that grass grew in the streets[1081]. Of this epidemic there are no medical particulars; but it appears from the parish register that it was known as “the sweating sickness.” It would hardly have been so called if sweating had not been a prominent symptom. Besides the English sweat proper, with its five epidemics from 1485 to 1551, we have had occasion to notice a sweating type in several epidemics of fever. That symptom was so marked in the epidemic of 1558 at Southampton, Portsmouth, and Isle of Wight when they were full of troops, that Dr John Jones, who had personal experience of it, compares it to the sweat proper. It was a sufficiently prominent symptom in the Oxford gaol-fever of 1577 for the sudor Anglicus to be called to mind. In the English fevers and influenzas of 1580-82, a sweat or a lask is mentioned by Cogan as a least occasional; but the fevers of the same years on the Continent had so often the sweating character that it was sometimes said the English sweat had come back. Lastly for the war-fevers of 1643 around Reading and Oxford, Willis asserts in more than one place the occurrence of sweats, critical or giving relief for a time in the milder form, “deadly sweats” in fevers of an aggravated type. To anticipate somewhat, it may be mentioned also that a sweating character is recorded of some cases of the perennial London typhus at its worst period in the middle of the 18th century.

Admitting all these facts, we must still hold to the opinion expressed in the chapter on the Sweating Sickness, that sweating was never again the signum pathognomicum of a whole epidemic, as it had been of the sudor Anglicus in its five outbursts. But if there be gradations of type, or approximations of typhus to sweating sickness (as well as to influenza), then we may perhaps take the Tiverton epidemic as coming nearer than any other to the sweating sickness, on the strength of the name given to it in the parish register.

Nothing is known of sickness in the army of Essex, which lay at Tiverton from 5th to 18th July, 1644. It suffered much in the fighting in Cornwall, and the Parliament on 7 September sent to Portsmouth arms for 6000 foot and 6000 suits of clothes and shirts for the infantry who had surrendered and been convoyed back along the coast. The king’s troops which occupied Tiverton on 21 September on their way back, had doubtless suffered also, from the campaigning in wet fields and miry ways, and are known to have been discontented for want of pay. Probably the epidemic at Tiverton was due to aggravation of the usual circumstances of war. It must be classed as a form of typhus; while its distinctive character of sweating might find an explanation, on the analogy of the sweat of 1485 in London after the arrival of Henry VII. from Bosworth Field, if we had sufficient reason to suppose that the soldiers who successively occupied Tiverton were not themselves suffering from fever. Contact alone, especially the contact en masse of men reduced by hardships and disorderly in their habits, will sometimes serve to breed contagion among a population unlike them in these respects. The converse of that principle, namely that contagion need not follow from the introduction of developed sickness en masse, finds an illustration in the case of Tiverton itself within little more than a year after the epidemic of 1644. In November, 1645, Fairfax lay at Ottery St Mary with his army, pending the investment of Exeter. On account of much sickness and heavy mortality among his infantry (not medically described) he removed them on December 2, to Crediton and ultimately to Tiverton, which was supposed to be a healthier situation and became his head-quarters until January 8, 1646[1082]. But no outbreak in the town is mentioned, and almost certainly none occurred; the health of the place continued to be good every year of the time that it was under the rule of the Parliament, as the parish register proves. On the other hand Totness, which was occupied by the same convalescent force after it left Tiverton, had a severe epidemic of plague in the end of the year, 1646.

Plague in the Provinces during the Civil Wars.

The type of sickness, after the first two years of the war, does not appear to have been typhus-fever, but always the old bubo-plague of the towns. So far as the history is known, the experience of war-sicknesses upon English soil began in 1643 and ended in 1644, except in the instance of Fairfax’s troops at Ottery St Mary in November, 1645.

Perhaps the “new model” of the Parliamentary forces, after the pattern of Cromwell’s Ironsides, may have had something to do with the immunity of England from war-typhus in all the marchings and counter-marchings, battles, occupations and sieges, from 1645 to the end of the Civil Wars. Cromwell pointed out to Hampden that the army of Essex was composed of “a set of poor tapsters and town-apprentices,” and gave it as his opinion that these were not the men to win with. When the original commanders, Essex, Manchester, Sir W. Waller, and others, had retired in 1645, terms of the self-denying ordinance, the army of the Parliament acquired a new character under Fairfax and Cromwell: it contained a large proportion of “men of religion,” especially among the officers; and there is sufficient evidence that the war was in future carried on so as to produce as few as possible of those effects of campaigning among the people at large which had marked the Thirty Years’ War in Germany and had attended the operations of Essex and the Royalists in 1643 and 1644.

What remains to be said of the epidemics of the Civil Wars relates almost exclusively to plague, with an occasional reference to the spotted fever which was widely prevalent in the autumn of 1644. These epidemics of plague in the English provinces, during the political troubles, more numerous than usual from 1644 to 1650, are the last on English soil until we come to the final grand explosion of 1665-66.

In 1644 there were two principal centres of plague (besides London), namely Banbury, and the valley of the Tyne. Banbury was near enough to the Royalist head-quarters to have shared in the fever-epidemic of 1643; in that year the burials of 58 soldiers are entered in the parish register, besides a large excess of burials among the civil population (total of 225 deaths in the year as against an annual mortality in former years ranging from 30 to 98). The siege by the Parliamentary forces did not begin until July 19, 1644, and ended in the surrender of the castle in October. The epidemic of plague may have begun as early as January, a soldier having “died in the street” on the 16th; but it is not until March 1644, that plague-deaths appear in the register. In that month there were 10 deaths from plague, in April 34, and so until November, when there were 2, the total mortality from plague having been 161. After the plague ceased, the town remained otherwise unhealthy until 1647[1083].

The information as to Newcastle and Tyneside comes from the observant Scotsman, William Lithgow, who was with the Presbyterian army when Newcastle was stormed on October 20, 1644[1084]. The town had suffered heavily from plague, as we have seen, in 1636, and there had been a slighter outbreak in 1642. Although the state of things during the siege in 1644 was wretched in the extreme, there does not appear to have been plague until after the surrender. The infection was already at work, however, in places near. Thus Tynemouth Castle was surrendered by the Royalist commander, Sir Thomas Riddell on October 27: “The pestilence having been five weeks amongst them, with a great mortality, they were glad to yield, and to scatter themselves abroad; but to the great undoing and infecting of the country about, as it hath contagiously begun” (Lithgow). Among the places infected were Gateshead, Sandgate, Sunderland, and many country villages, the plague being reported in Newcastle itself in 1645 as well as in Darlington[1085].

The year 1645 was one of severe plague in several towns at the same time, some of them in a state of siege and all of them occupied by troops. The largest mortality was at Bristol, being proportionate to its size. The town was taken by prince Rupert on July 22, 1643, and was held by a strong garrison for two years and some weeks. It was towards the end of the Royalist occupation that the plague broke out, probably in the spring of 1645[1086]. On the 16th May, Sir John Culpepper wrote to Lord Digby: “The sickness increases fearfully in this city. There died this week according to the proportion of 1500 in London[1087].” When it had been stormed by Fairfax and Cromwell in September 1645, it was found that prince Rupert’s garrison consisted of 2500 foot, and about 1000 horse. The auxiliaries and the trained bands of the town were reduced in June to about 800, and of the 2500 families then remaining in the town, 1500 were in a state of indigence and want[1088]. In Cromwell’s despatch of September 14 to Mr Speaker Lenthall he says: “I hear but of one man that hath died of the plague in all our army, although we have quartered amongst and in the midst of infected persons and places[1089].” The deaths from plague in the whole epidemic approached 3000, according to the MS. calendars[1090].

While this was going on within the walls of Bristol, an epidemic of plague more severe for the size of the town was progressing at Leeds. The town had been taken by Fairfax on January 23, 1643, and had remained in the quiet possession of the Parliament, under a military governor. In August, 1644, there were buried 131 persons, “before the plague was perceived,” says the parish register; which means that the excessive mortality was not from plague, but probably from the spotted fever which reigned that autumn in other places in the North. The plague proper began with a death in Vicar-lane on March 11, 1645. The weekly bills of mortality which were ordered by the military governor showed a total mortality, from March 11 to December 25, of 1325. It raged most in Vicar-lane and the close yards adjoining; it was also very prevalent in March-lane, the Calls, Call-lane, Lower Briggate, and Mill-hill. The largest number of burials in a week (126) was from July 24 to 31; the mortality kept high all through August and September (60 to 80 weekly), and declined gradually to 3 in the week ending Christmas-day. Whitaker estimates that probably the fifth part of the population died, and he cannot discover any person of name among the victims. The air was so warm and infectious that dogs, cats, mice and rats are said to have died (of rats and mice it can well be believed), and that several birds dropped down dead in their flight over the town[1091]. This appears to have been the only visitation of plague in Leeds, at least since the medieval period.

The plague of Lichfield in 1645-46, like that of Bristol, went on during a constant state of military turmoil. On April 21, 1643, the Close was taken by prince Rupert and was held as a Royalist stronghold until July 26, 1646, the king having repaired thither after his defeat at Naseby in June, 1645, and again in September. The plague is said to have been active both in 1645 and 1646; in twelve streets there occurred 821 deaths, the largest share (121) falling to Green Hill[1092]. In what way the state of siege may have contributed to the plague is uncertain. The fosse was drained dry at one stage, and was choked with rubbish at another. Many of the inhabitants of the town would appear, from the 4th article of the capitulation, to have taken refuge with their effects within the fortified Cathedral Close, which was almost enclosed by water. This was one of several outbreaks of plague that Lichfield had suffered since early Tudor times.

Minor plague outbreaks of 1645 were at Derby and Oxford. Of the latter we have a glimpse from Willis of Christ Church.

“Sometime past in this city [Oxford] viz., 1645, the plague (tho’ not great) had spread. Doctor Henry Sayer, a very learned physician, and happy in his practice, many others refusing this province, boldly visited all the sick, poor as well as rich, daily administered to them physic, and handled with his own hands their buboes and virulent ulcers, and so cured very many sick by his sedulous though dangerous labour. That he might fortifie himself against the contagion, before he went into the infected houses, he was wont only to drink a large draught of sack, and then his perambulation about the borders of death and the very jaws of the grave being finished, to repeat the same antidote.

After he had in this city, as if inviolable as to the plague, a long while taken care of the affairs of the sick without any hurt, he was sent for to Wallingford Castle, where this disease cruelly raged, as another Æsculapius, by the governor of the place. But there, being so bold as to lie in the same bed with a certain captain (his intimate companion), who was taken with the plague, he quickly received the contagion of the same disease; nor were the arts then profitable to the master which had been helpful to so many others, but there with great sorrow of the inhabitants, nor without great loss to the medical science, he died of that disease.” He treated the sick, in the pre-bubonic stages, by a vomit of Crocus Metallorum, and then by diaphoretics[1093].

None of the other localized epidemics of plague in those years would appear to have been of the first magnitude. Thus, the 22 deaths from plague at Loughborough from 1645 to May 14, 1646, and the renewed prevalence, after a year’s interval, (83 plague-deaths from July 20, 1647 to March 25, 1648)[1094], are samples of local mortalities from plague that other parish registers might bear witness to if they had been examined by antiquaries as closely as Nichols examined those of Leicestershire.

Newark was one of the towns which suffered much during the Civil War. Besieged time after time, it was at length surrendered to the Parliament on May 6, 1646. A letter written shortly after the surrender says[1095]:

“Truly it is become a miserable, stinking, infected town. I pray God they do not infect the counties and towns adjacent.... By reason of the sickness in divers places, the officers dare not yet venture to fetch out the arms.... Tradesmen are preparing to furnish their shops ... but the market cannot be expected to be much whilst the sickness is in the town.”

The parish register of Newark bears no witness to deaths from plague; but that of the adjacent parish of Stoke, in which stood the Castle and the suburb of Newark surrounding it, has numerous entries of plague-deaths, beginning with one some three weeks after the surrender, on May 28, 1646, and continuing through July, August, and September. Several of the same household are buried in one day, one is “buried in the field,” another “in his croft.” The vicar sums up the mortality thus: “There dyed in the towne of Stoke, 1646, eight score and one, whereof of the plage seven score and nineteen.” The whole deaths in Stoke parish the year before had been nine, and the year after they were six[1096]. If the plague had been at all proportionate in Newark town itself, the deaths would have far exceeded 159; but, as the parish register does not record plague-deaths at all, it may be inferred that the infection lay mostly around the Castle.