Chapter I

TYPHUS AND OTHER CONTINUED FEVERS.

It was remarked by Dr James Lind, in 1761, that a judicious synopsis of the writings on fevers, in a chronological sense, would be a valuable book: it would bring to light, he was fain to expect, treasures of knowledge; “and perhaps the influence of a favourite opinion, or of a preconceived fancy, on the writings of some even of our best instructors, such as Sydenham and Morton, would more clearly be perceived[1].” Lind himself was the person to have delivered such a history and criticism. He was near enough to the 17th century writers on fevers to have entered correctly into their points of view; while so far as concerned the detection of theoretical bias or preconceived fancies, he had shown himself a master of the art in his famous satire upon the “scorbutic constitution,” a verbal or mythical construction which had been in great vogue for a century and a half, and was still current, at the moment when Lind destroyed it, in the writings of Boerhaave and Haller. A judicious historical view of the English writings on fevers, such as this 18th century critic desired to see, may now be thought superfluous. The theories, the indications for treatment, the medical terms, have passed away and become the mere objects of a learned curiosity. But the actual history of the old fevers, of their kinds, their epidemic prevalence, their incidence upon rich or poor, upon children or adults, their fatality, their contagiousness, their connexion with the seasons and other vicissitudes of the people—all this is something more than curious.

Unfortunately for the historian of diseases, he has to look for the realities amidst the “favourite opinions” or the “preconceived fancies” of contemporary medical writers. Statements which at first sight appear to be observations of matters of fact are found to be merely the necessary truths or verbal constructions of some doctrine. One great doctrine of the 17th and 18th centuries was that of obstructions: in this doctrine, as applied to fevers, obstructions of the mesentery were made of central importance; the obstructions of the mesentery extended to its lymphatic glands; so that we come at length, in a mere theoretical inference, to something not unlike the real morbid anatomy of enteric fever. Another great doctrine of the time, specially applied by Willis to fevers, was that of fermentations and acrimonies. “This ferment,” says a Lyons disciple of Willis in 1682, “has its seat in the glandules of the velvet coat of the stomach and intestines described by Monsieur Payer[2].” But the Lyons physician is writing all the while of the fevers that have always been common in the Dombes and Bresse, namely intermittents; the tertian, double tertian, quotidian, quartan, or double quartan paroxysm arises, he says, from the coagulation of the humours by the ferment which has its seat in the glandules described by M. Payer, even as acids cause a coagulation in milk, the paroxysm of ague continuing, “until this sharp chyle be dissipated and driven out by the sweat or insensible perspiration.” The lymphatic follicles of the intestine known by the name of Payer, or Peyer, were then the latest anatomical and physiological novelty, and were chosen, on theoretical grounds, as the seat of fermentation or febrile action in agues. On the ground of actual observation they were found about a century and a half after to be the seat of morbid action in typhoid fever.

While there are such pitfalls for the historian in identifying the several species of fevers in former times, there are other difficulties of interpretation which concern the varieties of a continued fever, or its changes of type from generation to generation. Is change of type a reality or a fiction? And, if a reality, did it depend at all upon the use or abuse of a certain regimen or treatment, such as blooding and lowering, or heating and corroborating? A pupil of Cullen, who wrote his thesis in 1782 upon the interesting topic of the change in fevers since the time of Sydenham[3], inferred that the great physician of the Restoration could not have had to treat the low, putrid or nervous fevers of the middle and latter part of the 18th century, otherwise he would not have resorted so regularly to blood-letting, a practice which was out of vogue in continued fevers at the time when the thesis was written, as well as for a good many years before and after. Fevers, it was argued, had undergone a radical change since the time of Sydenham, in correspondence with many changes in diet, beverages and creature comforts, such as the greatly increased use of tea, coffee and tobacco, and of potatoes or other vegetables in the diet, changes also in the proportion of urban to rural population, in the use of carriages, and in many other things incident to the progressive softening of manners. In due time the low, putrid, nervous type of typhus fever, which is so much in evidence in the second half of the 18th century, ceased to be recorded, an inflammatory type, or a fever of strong reaction, taking its place; so that Bateman, of London, writing in 1818, said: “The putrid pestilential fevers of the preceding age have been succeeded by the milder forms of infectious fever which we now witness”; while Armstrong, Clutterbuck, and others, who had revived the practice of blood-letting in fevers shortly before the epidemic of 1817-18, claimed the comparatively slight fatality and short duration of the common fever of the time as an effect of the treatment. After 1831, typhus again became low, depressed, spotted, not admitting of the lancet; on which occasion the doctrine of “change of type” was debated in the form that the older generation of practitioners still remember.

Thus the task of the historian, whose first duty is to ascertain, if he can, the actual matters of fact, or the realities, in their sequence or chronological order, is made especially difficult, in the chapter on continued fevers, by the contemporary influence of theoretical pathology or “a preconceived fancy,” by the ascription of modifying effects to treatment, whether cooling or heating, lowering or supporting, and, most of all, by the absence of that more exact method which distinguishes the records of fever in our own time. Nor can it be said that the work of historical research has been made easier in all respects, by the exact discrimination and perfected diagnosis to which we are accustomed in present-day fevers. In the years between 1840 and 1850, the three grand types of fever then existing in Britain, namely, spotted typhus, enteric, and relapsing fever, were at length so clearly distinguished, defined and described that no one remained in doubt or confusion. Thereupon arose the presumption that these had always been the forms of continued fever in Britain, and that the same fevers, presumably in the same relative proportions to each other, might have been left on record by the physicians of former generations, if they had used the modern exactness and minuteness in observing both clinical history and anatomical state, which were seen at their best in Sir William Jenner. It would simplify history, indeed it would make history superfluous, if that were really the case. There are many reasons for believing that it was not the case. As Sydenham looked forward to his successors having experiences that he never had, so we may credit Sydenham with having really seen things which we never see, not even those of us who saw the last epidemics of relapsing fever and typhus. It is due to him, and to his contemporaries and nearest successors, to reciprocate the spirit in which he concludes the general chapter on epidemics prefatory to his annual constitutions from 1661 to 1676:

“I am far from taking upon myself the credit of exhausting my subject in the present observations. It is highly probable that I may fail even in the full enumeration of the epidemics. Still less do I warrant that the diseases which during the years in question have succeeded each other in the sequence about to be exhibited shall remain the same in all future years. One thing most especially do I aim at. It is my wish to state how things have gone lately; how they have been in this country, and how they have been in this the city which we live in. The observations of some years form my ground-work. It is thus that I would add my mite, such as it is, towards the foundation of a work that, in my humble judgment, shall be beneficial to the human race. Posterity will complete it, since to them it shall be given to take the full view of the whole cycle of epidemics in their mutual sequences for years yet to come[4].”

The epidemic fever of 1661, according to Willis.

On the very threshold of the period at which the history is resumed in this volume, we find a minute account by Willis of an epidemic in the year 1661, which at once raises the question whether a certain species of infectious fever did really exist at that time which exists no longer, or whether Willis described as “a fever of the brain and nervous stock” what we now call enteric fever. Willis’s fever corresponds in every respect to the worm fever, the comatose fever, the remittent fever of children, the acute fever with dumbness, the convulsive fever, which was often recorded by the medical annalists and other systematic observers as late as the beginning of the 19th century[5]. It ceased at length to be recorded or described, and it has been supposed that it was really the infantile or children’s part of enteric fever, which had occurred in former times as now[6]. The epidemic fever which Willis saw in the summer of 1661, after a clear interval of two years from the great epidemics of agues, with influenzas, in 1657-59, is called by him “a certain irregular and unaccustomed fever[7].” It was not, however, new to him altogether; for he had seen the same type, and kept notes of the cases, in a particular household at Oxford in 1655, as well as on other occasions. It was an epidemical fever “chiefly infestous to the brain and nervous stock.” It raged mostly among children and youths, and was wont to affect them with a long and, as it were, a chronical sickness. When it attacked the old or middle-aged, which was more rarely, it did sooner and more certainly kill. It ran through whole families, not only in Oxford and the neighbouring parts, “but in the countries at a great distance, as I heard from physicians dwelling in other places.” Among those other witnesses, we shall call Sydenham; but meanwhile let us hear Willis, whose account is the fullest and least warped by theory.

Its approach was insidious and scarce perceived, with no immoderate heat or sharp thirst, but producing at length great debility and languishing, loss of appetite and loathing. Within eight days there were brain symptoms—heavy vertigo, tingling of the ears, often great tumult and perturbation of the brain. Instead of phrensy, there might be deep stupidity or insensibility; children lay sometimes a whole month without taking any notice of the bystanders, and with an involuntary flux of their excrements; or there might be frequent delirium, and constantly absurd and incongruous chimaeras in their sleep. But in men a fury, and often-times deadly phrensy, did succeed. If, however, neither stupidity nor great distraction did fall upon them, swimmings in the head, convulsive movements, with convulsions of the members and leaping up of the tendons did grievously infest them. In almost all, there were loose and stinking motions, now yellow, now thin and serous; vomiting was unusual; the urine deep red. The sufferers in this prolonged sickness wasted to a skeleton, with no great heat or evacuations to account for the wasting. Some, at the end of the disease, had a severe catarrh. In others, with little infection of the head, soon after the beginning of the fever a cruel cough and a stinking spittle, with a consumptive disposition, grew upon them, and seemed to throw them suddenly into a phthisis, from which, however, they recovered often beyond hope. In some there were swellings of the glands near the hinder part of the neck, which ripened and broke, and gave out a thin stinking ictor for a long time. “I have also seen watery pustules excited in other parts of the body, which passed into hollow ulcers, and hardly curable. Sometimes little spots and petechiales appeared here and there.” But none of the spots were broad and livid, nor were there many malignant spots.

Willis then gives several cases clinically, in his usual manner. The first is of a strong and lively young man, who was sick above two months and seemed near death, but began to mend and took six weeks to recover, sweating every night or every other night of his convalescent period. The second case, aged twelve, was restored to health in a month. Numbers three and four were children of a nobleman, who both died, the convulsive type being strongly marked; one of the two was examined after death, and found to have several sections of the small intestine telescoped, but all the abdominal viscera free from disease[8], the lungs engorged, the vessels of the brain full, much water in the sub-arachnoid space, and more than half a pint in the lateral ventricles.

In farther illustration of this type of fever, epidemic in 1661, Willis goes back to his notes of a sporadic outbreak of what he thinks was the same disease in a certain family at Oxford in the winter of 1653-4[9]: “yea I remember that sometime past very many laboured with such a fever.” In the family in question, five children took the fever one after another during a space of four months, two of the cases proving fatal; the domestics also took it, and some strangers who came in to help them, “the evil being propagated by contagion.” The cases in the children are fully recorded[10], the following being some of the symptoms:

In case 1, aged seven, the illness began at the end of December, 1653 (or 1655): there were contractions of the wrist tendons, red spots like fleabites on his neck and other parts, drowsiness, and involuntary passage of the excrements. At the end of a fortnight, a flux set in and lasted for four days; next, after that, a whitish crust or scurf, as it were chalky, began to spread over the whole cavity of his mouth and throat, which being often in a day wiped away, presently broke forth anew. He mended a little, but had paralysis of his throat and pharynx, was reduced to a living skeleton, but at length got well.

Case 2, a brother, aged nine, had frequent loose and highly putrid motions on the eleventh day; and next day, the flux having ceased, the most severe colic, so that he lay crying out day and night, his belly swollen and hard as a drum, until, on the 24th day, he died in an agony of convulsions.

Case 3, a brother, aged 11, was taken with similar symptoms on the 13th February, and died on the 13th day.

Case 4, a sister, was taken ill in March, with less marked symptoms, and recovered slowly, having had no manifest crisis.

Case 5, a boy of the same family, and the youngest, fell ill about the same time as No. 4, and after the like manner, “who yet, a looseness arising naturally of itself, for many days voiding choleric and greenish stuff, was easily cured.”

Then comes a general reference to the domestics and visitors, who fell sick of the same and all recovered.

The prolonged series of cases in the household of this “venerable man” appears to have made a great impression upon Willis, as something new in his experience, as well as in the experience of several other physicians who gave their services. That it was malignant he considers proved “ex contagio, pernicie, macularum pulicularum apparentia, multisque aliis indiciis.” He adds that he had seen the same disease sporadically at other times; and again “I remember that formerly several laboured under such a fever.” Those cases were all previous to the general prevalence of the fever which he identifies with them in the summer of 1661, under the name of a “fever of the brain and spinal cord.”

The signs given by Willis are as nearly as may be the signs of infantile remittent fever, or worm fever, or febris synochus puerorum, or hectica infantilis, or febris lenta infantum, or an acute fever with dumbness, of which perhaps the first systematic account in this country was given by Dr William Butter of Lower Grosvenor Street, in 1782[11]. It is, he says, both a sporadical and an epidemical disease, “and when epidemical it is also contagious.” The age for it is from birth up to puberty; but “similar symptoms are often observed in the disorders of adults.” Morton, writing in 1692-94, clearly points to the same fever under the name of worm fever (febris verminosa). He adds it at the very end of his scheme of fevers, as if in an appendix, having been unable to find a place for it in any of his categories owing to its varying forms—hectic, acute, intermittent, continued, συνεχής, inflammatory, but for the most part colliquative or σύνοχος, “and malignant according to the varying degrees of the venomous miasm causing it[12].” Butter also recognizes its varying types: it has many symptoms, but they seldom all occur in the same case; there are three main varieties—the acute, lasting from eight to ten days up to two or three weeks; the slow, lasting two or three months; and the low, lasting a month or six weeks. The slow form, he says, is only sporadic; the low is only epidemic, and is never seen but when the acute is also epidemical; it is rare in comparison with the latter, and not observed at all except in certain of the epidemical seasons. Waiving the question whether the remittent fever of children, thus systematically described, was not a composite group of maladies, of which enteric fever of children was one, we can hardly doubt that Willis found a distinctive uniform type in the epidemic of 1661, in Oxford as he saw it himself, in other parts of England by report. It had symptoms which were not quite clearly those of enteric fever: spots, like fleabites, on the neck and other parts, swelling and suppuration of the glands in the hinder part of the neck, effusion of fluid on the brain and in the lateral ventricles, and the intestine free from disease[13].

Confirming Willis’s account for Oxford, is the case of Roger North, when a boy at Bury St Edmunds Free School in 1661, as related by himself in his ‘Autobiography[14].’ Being then “very young and small,” after a year at school he had “an acute fever, which endangered a consumption.” Elsewhere he attributes his bad memory with “confusion and disorder of thought,” to that “cruel fit of sickness I had when young, wherein, I am told, life was despaired of, and it was thought part of me was dead; and I can recollect that warm cloths were applied, which could be for no other reason, because I had not gripes which commonly calls for that application.” That “great violence of nature,” while it had impaired his mental faculties, had sapped his bodily vigour somewhat also, of which he gives a singular illustration.

This special prevalence of epidemic fevers in the summer and autumn of 1661 is noticed also by the London diarists.

Evelyn says that the autumn of 1661 was exceedingly sickly and wet[15]. Pepys has several entries of fever[16]. On 2 July, 1661: “Mr Saml. Crewe died of the spotted fever.” On 16 August: “At the [Navy] Office all the morning, though little to do; because all our clerks are gone to the burial of Tom Whitton, one of our Controller’s clerks, a very ingenious and a likely young man to live as any in the office. But it is such a sickly time both in the city and country everywhere (of a sort of fever) that never was heard of almost, unless it was in a plague-time. Among others the famous Tom Fuller [of the ‘Worthies of England’] is dead of it; and Dr Nichols [Nicholas], Dean of St Paul’s; and my Lord General Monk is very dangerously ill.” On 31 August: “The season very sickly everywhere of strange and fatal fevers.” On 15 January, 1662: “Hitherto summer weather, both as to warmth and every other thing, just as if it were the middle of May or June, which do threaten a plague (as all men think) to follow; for so it was almost the last winter, and the whole year after hath been a very sickly time to this day.”

The great medical authority of the time is Sydenham. His accounts of the seasons and reigning diseases of London extend from 1661 to 1686, so that they begin with the year for which Willis described the epidemic fever “chiefly infestous to the brain and nervous stock,” popularly called the new disease. But Sydenham did not describe the epidemic in the same objective way that Willis did. He records a series of “epidemic constitutions of the air,” the particular constitution of each year being named from the epidemic malady that seemed to him to dominate it most. It was, perhaps, because it had to conform to Sydenham’s “preconceived fancy,” as Lind said, that his account of the dominant type of fever in 1661 differs somewhat from that given by Willis.

Sydenham’s epidemic Constitutions.

Sydenham adopted the epidemic constitutions from Hippocrates, as he did much else in his method and practice. In the first and third books of the ‘Epidemics,’ Hippocrates describes three successive seasons and their reigning diseases in the island of Thasos, as well as a fourth plague-constitution which agrees exactly with the facts of the plague of Athens as described by Thucydides. The Greek term translated “constitution” is κατάστασις, which means literally a settling, appointing; ordaining, and in the epidemiological sense means the type of reigning disease as settled by the season. The method of Hippocrates is first to give an account of the weather—the winds, the rains, the temperature and the like,—and then to describe the diseases of the seasons[17]. Sydenham followed his model with remarkable closeness. The great plague of London has almost the same place in his series of years that the plague-constitution, the fourth in order, has in that of Hippocrates. It looks, indeed, as if Sydenham had begun with the year 1661, more for the purpose of having several constitutions preceding that of the plague than because he had any full observations of his own to record previous to 1665. He is also much influenced by the example of Hippocrates in giving prominence to the intermittent type of fevers. It was remarked by one of our best 18th century epidemiologists, Rogers of Cork, and with special reference to Sydenham’s “intermittent constitutions,” that fevers proper to the climate of Thasos were not likely to be identified in or near London excepted by a forced construction.

Sydenham’s Constitutions.

Constitutions Total deaths in London Plague Fever and Spotted Fever Smallpox Measles Griping in the Guts

1661 “Intermittent” constitution: with a continued fever throughout. 16,665 20 3,490 1,246 188 1,061

1662 13,664 12 2,601 768 20 835

1663 12,741 9 2,107 411 42 866

1664 15,453 5 2,258 1,233 311 1,146

1665 Constitution of plague and pestilential fever. 97,306 68,596 5,257 655 7 1,288

1666 12,738 1,998 741 38 3 676

1667 Constitution of smallpox, with a continued “variolous” fever. 15,842 35 916 1,196 83 2,108

1668 17,278 14 1,247 1,987 200 2,415

1669 19,432 3 1,499 951 15 4,385

1669 Constitution of dysentery and cholera nostras, with a continued fever.

1670 20,198 0 1,729 1,465 295 3,690

1671 15,729 5 1,343 696 17 2,537

1672 Measles in 1670. 18,230 5 1,615 1,116 118 2,645

1673 Constitution of “comatose” fevers. Influenza in 1675. 17,504 5 1,804 853 15 2,624

1674 21,201 3 2,164 2,507 795 1,777

1675 17,244 1 2,154 997 1 3,321

1676 18,732 2 2,112 359 83 2,083

1677 Not recorded. 19,067 2 1,749 1,678 87 2,602

1678 Return of the “intermittent” constitution, absent since 1661-64. 20,678 5 2,376 1,798 93 3,150

1679 21,730 2 2,763 1,967 117 2,996

1680 21,053 0 3,324 689 49 3,271

1681 “Depuratory” fevers, or dregs of the intermittents. 23,951 0 3,174 2,982 121 2,827

1682 20,691 0 2,696 1,408 50 2,631

1683 20,587 0 2,250 2,096 39 2,438

1684 23,202 0 2,836 1,560 6 2,981

1685 Constitution of a “new” continued fever. 23,222 0 3,832 2,496 197 2,203

1686 22,609 0 4,185 1,062 25 2,605

The foregoing is a Table of Sydenham’s epidemic constitutions from 1661 to 1686, compiled from his various writings, with the corresponding statistics from the London Bills of Mortality.

I give this Table both as a convenient outline and in deference to the great name of Sydenham. But we should be much at fault in interpreting the figures of the London Bills, or the history of epidemic diseases in the country at large, if we had no other sources of information than his writings. Only some of the figures in the Table concern us in this chapter; plague has been finished in the previous volume, smallpox, measles and “griping in the guts” are reserved each for a separate chapter, as well as the influenzas and epidemic agues which formed the chief part of the “strange” or “new” fevers. If this work had been the Annals of Epidemics in Britain, it would have been at once proper and easy to follow Sydenham’s constitutions exactly, and to group under each year the information collected from all sources about all epidemic maladies. But as the work is a history, it proceeds, as other histories do, in sections, observing the chronological order and the mutual relations of epidemic types as far as possible; and in this section of it we have to cull out and reduce to order the facts relating to fevers, beginning with those of 1661.

Cases of fever, says Sydenham, began to be epidemic about the beginning of July 1661, being mostly tertians of a bad type, and became so frequent day by day that in August they were raging everywhere, and in many places made a great slaughter of people, whole families being seized. This was not an ordinary tertian intermittent; indeed no one but Sydenham calls it an intermittent at all, and he qualifies the intermittence as follows:

“Autumnal intermittents do not at once assume the genuine type, but in all respects so imitate continued fevers that unless you examine the two respectively with the closest scrutiny, they cannot be distinguished. But, when by degrees the impetus of the ‘constitution’ is repelled and its strength reined in, the fevers change into a regular type; and as autumn goes out, they openly confess themselves, by casting their slough (larva abjecta) to be the intermittents that they really were from the first, whether quartans or tertians. If we do not attend to this diligently” etc. And again, in a paragraph which does not occur in the earlier editions, he writes as follows in the context of the “Intermittent Fevers of the years 1661-1664:”

“It is also to be noted that in the beginning of intermittent fevers, especially those that are epidemic in autumn, it is not altogether easy to distinguish the type correctly within the first few days of their accession, since they arise at first with continued fever superadded. Nor is it always easy, unless you are intent upon it, to detect anything else than a slight remission of the disease, which, however, declines by degrees into a perfect intermission, with its type (third-day or fourth-day) corresponding fitly to the season of the year.”

The intermittent character of these fevers seems to have struck Sydenham himself in a later work as forced and unreal. Writing in 1680, when the same kind of fevers were prevalent, after the epidemic agues of 1678 and 1679, he calls them “depuratory,” and says that “doubtless those depuratory fevers which reigned in 1661-64 were as if the dregs of the intermittents which raged sometime before during a series of years,” i.e. the agues of 1657-59[18].

Theory or names apart, Sydenham’s account of the fatal epidemic fever of the summer and autumn of 1661, comes to nearly the same as Willis’s. Without saying expressly, as Willis does, that the victims were mostly children or young people, he speaks in one place of those of more mature years lying much longer in the fever, even to three months, and he specially mentions the same sequelae of the fever in children that Willis mentions, and that Roger North remembered in his own case—namely that they sometimes became hectic, with bellies distended and hard, and often acquired a cough and other consumptive symptoms, “which clearly put one in mind of rickets.” He refers also to pain and swelling of the tonsils and to difficulty of swallowing, which, if followed by hoarseness, hollow eyes, and the facies Hippocratica, portended speedy death. Among the numerous other accidentia of the fever, was a certain kind of mania. Among the symptoms were phrensy, and coma-vigil; diarrhœa occurred in some owing, as he thought, to the omission of an emetic at the outset; hiccup and bleeding at the nose were occasional.

But, although Sydenham must have had the same phenomena of fever before him that Willis had, the epidemic being general, according to the statements of both, one would hardly guess from his way of presenting the facts, that the fever was what Willis took it to be—a slow nervous fever, with convulsive and ataxic symptoms, specially affecting children and the young. Both Willis and Sydenham recognised something new in it; the common people called it, once more, the “new disease,” and Pepys calls it a “sort of fever,” and “strange and fatal fevers.”

As Sydenham maintains that the same epidemic constitution continued until 1664 (although the fever-deaths in London are much fewer in 1662-3-4 than in the year 1661, which was the first of it), we may take in the same connexion Pepys’s account of the Queen’s attack of fever in 1663. The young princess Katharine of Portugal, married to Charles II. in 1662, had the beginning of a fever at Whitehall about the middle of October, 1663; Pepys enters on the 19th that her pulse beat twenty to eleven of the king’s, that her head was shaved, and pigeons put to her feet, that extreme unction was given her (the priests so long about it that the doctors were angry). On the 20th he hears that the queen’s sickness is a spotted fever, that she was as full of the spots as a leopard: “which is very strange that it should be no more known, but perhaps it is not so.” On the 22nd the queen is worse, 23rd she slept, 24th she is in a good way to recovery, Sir Francis Prujean’s cordial having given her rest; on the 26th “the delirium in her head continues still; she talks idle, not by fits, but always, which in some lasts a week after so high a fever, in some more, and in some for ever.” On the 27th she still raves and talks, especially about her imagined children; on the 30th she continues “light-headed, but in hopes to recover.” On 7th December, she is pretty well, and goes out of her chamber to her little chapel in the house; on the 31st “the queen after a long and sore sickness is become well again.”

Typhus fever perennial in London.

Sydenham says that a continued fever, the symptoms of which so far as he gives them suggest typhus, was mixed with the masked intermittent, (or the convulsive fever of children, as in Willis’s account), in every one of the years 1661-4; and that statement raises a question which may be dealt with here once for all. Fever in the London bills is a steady item from year to year, seldom falling below a thousand deaths and in the year 1741, during a general epidemic of typhus, rising to 7500. The fevers were a composite group, as we have seen, and shall see more clearly. But the bulk of them perennially appears to have been typhus fever. Where the name of “spotted fever” is given there can be little doubt. Every year the bills have a small number of deaths from “spotted fever,” and the number of them always rises in the weekly bills in proportion to the increase of “fever” in general, sometimes reaching twenty in the week when the other fevers reach a hundred. It would be a mistake to suppose that only the fevers called spotted were typhus, the other and larger part being something else. The more reasonable supposition is that the name of spotted was given by the searchers in cases where the spots, or vibices or petechiae of typhus were especially notable. If a score, or a dozen or half-a-dozen deaths in a week are set down to spotted fever, it probably means that a large part of the remaining hundred, or seventy, or fifty cases of “fever” not called spotted were really of the same kind, namely typhus. In the plague itself, the “tokens,” which were of the same haemorrhagic nature as the larger or more defined spots of typhus, were exceedingly variable[19]. One of the synonyms of typhus (the common name in Germany) is spotted typhus; but the spots were of at least two kinds, a dusky mottling of the skin and more definite spots, sometimes large, sometimes like fleabites.

Assuming that the cases specially called “spotted” in the London Bills were only a part of all that might have been called by the same name in the wider acceptation of the term (as in Germany), it is a significant fact that there are few of the weekly bills for a long series of years in the 17th and 18th centuries without some of the former. Such a case as that of Mr Samuel Crewe, brother of Lord Crewe, who died of the “spotted fever” on 2 July, 1661, probably means that there were more cases of the same kind in the poorer parts of the town, from which no account of the reigning sicknesses ever came unless it were the number of deaths in the bills. The conditions of endemic typhus were there long before we have authentic accounts, towards the end of the 18th century, of that disease being ever present in the homes of the lower classes. In the time of Sydenham, and even in the time of Huxham two generations after, there was no thought of the unwholesome domestic life graphically described by Willan and others, as a cause of typhus—the overcrowding, the want of ventilation, the foul bedding and the excremental effluvia.

If there had been any reason to suppose that the London of the Restoration, or of the time of Queen Anne, or of the first Georges had enjoyed better public health in its crowded liberties and out-parishes than we know it to have done from the time when the authentic accounts of Lettsom and other dispensary physicians begin, then one might err in assuming the perennial existence of typhus fever and in assigning to that cause the bulk of the deaths under the heading of “fevers” in the Parish Clerks’ bills. But the public health was undoubtedly worse in the earlier period. A writer as late as the year 1819, who is calling for that reform of the dwellings of the working classes in London which was soon after carried out, namely the construction of regular streets instead of mazes of courts and alleys, speaks of the “silent mortality” that went on in the latter[20]. It was still more silent in earlier times, when the west end of London knew nothing of what was passing in the east end[21].

In all matters of public health, after the somewhat romantic interest in plague had ceased, the poorer parts of London were for long an unexplored territory. Dr John Hunter, who had been an army physician and was afterwards in practice in Mayfair, began about the year 1780 to visit the homes of the poor in St Giles’s or other parishes near him, and was surprised to find in them a fever not unlike the hospital typhus of his military experience. I quote at this stage only a sentence or two[22].

“It may be observed, that though the fever in the confined habitations of the poor does not rise to the same degree of violence as in jails and hospitals, yet the destruction of the human species occasioned by it must be much greater, from its being so widely spread among a class of people whose number bears a large proportion to that of the whole inhabitants. There are but few of the sick, so far as I have been able to learn, that find their way into the great hospitals in London.” I shall defer the subject of the dwellings of the working class in London until a later stage.

The “constitution” in Sydenham’s series which succeeded the febrile one of 1661-64 was “pestilential fever.” It began in the end of 1664, lasted into the spring of 1665, and passed by an easy transition into the plague proper. The bills for those months have very large weekly totals of deaths from “fever,” as well as a good many deaths from “spotted fever,” before they begin to have more than an occasional death from plague. It is this particular form of typhus fever that Bateman had in mind when he wrote, in 1818, “We never see the pestilential fever of Sydenham and Huxham”; although Willan, who preceded him at the Carey Street dispensary, described in 1799 a fever of so fatal a type that it gave rise to the rumour that the plague was back in London. The term “pestilential” was technically applied to a kind of fever a degree worse than the “malignant.”

Willis, the earliest of the Restoration authorities on fevers, had three names in an ascending scale of severity—putrid, malignant and pestilential. The putrid fevers were what we might call idiopathic, engendered within the body in some way personal to the individual from “putrefaction” or fermentation of the humours; all the intermittents were included in that class, and the theory of their cure by bark was that the drug corrected putridity. In the malignant and pestilential, an altogether new element came in—the τὸ θεῖον of Hippocrates, the mysterious something which we call infection; and of these two infectious fevers, the malignant was milder than the pestilential[23].

Morton drew out the scale of fevers in an elaborate classification, of which only the last section of continued contagious fevers concerns us at present[24]:

Synochus { { { Simple Malignant Fever { Fever mostly with sweats and other signs of malignity, but without buboes, carbuncles, petechiae or miliary rash.

Pestilential Fever { Fever with petechiae, purple spots, miliaria, morbillous rash on the chest.

Plague { With buboes, carbuncles and black spots.

The order in this Table was also the order in time: the fever of 1661, which Willis calls malignant, remained as the constitution of the years following until the end of 1664; then began the pestilential, which passed definitely in the spring of 1665 into the plague proper. Willis, Sydenham and Morton, differing as they did on many points of theory and treatment, all alike taught the scale of malignity in fevers and plague, and all used the language of “constitutions.” The Great Plague of 1665 was, in their view, the climax of a succession of febrile constitutions of the air, being attended by much pestilential fever and followed by a fever which Morton places in the milder class of συνεχής.

The epidemic Constitutions following the Great Plague.

During the ten or twelve years following the Great Plague of London, the epidemic maladies which Sydenham dwelt most upon as the reigning types will appear on close scrutiny to have been on the whole proper to the earlier years of life. This cannot be shown in the simple way of figures; for the ages at death from the several maladies, although they were in the books of the Parish Clerks, were not published.

There was some continued fever every year, which we may take to have been chiefly the endemic typhus of a great city, and there were also deaths among adults due to those reigning epidemics which fell most on the young. In 1667 and 1668 the leading epidemic was smallpox, with a continued fever towards the end of the period which Sydenham called “variolous,” for no other reason, apparently, than that it was part of a variolous constitution. In the autumn of 1669, and in the three years following, the epidemic mortality was peculiarly infantile, in the form of diarrhoea or “griping in the guts,” with some dysentery of adults, and some measles in 1670. From 1673 to 1676, the constitution was a comatose fever, which chiefly affected children, with a sharp epidemic of measles in the first half of 1674, attended by a very high mortality from all causes, and a severe smallpox in the second half of 1674, attended by a much lower mortality from all causes. There was also an influenza for a few weeks in 1675. In 1678 the “intermittent” constitution returned, having been absent for thirteen years, and continued through 1779-80, until its “strength was broken.” In 1681 smallpox was unusually mortal, the deaths being more than in any previous year. Most of these constitutions fall to be dealt with fully in other chapters: but as we are here specially concerned with the succession to the plague, it is to be noted how largely the epidemic mortality in London fell upon the age of childhood for a number of years after the Great Plague of 1665. It was observed both by English and foreign writers that the next epidemic following the Black Death of 1348-49, namely, that of 1361 in England and of 1359-60 in some other parts of Europe, fell mostly upon children and upon the upper classes of adults. There is doubtless some particular application of the population principle in the earlier instance as in the later, but not the same application in both. The conditions at the beginning of the three hundred years’ reign of plague in Britain were different from those at the end of it. The increased prevalence of smallpox in the generation before the last great outburst of plague, and the infantile or puerile character of the epidemic fever of 1661, as described by Willis, show that the incidence of infectious mortality had already begun to shift towards the age of childhood. It looks as if the conditions of population, intricate and obscure as they must be confessed to be, were somehow determining what the reigning infectious maladies, with their special age-incidence, should be. Such a gradual change is the more probable for the reason that infectious mortality came in due time to be mostly an affair of childhood. The plague, which was the great infection of the later medieval and earlier modern period, was peculiarly fatal to adult lives; on the other hand, the mortality from infectious diseases in our own time falls in much the larger ratio upon infants and children. It looks as if this change, now so obvious, had begun before the end of plague in Britain, having become more marked in the generation following its extinction. The direct successor of plague, so far as concerns age-incidence and nosological affinity, was the pestilential or malignant typhus, which came into great prominence in 1685-86, in circumstances that seemed to contemporaries to forebode a return of the plague. But before we come to that, there remains a little to be said of some other fevers, especially of the comatose fever of 1673-76, which was largely an affair of childhood.

Pepys says that he went on 3 May, 1668, to Old Street (St Luke’s) to see Admiral Sir Thomas Teddiman, “who is very ill in bed of a fever,” and, in a later entry, that he “did die by a thrush in his mouth” on the 12th of May. Next year, 1669, Pepys and his wife went on tour through several parts of Europe, and had hardly returned to their house in Seething Lane when the lady fell ill of a fever; on 2nd November, it was “so severe as to render her recovery desperate,” and on 10th November she died, in her 29th year,—a surprising sequel, as her husband felt, to a “voyage so full of health and content.” These two years, for which we have a sample of the London fevers, were marked in the Netherlands by epidemics of fevers which are among the most extraordinary in the whole history. At Leyden in 1669 the fever reached such a height as to cut off 7000—a mortality which would not have been surprising if the disease had been plague; but it was not plague, it wanted the buboes, carbuncles &c., was longer in its course, and, strangest of all, affected the upper classes far more severely than the poor, so much so “that of seventy men administering the public affairs, scarcely two were left[25],” while, according to Fanois, who was the Leyden poor’s doctor, the lower classes, “protected as it were by having survived the simpler forms of fever,” suffered from this malignant epidemic far less than the rich[26]. The mortality is said to have risen as high as three-fourths of the attacks. At Haarlem the burials in a week rose to three or four hundred (which was a fair week’s average for London itself in an ordinary season), the epidemic lasting four months and leaving hardly one family untouched. Among the symptoms were extreme praecordial anxiety, weight at the pit of the stomach, constant nausea and loathing, vomiting, in part bilious but chiefly “pituitous,” thirst and restless tossing. It was attended by an affection of the throat and mouth—an angina with aphthae or thrush of the palate. The pools and other sources of water for domestic use were unusually stagnant that summer in Holland, and were commonly blamed for the epidemic; but Fanois points out that at Haarlem and Emden, where similar fevers raged, “salubriores non desunt aquae[27].”

After such an instance as the Leyden fever of 1669, nothing is incredible in the records of fever subsequent to the extinction of plague. Turning to Sydenham’s account of the continued fever which occurred in London during the same season, the latter half of 1669, as well as in the three years following, we find that it was characterized rarely by diarrhoea or sweats, commonly by pain in the head, by a moist white tongue which afterwards became covered by a dense skin, and by a greater tendency than Sydenham had ever seen to aphthae (the “thrush in the mouth” of Admiral Teddiman in 1668) when death threatened—the same being a “deposition from the blood of foul and acrid matter upon the mouth and throat.” But London in 1668 and 1669 suffered little from fevers in comparison to Leyden, Haarlem and other Dutch towns, its high mortality in the summer and autumn of 1669 being from infantile diarrhoea, cholera nostras and dysentery.

Sydenham’s continued fever from 1673 to 1676 (he was absent from his practice in 1677 owing to ill health) was a malady which affected adults as well as children, but, it would appear, the latter especially. The only characteristic case given is of a boy of nine who did not begin to mend until the thirtieth day. Many recovered in a fortnight, while others were not clear of the fever in a month. On account of the remarkable stupor which almost always attended it, Sydenham called the fever of this constitution a comatose fever. It began with sharp pains in the head and back, pains in the limbs, heats and chills, etc. His account of the comatose state is exactly like that given by Willis for the fever of children in 1661—profound stupor, sometimes for a week long, so profound in some as to pass into absolute aphonia (the “acute fever with dumbness” of later writers), while others would talk a few words in their sleep, or would seem to be angry or perturbed by something (the chimaeras mentioned by Willis) and would then become tranquil again; when roused to take physic or to drink they would open the eyes for a moment and then fall back into stupor. When they began to mend, they would crave for absurd things to eat or drink. During convalescence the head, through weakness, could not be kept straight but would incline first to one side and then to the other[28].

The years 1678-1680 witnessed remarkable epidemics of ague, such as had occurred on several occasions before, the last in the years 1657-59. They engross so much of Sydenham’s writing, especially in connexion with the Peruvian-bark controversy, that we hear little of any other fever until the great epidemic of continued fever, or typhus, in 1685-6. But he does mention briefly that the interval between the decline of the agues in 1680 and the beginning of the “new fever” of 1685, was occupied by “continued depuratory” fevers—depuratory of the dregs of the preceding intermittent constitution, and comparable in that respect to the fevers of 1661-64 which followed the agues of 1657-59[29].

Sydenham’s term “depuratory” does not help us much; but we learn something from Morton as to what fevers were prevalent, besides the epidemical intermittents, in the years preceding the epidemic of 1685-86. Morton classes them as continued συνεχής (Synocha), by which he means something less malignant than Synochus. A fever which began in the milder form would often degenerate into the more malignant, the cause assigned, in the usual recriminatory manner of the time between rival schools, being mistaken treatment. But sometimes the fever was malignant from the outset, with purple spots, petechiae, morbillous efflorescence, watery vesicles on the neck and breast, buboes, and anthraceous boils. All these fevers, says Morton, whether they were spurious forms of synocha, or malignant from the outset, were sporadic, “neque contagione, ut in pestilentiali constitutione, sese propagabant[30].” This points to their having been part of that strange aguish epidemic of which an account is given in another chapter. In Short’s abstracts of parish registers, the year 1680 seems to have been the most unhealthy of the series in country parishes, and that is borne out by one Lamport, or Lampard, an empiric who practised in Hampshire: “I will tell you somewhat concerning a malignant fever. In the year ’80 or ’81 there were great numbers of people died of such fevers, many whereby were taken with vomitings, etc., yet I had the good fortune to cure eighteen in the parish of Aldingbourn, not one dying, in that great compass, of that disease[31].” The moral is that the empiric recovered his cases, whereas the regular faculty lost theirs; which means that the fevers were of various degrees, some aguish, some typhus, as in the exactly similar circumstances a century after, 1780-85.

In the London Bills from 1681 to 1684, the deaths from fever were many, with some from “spotted fever” nearly every week, while the annual mortalities from all causes were high. It is the more remarkable, therefore, that Sydenham should have discovered, in the beginning of 1685, the outbreak of a new fever, different from any that had prevailed for seven years before. The explanation seems to be that a malignant typhus fever, such as might have been discovered in any year in the crowded parishes where the working classes lived, broke out at the Court end of the town, where Sydenham’s practice lay.

The epidemic fever of 1685-86.

A letter of 12 March, 1685, says: “Sir R. Mason died this morning in his lodging at Whitehall. A fever rages that proves very mortal, and gives great apprehensions of a plague[32].” Sydenham also was reminded of the circumstances preceding the Great Plague of London in 1665. In his first account of the epidemic of fever in 1685[33], which began with a thaw in February, he points out that the thaw in March, 1665, had been followed by pestilential fever and thereafter by the plague proper. In a later reference, when the epidemic of fever was in its second year (1686) he says: “How long it may last I shall not guess; nor do I quite know whether it may not be a certain more spirituous, subtle beginning, and as if primordium, of the former depuratory fever (1661-64) which was followed by the most terrible plague. There are some phenomena which so far incline me to that belief[34].” However, no plague followed the malignant, if not pestilential, fever of 1685-86. The reign of plague, as the event showed, was over; the fever which had been on former occasions its portent and satellite, came into the place of reigning disease. It is true that Sydenham does not identify the fever of 1685-86 by name as pestilential fever; on the contrary, he entitles his essay “De Novae Febris Ingressu.” But the novelty of type was partly in contrast to the fevers immediately preceding, which admitted treatment by bark, and its principal difference from the pestilential fever of former occasions seems to have been that it was not followed by plague[35]. Its antecedents and circumstances were very much those of plague itself. Its mortality was greatest in the old plague-seasons of summer and autumn, it had slight relation to famine or scarcity, or to other obvious cause of domestic typhus. Sydenham can find no explanation of the new constitution but “some secret and recondite change in the bowels of the earth pervading the whole atmosphere, or some influence of the celestial bodies.” He enlarges, however, on the character of the seasons preceding, which would have affected the surface, if not the bowels, of the earth, and the levels of the ground-water.

The winter of 1683-84 was one of intense frost; an ice-carnival was held on the Thames during the whole of January. The long dry frost of winter was followed by an excessively hot and dry summer, the drought being such as Evelyn did not remember, and as “no man in England had known.” For eight or nine months there had not been above one or two considerable showers, which came in storms. The winter of 1684-85 set in early, and became “a long and cruel frost,” more interrupted, however, than that of the year before. The spring was again dry, and it was not until the end of May 1685 that “we had plentiful rain after two years’ excessive drought and severe winters[36].”

The two years of excessive drought, with severe winters, had their effect upon the public health, as will appear from Short’s abstracts of parish registers in town and country[37]; the years 1683-85 being conspicuous for the excess of burials over baptisms:

Country Parishes.

Year Registers examined Registers with excess of death Deaths in them Births in them

1683 140 37 923 685

1684 140 31 900 629

1685 140 19 574 478

1686 140 16 419 301

1687 143 19 522 427

1688 143 11 327 267

Towns.

1683 25 8 1398 1169

1684 25 8 1243 865

1685 25 4 1191 741

1686 25 2 555 418

1687 25 1 313 269

1688 25 2 191 146

There is no clue to the forms of sickness that caused the excessive mortality in country parishes and provincial towns. But in London it appears from the Bills that the one great cause of the unusual excess of deaths in 1684 was an enormous mortality from infantile diarrhoea, from the end of July to the middle of September, during the weather which Evelyn describes as excessively hot and dry with occasional storms of rain.

It was in the second year of the long drought, February, 1685, that Sydenham dated the beginning of his new febrile constitutions. The mortality of 1685 was just twenty deaths more than in 1684 (23,222); but fever (with spotted fever) and smallpox had each a thousand more out of the total than in the year before. Sydenham says that the fever did not spare children, which might be alleged of typhus at all times; but a fever of the kind, even if it ran through the children of a household, seldom cut off the very young, the mortality being in greatest part of adults and adolescents. Excepting smallpox for the year 1685, infantile and children’s maladies were not prominent during the constitution of the “new fever;” the usual items of high infantile mortality, such as convulsions and “griping in the guts” or infantile diarrhoea, were moderate and even low. Hence, although the weekly fever-deaths in the following Table may not appear sufficient for the professional and other interest that they excited, it is to be kept in mind that they had been mostly of adult lives. It is probable also that a good many of them had been among the well-to-do, and perhaps at first in the West End; for there is nothing in the height of the weekly bills for all London to bear out the remark of the letter of 12 March, already quoted, “A fever rages that proves very mortal and gives apprehensions of a plague.”

Weekly Mortalities in London.

1685.

Week ending Dead Of fever Of spotted fever Of smallpox Of griping in the guts

March 3 376 49 0 11 35

10 458 73 2 30 31

17 367 53 1 25 17

24 441 63 3 33 27

31 366 53 5 24 36

April 7 421 47 10 28 30

14 433 64 8 32 27

21 473 66 6 47 45

28 470 68 3 49 45

May 5 385 50 6 35 39

12 447 75 3 59 41

19 437 79 4 58 43

26 452 61 2 74 39

June 2 469 65 8 65 36

9 521 88 14 62 41

16 499 91 9 66 34

23 478 76 12 71 53

30 526 82 13 84 45

July 7 497 81 8 87 53

14 478 82 11 78 51

21 464 79 11 87 47

28 488 62 6 68 54

Aug. 4 493 82 5 86 51

11 529 109 13 89 47

18 580 74 13 99 71

25 536 91 7 67 85

Sept. 1 556 94 13 53 104

8 539 82 10 81 77

15 485 90 7 63 70

22 459 90 10 37 51

29 502 114 3 58 53

Oct. 6 444 108 11 40 54

13 445 89 13 61 38

20 369 86 5 40 28

27 379 73 7 29 45

Nov. 3 443 96 8 55 43

10 410 84 7 26 35

17 432 103 8 35 39

24 471 107 6 56 31

Dec. 1 384 87 4 36 24

8 452 98 8 49 24

15 403 69 3 29 47

22 438 99 2 34 27

29 432 80 9 28 28

Weekly Mortalities in London.

1686.

Week ending Dead Of fever Of spotted fever Of smallpox Of griping in the guts

Jan. 5 394 80 5 28 29

12 400 80 3 27 48

19 396 67 5 36 32

26 366 76 2 21 30

Feb. 2 452 87 8 16 30

9 416 78 5 37 30

16 405 94 9 20 25

23 419 74 7 16 40

March 2 417 84 1 20 37

9 455 95 6 18 30

16 415 71 10 31 21

23 453 78 11 22 46

30 372 58 8 17 35

April 6 392 80 11 13 27

13 393 72 7 21 29

20 420 61 10 26 37

27 471 99 9 27 22

May 4 429 78 21 28 46

11 374 71 6 16 22

18 395 69 5 17 3 (sic)

25 395 66 11 24 36

June 1 383 63 4 15 49

8 404 66 6 26 38

15 523 88 9 43 64

22 503 99 9 25 73

29 473 90 10 31 62

July 6 430 71 6 18 62

13 401 76 2 19 56

20 464 87 14 24 74

27 508 99 3 23 76

Aug. 3 506 86 9 14 90

10 493 74 7 14 104

17 522 99 7 26 101

24 536 115 5 18 104

31 520 90 8 22 93

Sept. 7 531 94 4 21 104

14 498 84 6 18 110

21 540 100 3 17 101

28 443 90 5 13 67

Oct. 5 425 81 4 13 60

12 432 96 2 9 56

19 391 73 1 9 33

26 402 79 3 11 43

Nov. 2 373 64 1 23 39

9 456 85 1 19 31

16 401 73 2 9 23

23 359 61 4 10 54

30 397 68 1 7 34

Dec. 7 359 76 0 9 21

14 438 60 0 8 46

21 354 49 1 8 39

28 356 53 2 9 32

Sydenham says that he regarded the new fever at first as nothing more than the “bastard peripneumony” which he had described for previous seasons; but he had soon cause to see that it wanted the violent cough, the racking pain in the head during coughing, the giddiness caused by the slightest movement, and the excessive dyspnoea of the latter (Huxham likewise distinguished typhus from “bastard peripneumony”). The early symptoms of the “new fever” were alternating chills and flushings, pain in the head and limbs, a cough, which might go off soon, with pain in the neck and throat. The fever was a continued one, with exacerbation towards evening; it was apt to change into a phrensy, with tranquil or muttering delirium; petechiae and livid blotches were brought out in some cases (Sydenham thought they were caused by cordials and a heating regimen), and there were occasional eruptions of miliary vesicles. The tongue might be moist and white at the edges for a time, latterly brown and dry. Clammy sweats were apt to break out, especially from the head. If the brain became the organ most touched, the fever-heat declined, the pulse became irregular, and jerking of the limbs came on before death.

Later writers, for example those who described the great epidemic fever of 1741, have identified the fever of 1685-86 with the contagious malignant fever afterwards called typhus, and Murchison, in his brief retrospect of typhus in Britain, has included it under that name. Sydenham mentions petechiae and livid blotches in some cases, and the Bills give a good many of the deaths in the worst weeks of the epidemic under the head of “spotted fever.” It is not at first easy to understand why Sydenham should have written an essay specially upon it, in September, 1686, to claim it as a new fever[38] and not rather as the old pestilential fever—“populares meos admonens de subingressu novae cujusdam Constitutionis, a qua pendet Febris nova species, a nuper grassantibus multum abludens.” It should be kept in mind that his motive was correct treatment, and that the fashionable treatment of the day by Peruvian bark was, in his judgment, unsuited to this fever, however much it may have suited the epidemical intermittents of 1678-79 and the “depuratory” dregs of them for several years after. Physicians, he says, had learned to drive off by bark the fevers of the former constitution, from 1677 to the beginning of 1685, even when the fever intermitted little and sometimes when it intermitted not at all; and they saw an indication for bark in the nocturnal exacerbations of the new fever. Sydenham found that even large doses of bark did not free the patient from fever, and that restoration to health under treatment with the bark was due “magis fortunato alicui morbi eventu quam corticis viribus.” He seeks to establish the indications for another treatment by setting forth the symptoms minutely; and as the question of bark in fevers was the great medical question of the time, this may well have been Sydenham’s motive for discovering in the epidemic of 1685-6 a “new fever” although he does not say so in as many words. We have a good instance of how the bark-craze was at this time influencing the very highest circles of practice in the case of Lord Keeper Guildford, in July, 1685, as related in another chapter.

It will be seen from the table of weekly deaths that the second of the two hard winters was over before the fever began to attract notice. Sydenham compares its beginning after the thaw in February, 1685, to the beginning of the plague when the frost broke in March, 1665.

If it had been merely the typhus of a hard winter, of overcrowding indoors, of work and wages stopped by the frost, and of want of fuel (which things Evelyn mentions as matters of fact), it would have come sooner than the spring of 1685. The Bills for years before have regularly a good many deaths from fever, and always some from spotted fever; but these may have come from parishes wholly beyond the range of Sydenham’s practice. The fever began definitely for him in February, 1685, and was at its worst in the old plague-seasons of summer and autumn. If the seasons had any relation at all to it, the epidemic was a late effect of the long drought, an effect which was manifested most when the rain came, in the summer of 1685 and throughout the mild winter and normal summer of 1685-86. It must have been for that reason that Sydenham traced the source of it to “some secret and recondite change in the bowels of the earth,” rather than to a change in the sensible qualities of the air. One must ever bear in mind that the physicians of the Restoration gave no thought to insanitary conditions of living; in that respect the later Stuart period seems to have been behind the Elizabethan or even the medieval; we cannot err in assuming, behind all Sydenham’s speculative causes, a great deal of unwholesomeness indoors. Sydenham’s fullest reference to the subterranean sources of poisonous miasmata occurs in his tractate on Gout:

“Whether it be that the bowels of the earth, if one may so speak, undergo various changes, so that by the accession of vapours exhaled therefrom the air is disturbed, or that the whole atmosphere is infected by a change which some peculiar conjunction of certain of the heavenly bodies induces in it;—the matter so falls out that at this or that time the air is furnished with particles that are adverse to the economy of the human body, just as at another time it is impregnated with particles of a like kind that agree ill with the bodies of some species of brute animals. At these times, as often as by inspiration we draw into the naked blood miasmata of this kind, noxious and inimical to nature, and we fall into those epidemical diseases which they are apt to produce, Nature raises a fever,—her accustomed means of vindicating the blood from some hostile matter. And such diseases are commonly called epidemical; and they are short and sharp because they have thus a quick and violent movement[39].”

It was Sydenham’s intimate friend Robert Boyle who worked out the hypothesis of subterraneous miasmata as a cause of epidemic (and endemic) diseases. An account of his theory will be found in the chapter on Influenzas and Epidemic Agues. It may be said here that it needs only a few changes, especially the substitution of organic for inorganic matters in the soil, to bring it into line with the modern doctrine of miasmatic infective disease as expounded by the Munich school.

It has not been usual to think of spotted fever, (or of influenzas), in that connexion; but a telluric source of the epidemic constitution of 1685-86 was clearly Sydenham’s view; and as the fever came in circumstances like those of the last great plague, and was thought at the time to be the forerunner of another great plague, its connexion with recondite decompositions in the soil, dependent on the phenomenal drought of two whole years before, cannot be set aside as a possibility, the less so that the fever, although of the type of typhus, was not a fever of cold, hunger, and domestic distress, but mainly of the warm, or mild, or soft weather following the long drought, and of many well-to-do-people, as in the great Netherlands fever of 1669. My view of it is that it was the modified successor of plague, the pestis mitior, which used to precede and accompany the plague, now become the dominant constitution. The authentic figures of its mortality come from London; but Sydenham says that its “effects were felt far more in other places”; although Short’s abstracts of parish registers, given above, do not indicate excessive mortality throughout England.

Retrospect of the great Fever of 1623-25.

The most instructive instance of pestis mitior in Britain is not the pestilential fever which led up to the last plague (1665-6), but the great epidemic of fever all over England and Scotland which reigned for two or three years before the great outburst of plague in 1625. I go back to this because it was not wholly or even mainly a famine fever (although it was as general as one of the medieval famine-fevers), and because in that respect it furnishes a close parallel to the fever of 1685-86, which I regard as the successor of the plague. After this interlude in the history, we shall proceed to consider the question of the final extinction of plague.

In Scotland the fever of 1622-23 was directly connected with famine, but in England it was not obviously so according to the records that remain. The dearth in Scotland began as early as the autumn of 1621: “Great skarsitie of cornes throw all the kingdome,” the harvest having been spoiled by wet weather and unheard of river floods; however, abundance of foreign victual came in, and the scarcity was got over[40]. In England the same harvest of oats was abundant, and probably yielded the “foreign victual” which relieved the Scots; but the price of wheat rose greatly[41]. It was the year following, 1622, that really brought famine and famine-sickness to Scotland, as the second of two bad harvests had always done. On 21 July, 1622, a fast was proclaimed at Aberdeen for “the present plague of dearth and famine, and the continuance thereof threatened by tempests, inundations and weets likely to rot the fruit on the ground[42].”

In an entry of the Chronicle of Perth, subsequent to July, 1622, it is said: “In this yeir about the harvest and efter, thair wes suche ane universall seikness in all the countrie as the ellyke hes not bene hard of. But speciallie in this burgh, that no familie in all the citie was frie of this visitation. Thair was also great mortalitie amonge the poore.” From which it appears that the autumnal fever of 1622 was among all classes in Scotland. The famine in Scotland became more acute in the spring and summer of 1623; the country swarmed with beggars, and in July, says Calderwood, the famine increased daily until “many, both in burgh and land, died of hunger.” At Perth ten or twelve died every day from Midsummer to Michaelmas; the disease was not the plague, but a fever[43]. At Dumfries 492 died during the first ten months of 1623, perhaps a ninth part of the inhabitants, about one hundred of the deaths being specially marked as of “poor[44].” The “malignant spotted fever” which caused numerous deaths in 1623 in Wigton, Penrith and Kendal is clearly part of the famine-fever of Scotland extending to the Borders and crossing them. This is a famine-fever of the old medieval type, like that of 1196 which, according to William of Newburgh “crept about everywhere,” always the same acute fever, putting an end to the miseries of the starving, but attacking also those who had food.

The same spotted fever was all over England in 1623, but it did not, as in Scotland, come in the wake of famine. It is true that the English harvest of 1622 was a good deal spoiled; a letter of 25 September says[45]: “Though the latter part of this summer proved so far seasonable, yet the harvest is scant, and corn at a great price by reason of the mildews and blasting generally over the whole realm,” rye being quoted a few weeks later at 7/- the bushel and wheat at 10/-, although the average of wheat for the year, in Rogers’s tables, is not more than 51/1d. per quarter, while the average of next year falls to 37/8d. These were not famine-prices in England, and there is no evidence of general sickness directly after the harvest of 1622, when corn was dearest. Also, although the autumn of 1623 was a time of “continual wet” in England[46], the price of wheat remained moderate, and even low as compared with the rather stiff price of the winter of 1622-23. But it was not until the summer and autumn of 1623 that the spotted fever became epidemic in England. Short’s abstracts of the registers of market towns show how sickly that year was:

Year. No. of registers examined. No. with excess of burials. Buried in the same. Baptised in the same.

1622 25 4 442 345

1623 25 16 2254 439 (sic)

1624 25 9 978 714

1625 25 9 666 563

In September, 1623, the corporation of Stamford made a collection “in this dangerous time of visitation,” and sent £10 of it to Grantham, the rest to go “to London or some other town, as occasion offered.” A London letter of 6 December, 1623, from Chamberlain to Carleton says[47]:—

“Here is a contagious spotted or purple fever that reigns much, which, together with the smallpox, hath taken away many of good sort, as well as meaner people.” He then gives the names of notables dead of it, and adds: “Yet many escape, as the dean of St Paul’s [Dr Donne, who used the occasion to compile a manual of devotion] is like to do, though he were in great danger.” One of the Coke family writes early in January, 1624, from London[48]: “Having two sons at Cambridge, we sent for them to keep Christmas with us, and not many days after their coming my eldest son Joseph fell suddenly into the sickness of the time which they call the spotted fever, and which after two days’ extremity took away his life.” From another letter it appears that one of his symptoms was “not being able to sleep,” the unmistakable vigil of typhus. Although there is no word of the epidemic continuing in Scotland in 1624, it was undoubtedly as prevalent in England in that year as the year before, and prevalent in country houses as well as in towns and cities. Thus, on 7 August, 1624, Chamberlain writes: “The [king’s] progress is now so far off that we hear little thence, but only that there be many sick of the spotted ague, which took away the Duke of Lennox in a few days. He died at Kirby,” a country house in Northamptonshire[49]. On 21 August he writes again: “This spotted fever is cousin-german to it [the plague] at least, and makes as quick riddance almost. The Lady Hatton hath two or three of her children sick of it at her brother Fanshaw’s in Essex, and hath lost her younger daughter, that was buried at Westminster on Wednesday night by her father; a pretty gentlewoman, much lamented.” A letter of 4 September says there was excessive mortality in London, in great part among children (doubtless from the usual infantile trouble of a hot autumn, diarrhoea), while “most of the rest are carried away by this spotted fever, which reigns almost everywhere, in the country as ill as here.” Sir Theodore Mayerne, the king’s physician, confirms this, under date 20 August, 1624: the purple fever, he says, was “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[50]. It was clearly an inexplicable visitation. The summer was hot and dry, from which character of the season, says Chamberlain, “some have found out a far-fetched speculation, which yet runs current, and would ascribe it [the spotted fever] to the extraordinary quantity of cucumbers this year, which the gardeners, to hasten and bring forward, used to water out of the next ditches, which this dry time growing low, noisome and stinking, poisoned the fruit. But,” adds Chamberlain, “that reason will reach no farther than this [London] town, whereas the mortality is spread far and near, and takes hold of whole households in many places.” He then gives the names of several eminent persons dead of it, and speaks of others who were “still in the balance[51].” On 9 October, “the town continues sickly still,” and Parliament had been put off, “in consideration of the danger,” from 2 November, 1624, to 15 February, 1625. On Ash Wednesday, 1625, the Marquis of Hamilton died of the pestilent fever at Moor Park, Rickmansworth. Thus far there had been no plague; and if the spotted fever were cousin-german to the plague, as Chamberlain said, it was remarkable in this that it prevailed in the mansions of the rich in town and country and took off more victims among the upper classes than the plague itself even in its most terrific outbursts. However, a plague of the first rank followed in London and elsewhere in the summer and autumn of 1625.

The cucumber-theory, above mentioned, shows how puzzled people must have been to account for the spotted fever, or “spotted ague” as it was also called, in 1624. Sir Theodore Mayerne did not think contagion from person to person could explain it, but referred it to “some universal disposing cause.” It is conceivable that the famine-fever of 1622 and 1623 in Scotland and the Marches may have spread by contagion into England in the latter year; but in 1624 there is nothing said of fever in Scotland or of scarcity as a primary cause in England.

Besides the famine-fever of Scotland in 1622-23, there was another associated thing which should not be left out of account. Before the famine and fever had begun in that country, the notorious Hungarian fever was raging in the Palatinate, and continued to rage for four years. “Hungarian fever” had become the dreaded name for war-typhus of a peculiar malignity and diffusive power. It had been so often engendered since the 16th century in campaigns upon Hungarian soil as to have become known everywhere under the name of that country. Its infection spread, also, everywhere through Europe; thus it is said to have even reached England in 1566, and again in 1589, although it is not easy to find English evidence of it for either year. It was this type of fever which broke out in the Upper Palatinate, occupied by troops of the Catholic powers, in 1620, and continued through the years 1621, 1622 and 1623; as the title of one of the essays upon this outbreak somewhat fantastically declares, it spread “ex castris ad rastra, ex rastris ad rostra, ab his ad aras et focos[52].” Was the epidemic constitution of “spotted ague” in England in 1623 and 1624 derived from the centre of famine-fever in Scotland, or from the centre of camp-fever in the Palatinate? In the last years of James I. communications were frequent with the latter country, and there was of course much intercourse with Scotland.

The spotted fever or spotted ague of 1623-24, the plague of 1625, and the country agues of the same autumn make really a more instructive series of epidemic constitutions than any that fell under Sydenham’s observation, so instructive, indeed, that it has seemed worth while to revert to it for the sake of illustrating the doctrine of epidemics then in vogue. That doctrine made little of contagion from person to person; yet the idea of contagion was familiar, and had been so since medieval times. If we might assume contagion to explain such cases as those that occurred in the houses of squires and nobles, we might find a source of it either in the famine-fever of Scotland or in the war-fever of the Palatinate. But the teaching of the time was that it was in the air; and if the infective principle had been generated either in Scotland or on the upper Rhine it had diffused itself in some inscrutable way. The doctrine of epidemic constitutions seems strange to us; but some of the facts that it was meant to embrace are also strange to us. Were it not for an occasional reminder from influenza, we should hardly believe that any fevers could have travelled as the Hungarian fevers, the spotted fevers or “spotted agues” of former times are said to have done.

On the other hand, we have now a scientific doctrine of the effects of great fluctuations of the ground-water upon the production of telluric miasmata, which may be used to rationalize the theory of emanations adopted by Sydenham and Boyle. From this modern point of view the remarkable droughts preceding the pestilential fevers and plagues of 1624-25 and 1665, and preceding the fever of 1685-86, which is the one that immediately concerns us, may be not without significance.

The London fever of 1685-86 having been suspected at the time to be the forerunner of a plague, as other such fevers in the earlier part of the century had been, and no plague having ensued, the question arises most naturally at this stage, why the plague should have never come back in London or elsewhere in Britain after the great outbreak of 1665-66.

The extinction of Plague in Britain.

Plague had been the grand infective disease of Britain from the year of the Black Death, 1348-9, for more than three centuries, down to 1666. The last of plague in Scotland was in 1647-8, in the west and north-west of England about 1650 (in Wales probably in 1636-8), in Ireland in 1650, and in all other parts of the kingdom including London in 1666, the absolute last of its provincial prevalence having been at Peterborough in the first months of 1667[53], while two or three occasional deaths continued to occur annually in London down to 1679. False reports of plague, contradicted by public advertisement, were circulated for Bath in 1675[54], and for Newcastle in 1710[55]; while in London as late as 1799, during a bad time of typhus fever, the occurrence of plague was alleged[56].

It is not easy to say why the plague should have died out. It had been continuous in England from 1348, at first in general epidemics, all over the country in certain years, thereafter mostly in the towns, either in great explosions at long intervals or at a moderate level for years together. The final outburst in 1665, which was one of the most severe in its whole history, had followed an unusually long period of freedom from plague in London, and was followed, as it were, by a still longer period of freedom until at last it could be said that the plague was extinct. In some large towns it had been extinct, as the event showed, at a much earlier date; thus at York the last known epidemic was in 1604, and it can hardly be doubted that many other towns in England, Scotland and Ireland would have closed their records of plague earlier than they did had not the sieges and military occupations of the Civil Wars given especial occasion for the seeds of the infection to spring into life. Plague seemed to be dying out all over England and Scotland (in Ireland it is little heard of except in connexion with the Elizabethan and Cromwellian conquests) for some time before its final grand explosion in London in 1665.

In seeking for the causes of its decline and extinction we must keep prominently in view the fact that the virus was brought into the country from abroad as the Black Death of 1348-9. But for that importation it is conceivable that there would have been no signal history of plague in Britain. Its original prevalence was on a great scale, and there were several other widespread epidemics throughout the rest of the 14th century. In the first volume of this history I have collected evidence that plague was endemic or steady for long periods of the 15th and 16th centuries in London, with greater outbursts at intervals, and that in the 17th century it came chiefly in great explosions. Something must have served to keep the virus in the country, and more especially in the towns, until at length it was exhausted. An exotic infection, or one that had not arisen from indigenous conditions, and would probably never have so arisen, does not remain indefinitely in the country to which it is imported. Thus Asiatic cholera, imported into Europe on six, or perhaps five, occasions in the 19th century, has never become domesticated; and yellow fever had a career in the southern provinces of Spain during some twenty years only. Plague did become domesticated for about three centuries in England, and for longer in some other countries of Europe; but it died out at length, and it would almost certainly have died out sooner had it not found in all European countries some conditions not altogether unsuited to it. What were the favouring conditions?

If, as I believe, the virus of plague had its habitat in the soil, from which it rose in emanations, and if it depended therein, both remotely for its origin in some distant country, as well as immediately for its continuance in all countries, upon the decomposition of human bodies, then it is easy to understand that the immense mortalities caused by each epidemic would preserve the seeds of the disease, or the crude matters of the disease, in the soil. Buried plague-bodies would be the most obvious sources of future plagues. But if the theory given of the Black Death be correct, bodies dead of famine or famine-fever would also favour in an especial way the continuance of the plague-virus in certain spots of ground, although they would probably never have originated it in this country. Moreover, the products of ordinary cadaveric decomposition would be so much pabulum or nutriment for the continuance of the virus. But all those things being constant, the continuance of plague would largely depend upon the manner in which the dead, after plague, or after famine and fever, or in general, were disposed of. The soil of all England in 1348-9 was filled with multitudes of the dead laid in trenches, and there were several general revivals of plague in the fifty or sixty years following. In London there were plague-pits opened in the suburbs in many great epidemics during three centuries. Even when there was no epidemic the dead were laid in the ground in such a manner that their resolution was speedy, and the diffusion of the products unchecked. But it is undoubted that greater care in the disposal of the dead did at length come into vogue. Thus, in the Black Book of the Corporation of Tewkesbury there is an entry under the year 1603, that all those dead of plague, “to avoid the perill, were buried in coffins of bourde,” the disease having carried off no fewer than 560 the year before (1602) and being then in its second season.[57]. The reason given is “to avoid the peril,” and it is beyond question that burial in a coffin did in fact delay decomposition (unless in peculiar circumstances which need not be particularized), and kept the cadaveric products from passing quickly and freely into the pores of the ground. Again, if the burial were in such coffins as the Chinese commonly use, the decomposition would proceed almost as slowly as if the body had been embalmed, and with as little risk of befouling the soil. For a long time in England such burials were the privilege only of the rich; but as wealth increased by commerce they became the privilege of all classes; and in the last great plague of London, as I said in my former volume, “even at the worst time coffins would seem to have been got for most.” Defoe’s account of the burials in heaps in plague-pits is so exactly like that of Dekker for the plague of 1603, and of other contemporaries for the plague of 1625, that one may reasonably suspect him to have used these earlier accounts as his authority for the practice in 1665, which he had no direct knowledge of. However, I do not contend that there were no such burials in 1665; just as one learns from Dekker that the coffin-makers in 1603 were busily employed and grew rich, although he also describes how a husband “saw his wife and his deadly enemy whom he hated” launched into the pit “within a pair of sheets.” In ordinary times, as we learn from the tables of burial-dues, there were poorer interments without coffins as late as 1628, according to a document printed by Spelman, the name of the parish being withheld, and even as late as 1672 in the parish of St Giles’s, Cripplegate. Spelman’s object in writing in 1641 was to protest against the mercenary practices of the clergy in the matter of burial, recalling the numerous canons of the medieval Church directed against all such forms of simony; and incidentally he mentions that it was testified before the Commissioners that a certain parson “had made forty pound of one grave in ten yeeres, by ten pounds at a time”[58]—a “tenancy of the soil” short enough to satisfy even the so-called Church of England Burial Reform Association. The use of coffins in the burial of the very poorest is now so universal that we hardly realize how gradually it was introduced. I am unable to say when burial in a sheet or cerecloth ceased; but it became less and less the rule for the poorer classes throughout the 17th century. In 1666 was passed the Act for burial in woollen, which was re-enacted more strictly in 1678[59]. The motive of it was to encourage the native woollen manufactures, or to prevent the money of the country from being expended on foreign-made linen; and its clauses ordained that woollen should be substituted for linen in the lining of the coffin and in the shrouding of the corpse, but that no penalty should be exacted for burying in linen any that shall die of the plague. Whether it prohibited in effect the use of linen cerecloths to enshroud corpses where no coffin was used does not appear clearly from the terms of the Act; but, as the intention was to discourage the use of linen, and to bring in the use of woollen, for all purposes of burial, it is probable that it served to put an end to coffinless burials altogether, wherever it was enforced, inasmuch as the prescribed material was wholly unsuited for the purpose of a cerecloth.

The history of the London plague-pit between Soho and the present Regent Street shows that, after the last great plague of 1665-66, more caution was used against infection from the buried plague-bodies. Macaulay says it was popularly believed that the earth was deeply tainted with infection, and could not be disturbed without imminent risk to human life; and he asserts that no foundations were laid in the pest-field till two generations had passed and till the spot had long been surrounded with buildings, the space being left blank in maps of London as late as the end of George I.’s reign[60].

After 1666 the old churchyards were not less crowded than before, but more crowded, perhaps because coffined corpses occupied more space and decayed more slowly. On 17 October, 1672, Evelyn paid a visit to Norwich: “I observed that most of the churchyards (tho’ some of them large enough) were filled up with earth, or rather the congestion of dead bodys one upon another, for want of earth, even to the very top of the walls, and some above the walls, so as the churches seemed to be built in pitts.” The same day he had visited Sir Thomas Browne, the author of the famous essay on urn burial or cremation, (suggested to him by the digging up of forty or fifty funeral urns in a field at Old Walsingham). The essay is full of curious learning and equally curious moralizing. But Sir Thomas, though a physician, has not a word to say on so proximate a topic as the state of the Norwich churchyards, which came under his eyes and perhaps under his nose every day of his life[61].

The practice of burying in coffins, which came at length within the means of all classes, may seem too paltry a cause to assign, even in part, for so remarkable an effect as the absolute disappearance of plague after a duration of more than three centuries. My view of the matter is that the virus would have died out of itself had it not been continually augmented, or fed by its appropriate pabulum, and that the gradual change in the mode of interment helped to check such augmentation or feeding.

But the more elaborate interment of the dead was itself an index of the greater spending power of the community, and it may be said that it was the better condition of the people, and not this one particular thing in it, which put an end to the periodical recurrences of plague. In all but its earliest outbursts in the fourteenth, and perhaps the fifteenth century, plague had been peculiarly an infection of the poor, being known as “the poor’s plague.” Perhaps the chief reason why the richer classes usually escaped it was that they fled from the plague-tainted place, leaving the poorer classes unable to stir from their homes, exposed to the infectious air, and all the more exposed that their habitual employments and wages would cease, their sustenance become precarious, their condition lowered, and their manners reckless. Again, it was not unusual for the plague to break out in a season of famine or scarcity, during which the ordinary risks of the labouring class would be aggravated. Famines ceased (except in Ireland, where there had been comparatively little plague), and scarcities became less common. The sieges and occupations of the Civil Wars in the middle of the 17th century, which undoubtedly were the occasion of the last outbursts of plague in many of the towns, were a brief experience, followed by unbroken tranquillity. Whatever things were tending to the removal of plague in all its old seats had free course thereafter.

On the other hand, one may make too much of the increase of well-being among the labouring class which coincided with the cessation of plague. As a check upon population plague worked in a very remarkable way. In London, as well as in towns like Newcastle and Chester, plague towards the end of its reign arose perhaps once in a generation and made a clean sweep of a fifth or a fourth part of the inhabitants, including hardly any of the well-to-do. It destroyed, of course, many bread-winners and many that were not absolutely sunk in poverty; but its broad effect was to cut off the margin of poverty as if by a periodical process of pruning. The Lord Mayor of London wrote to the Privy Council at the end of the great plague of 1625: “The great mortality, although it had taken many poor people away, yet had made more poverty by decay of tradesmen”—a decay of trade which they might reasonably expect to recover from before long. No such ruthless shears was ever applied at intervals to the growing fringe of poverty in after times. The poor were a more permanent residue, pressing more upon each other; but they did not press more upon the rich, except through the poor rate; on the contrary, the separation of classes became more marked.