The Clutches of Death

I sit here uneasily on an unmade bed, stripped bare of bed sheets and pillows. All around me I hear the groans of the plague victims in nearby rooms. My room smells heavily of excessive lavender and rosemary in attempt to mask the stench of blood, pus and sweat. Traces of amber, saltpetre and brimstone remain on the hot coals in the fire, evidence of a recent fumigation to rid pestilence. But I am grateful that I am able to stay here in one of the rooms of this abandoned merchants home.

I sit in terror and mourning. Mourning the loss of my mother to the plague, the loss of my mistress's young daughter and the loss of so many people suffering this terrible disease. And I fear that I will be next, next to join the endless list of victims, next to be led home by the great angel of death. As I sit I hear one of the maids exclaiming that we have another room death and another vacant room for someone in need, just as I was told only moments after arriving here. Another room vacated by the death of another victim, a room still filled with the stench of plague. I sit and remember how I got here, why I got here and how much these few short months has taken from me.

I used to live with a very wealthy family, daughter of their head maid and cook. But last month my mother caught the plague. Last week it killed her. Although I am 14, and fully able to work, they sent me out of the estate for fear that I would have the plague too. I don't blame them. A few days before my mother's death their dear daughter Tilly died of plague too.

So I was left to wander the streets in search of a place to stay. As I walked down the filthy streets of London town this morning, I couldn't help thinking how times had changed. Not only had the plague struck once more, but had it been any other ordinary morning, I would have been overjoyed to be allowed away from the estate. Before now I had only left a few times to visit the apothecary with my dear mother. God bless her soul.

Although I had been born and raised in London I had never really left the estate since my mother moved there after my father died in a brawl shortly after my birth. I had never met my father and had never really known, or even really had, a home. Because of this I walked the filthy streets completely unaware of what was happening and where I was going.

As I wandered aimlessly down the alleys I could hear the loud clanging of bells and the occasional scream of women being robbed. A few mangy stray dogs ran from the angry dog catcher. Plague infested rats scampered freely about as the cull of cats and dogs had left them no predators and we humans refused to touch them. I had never seen a place so filt

The foul smell, of excess sewerage hung high in the air, alongside the stench of blood, sweat, vomit and the sickening and terrible smell of rotting bodies. The occasional screams of delusional plague stricken souls, who were waiting for the angel of death to put them out of their misery rang in the hot smoky air. In very street blazing fires roared in attempt to rid the air of plague.

The few people on the streets rushed to apothecaries and churches to pray and collect supplies for plague remedies and preventative measures, ranging from lucky tokens and prayers on paper to swallowing crushed emeralds for those who could afford. Other people rushed to the Old Bailey in hope of receiving official documents that showed they were safe to flee to other places to escape the plague. Doctors wearing strange cloaks and beaklike masks ran from house to house, each house with a door bearing a red cross to show that the plague lurked within.

All through the streets terrified housewives and maids stopped to discuss what they believed had caused the plague and household remedies to prevent and cure it, then would quickly be on their way. All around me the evident sense of fear and havoc was growing stronger. Many people had been locked up in their houses and had to send watchmen on errands and search for food. Many of the watchmen would simply take the money and leave.

The entire city has crumbled to ruins. Even if not held in the clutches of the plague, lack of food, lack of money and lack of fresh air will be the death of us all if life continues along this course much longer. I am sure that all that can speak are praying for a miracle, I sure am.

But I almost wish that the angel of death will come for me, so I can be with Tilly and mother, and that after so long I can meet my father at last. Mother always said that he was a good man and that his death was a shocking unexpected loss. I know that my parents can see me now and I hope that if I cannot join them, that they will guide me through this tragedy and help me survive and bring pride to the family name. For if I were to die that would be the end of our family line, and with no relatives, we would be erased from history. And I would truly dread that.

But now I must try to get to sleep. I will have to be well rested if I am to have any chance to live through this time for however long it may last. I hope that after this, London will rise again from its ashes and that if I am not alive to see it, that I will be up with the holy lord with my mother and father by my side.