| 385 | 386 | 387 | 388 | 389 |
| 1 | 154 | 308 | 461 | 615 |
|
CHAPTER IX.
HALF England was desolate, when October came, and the equinoctial winds
swept over the earth, chilling the ardours of the unhealthy season. The
summer, which was uncommonly hot, had been protracted into the beginning of
this month, when on the eighteenth a sudden change was brought about from
summer temperature to winter frost. Pestilence then made a pause in her
death-dealing career. Gasping, not daring to name our hopes, yet full even
to the brim with intense expectation, we stood, as a ship-wrecked sailor
stands on a barren rock islanded by the ocean, watching a distant vessel,
fancying that now it nears, and then again that it is bearing from sight.
This promise of a renewed lease of life turned rugged natures to melting
tenderness, and by contrast filled the soft with harsh and unnatural
sentiments. When it seemed destined that all were to die, we were reckless
of the how and when--now that the virulence of the disease was mitigated,
and it appeared willing to spare some, each was eager to be among the
elect, and clung to life with dastard tenacity. Instances of desertion
became more frequent; and even murders, which made the hearer sick with
horror, where the fear of contagion had armed those nearest in blood
against each other. But these smaller and separate tragedies were about to
yield to a mightier interest--and, while we were promised calm from
infectious influences, a tempest arose wilder than the winds, a tempest
bred by the passions of man, nourished by his most violent impulses,
unexampled and dire.
387
Page
Quick Jump
|