ould in pity carry them food,
and set it at a distance, that they might fetch it if they were able;
and sometimes they were not able. And the next time they went they would
find the poor wretches lie[159] dead, and the food untouched. The number
of these miserable objects were[160] many; and I know so many that
perished thus, and so exactly where, that I believe I could go to the
very place, and dig their bones up still;[161] for the country people
would go and dig a hole at a distance from them, and then, with long
poles and hooks at the end of them, drag the bodies into these pits, and
then throw the earth in form, as far as they could cast it, to cover
them, taking notice how the wind blew, and so come on that side which
the seamen call "to windward," that the scent of the bodies might blow
from them. And thus great numbers went out of the world who were never
known, or any account of them taken, as well within the bills of
mortality as without.

This indeed I had, in the main, only from the relation of others; for I
seldom walked into the fields,[162] except towards Bethnal Green and
Hackney, or as hereafter. But when I did walk, I always saw a great many
poor wanderers at a distance, but I could know little of their cases;
for, whether it were in the street or in the fields, if we had seen
anybody coming, it was a general method to walk away. Yet I believe the
account is exactly true.

As this puts me upon mentioning my walking the streets and fields, I
cannot omit taking notice what a desolate place the city was at that
time. The great street I lived in, which is known to be one of the
broadest of all the streets of London (I mean of the suburbs as well as
the liberties, all the side where the butchers lived, especially without
the bars[163]), was more like a green field than a paved street; and the
people generally went in the middle with the horses and carts. It is
true that the farthest end, towards Whitechapel Church, was not all
paved, but even the part that was paved was full of grass also. But this
need not seem strange, since the great streets within the city, such as
Leadenhall Street, Bishopsgate Street, Cornhill, and even the Exchange
itself, had grass growing in them in several places. Neither cart nor
coach was seen in the streets from morning to evening, except some
country carts to bring roots and beans, or pease, hay, and straw, to the
market, and those but very few compared to what was usual. As