" At the intimation of the watchmen stationed
before houses bearing red crosses upon their doors, the sad
procession would tarry, When coffinless, and oftentimes
shroudless, rigid, loathsome, and malodorous bodies were hustled
into the carts with all possible speed. Then once more the
melancholy cortege took its way adown the dark, deserted street,
the yellow glare of links falling on the ghastly burden they
accompanied, the dirge-like call of the bellman sounding on the
ears of the living like a summons from the dead. And so,
receiving additional freight upon its way, the cart proceeded to
one of the great pits dug in the parish churchyards of Aldgate
and Whitechapel, or in Finsbury Fields close by the Artillery
Ground. These, measuring about forty feet in length, eighteen in
breadth, and twenty in depth, were destined to receive scores of
bodies irrespective of creed or class. The carts being brought
to these dark and weirdsome gulphs, looking all the blacker from
the flickering lights of candles and garish gleams of lanterns
placed beside them, the bodies, without rite or ceremony, were
shot into them, and speedily covered with clay. For the
accomplishment of this sad work night was found too brief. And
what lent additional horror to the circumstances of these burials
was, that those engaged in this duty would occasionally drop
lifeless during their labour. So that it sometimes happened the
dead-carts were found without driver, linkman, or bell-man.
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