Soon after the rainy season everything withered away; the sun
burnt up our treasures, and left us again to our mutton and fowls.
A month or so before the rainy season of 1867, fever of a malignant
type broke out in the common gaol. The place was dirty enough before,
and the horrors of that abode were indescribable even when sickness
did not prevail; but when about 150 men of all ranks lay prostrate
on the ground, contaminating still more the already impure atmosphere,
the scene was horrible in the extreme, giving a better idea of the
place of torments than even Dante's vivid description. The epidemic
lasted until the first rains set in. About eighty died; and many
more would have succumbed, had not, fortunately, some of the guards
contracted the disease. As long as it was only the prisoners, they
turned a deaf ear to all my suggestions; now they had become willing
listeners, and quickly adopted the advice they had spurned but a
short time before. To all who claimed my services I willingly sent
medicine; and, when some of the guards also came to me for treatment,
I gave them some also: but on condition that they would treat with
more kindness the unfortunate men in their charge.
General Merewether, always thoughtful and kind, aware that much of
our comfort depended on our being on friendly terms with the garrison,
sent me some vaccine lymph in small tubes.
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