THE DEPRIVED...Part 18.

A continuation of my book.

“You don’t look so good.”
Michael sat up next to Big John as the cart bumped its way towards the suburbs. Michael said nothing in reply. For a while he had been feeling drained and suffered from bouts of diarrhoea which left him tired and worn.
“You are spending more time using the cesspits than bucketing the stuff out.” continued Big John, his eyes down on the road they travelled.
Michael said nothing.
“I think you’ve got dysentery, maybe a touch of Cholera.”
Michael pulled his coat collar up.
“I know you can hear me!” said Big John, this time turning in the seat to look at Michael. “I’ve told Jed Riley to lay you off. I don’t want you dying on me in the back of the cart or falling into the body-soil so we have to dig you out.”
“You can’t do that!” shouted Michael on hearing the words he feared most.
“Make this your last trip.” said the big man moodily.
Michael sat and shivered, feeling the sweat and the need to relieve himself. He silently sobbed as Big John continued to drive at the steady pace.

It was a week later when Michael began to feel the fatigue even more, becoming flushed with heat and then one night he was unable to rise from the bed. His body shook with fever and he lost consciousness. Mary bathed him with cold water as he lay, cooling him down till he opened his eyes and his white face flickered a weak smile. As much as Mary pulled the blankets up, he pushed them back down.
The next day Michael began to have stomach cramps and broke out in skin rashes all over his body which became open sores. Mary had run to the local doctor but he had refused to come to the house, fearing it might be a form of plague and telling her that it was more than likely cholera, gained through his work.
“Seven out of ten men die of Cholera through working in the cesspits.” he told her. “Just make him as comfortable as you can and let him go.” were the Doctor’s final words.
Michael lay in a helpless condition, becoming sick with diarrhoea and soiling himself as he wasted away. Mary, Beth and Sam prayed and cried as they stood around the bed, watching as Michael slipped away from them until he tried to sit and fell back to breath his last.
“It was better to die of starvation back in the clean air of our beloved Ireland!” declared Mary. “It’s my fault. I should have refused to leave our beloved Ireland. I curse the English for taking everything from us and then leaving us to starve!”
Beth held her mother tightly while Sam sat with his eyes down on the floor, his young heart filling with a silent hate which would overspill later in life.

Mary had to pay a shilling piece to have Michael’s body taken from the house. None would bury him and Mary was never to know that his body would be tossed into the quicklime pits, reserved for those bodies which were riddled with disease.

Chapter Two, entitled 'Mary' follows next.