IN A QUARANTINED CITY.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2791, 21 March 1895, Page 3

IN A QUARANTINED CITY.

Twenty-five miles east of Decater, Alabama, is the mountain of Monte Sano, on the summit of which is the Hotel Monte Sano, a most delightful summer resort of the south. In 1885 the natural advantages of this section of the Stat<. became known to some northern capitalists and in three years the sleepy little village of Decater, with its 600 inhabitants, had grown to be a city of 10,000. In the month of July, 1888, I was called to Decater on business. Upon my arrival at the depot, 1 handed my satchel to Andy, my coloured driver, and told him to drive me to my office. His reply to my greetings showed me that something was wrong, for he said “ Bless your life, ’taint gad mornin’, boss. Dis is de wasf mornin’ diss yere town eber did see. Der is Yellow Jack yere. De man dat bought it from Florida did las’ night, and the news is a spreading like wil’fire.”

It did not take me a moment to see that he was correct; for looking about I saw fear and panic depicted on every face. Families were carrying what things they coaid carry and hurrying to every train. In many homes the half-cooked breakfast was left on the stove. There only theught and desire was to get away at once. By 10 o’clock long lines of waggons, carriages, and improvish conveyances of all sorts passed up and down the street, loaded with families and household goods, driving they knew not where, with fear and horror stamped upon some. At the end of a few days, out of the population of 10,000 less than 1000 remained, and nearly half of those were down with the dreadful disease.

Orders were sent from head quarters that “ all trains should pass through Decater at not leas that 60 miles an hour.” The surrounding country established a shotgun quarantine. Each man volunteered to help to form a cordon around the city, and an oath was taken that any man woman, or child attempting to cross a given line must be shot. All places of business were, of course, closed and deserted The mail bags were thrown each day from the train, taken to the post office, where the few remaining people helped themselves to the mail. The banks were closed. There was not a penny of currency in the town except that held by individuals. A small party of us determined to try to get to the next railroad station. At midnight wo went to a livery stable and helped ourselves to the best team of four horses and a light cart (the owner having fled), and drove to the woods. We had not driven more than ten miles, and were beginning to feel that there was some chance of escape when we were confronted with a desperate set of men, who commanded us to return or take the consequence. Money or persuasion would not make them let us through the lines, so there was nothing left but to turn the horses’ heads.

The next morning we held a meeting and determined to make one last effort to get away; so a telegram was sent to the superintendent of the L. and N. railroad at Louisville, demanding a train to take us out of the fever district. Our ultimatum was that unless it was sent without delay we would open the drawbridge that spans the Tennessee river at Decator and stop all the through trains. The reply came saying that be would send a train at 6 o’clock that evening. We immediately posted a bulletin at the town hall, stating that anyone wishing to leave Decater, irrespective of color or finance, could do so at six o’clock. Long before the stated hour of departure the few survivors were pacing the platform at the depot, anxiously awaiting the promised tram, which did not arrive till four o’clock in the morning, and consisted of an engine and three very old day coaches. The windows were nailed down, doors locked, and only enough water on board to last an hoar or so. With nothing to eat, and our destination to Louisville, a 24 hours’ trip, you can well imagine onr condition the next morning when we arrived at Nashville. Hundreds were on the spot to look at us like so many caged animals.