Beyond All Price

by Carolyn Poling Schriber

  “The damned fools!” he exclaimed as he joined her on the porch. “Sorry for the language, Nellie, but I’ve been afraid it would come to this.”

  “What would come to what? What’s this all about?”

  “What you’re seeing is fear in action. Surely you’ve heard some of the talk about the yellow fever epidemic that’s been spreading up the Mississippi River from New Orleans.”

  “Yes, of course, but it’s seemed pretty far removed from here.”

  “Well, we’ve actually had two cases in Paris, and it’s getting really bad in Memphis. The most recent news from there says—wait, I’ll get it.” He returned bearing a folded newspaper and waved it at her.

  “You won’t believe these numbers.”

  “Whew! What’s that smell?”

  “Every paper that comes in from Memphis has been sprayed with carbolic acid before it’s allowed on the train. That’s supposed to kill the germs, or something.”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “Yes, of course it is, but that’s not my point. Here’s the reason for the fear. The paper says 596 people have died there from yellow fever in the month of August, and the numbers are multiplying. On Friday alone, over two hundred people sought treatment from the Howard Society and the YMCA. The paper’s full of horror stories, too, like an old woman whose husband died at home. The servants fled in terror, and no one will come to pick up the body. She reports he is about to burst open and soon won’t be fit to pour into a coffin. She’s sitting there by herself while he rots.”

  “That’s horrific.”

  “Yes, and that’s what people fear will happen here if the fever gets a foothold. Everyone seems to have a different way method of protection. The citizens of Memphis are abandoning the city if they are healthy enough, and wealthy enough, to get out. Many of them are headed here, hoping to visit Sulphur Well, where the fumes, they think, will keep the germs away.”

  “That sounds positively medieval—like carrying around a clove-studded orange to ward off the plague.”

  “Exactly, and about as useless. Governor Porter is recommending that each Tennessee city pull out their left-over Civil War cannons and fire them off to keep up a protective cloud of smoke. And I know what you’re going to say, Nellie,” he said with a smile. “If the smoke of gunpowder warded off disease, there wouldn’t have been so many deaths during the war. But that’s the point, you see. When people feel helpless, any action is better than no action. So, someone started the rumor that yellow fever is being spread by the railroad, and there was some talk yesterday of stopping anyone who tries to get off the trains here. Looks like somebody decided to do exactly that. I’ve got to get down there.”

  “Wait, George. Take me with you.”

  “No. You’ll be safer up here.”

  “I don’t need to be safe. Most people know I’m a nurse. Maybe I can help answer their questions and talk some sense into them.”

  The crowd outside the depot was not in a mood to listen. A man with a shotgun barred the door when George and Nellie approached. “You cain’t go in there, Mr. Earnest. There’s Yellow Jack in there!”

  “Stuff and nonsense. I was there this morning. Nobody’s sick.”

  “There is now, since the noon train pulled in from Memphis. That there mechanic of yours and his two hostlers were aboard one of the freight cars. They got off puking their socks up, right there on the tracks. We’ve got ‘em corralled in here, and they ain’t gettin’ out to spread the sickness.”

  “You have Pete Henderson locked in there? Let me see him.”

  “No, Sir, you cain’t go in there.”

  Suddenly, George’s whole demeanor changed. Instead of the mild-mannered accountant, the former Union army officer strode toward the door. “I can, and I will! Moreover, I’m taking my wife, who’s a trained nurse, with me. This is my depot. Now clear off, the lot of you, because I’m opening this door.”

  The blustering men drew back as George flung the door open and took Nellie’s arm. It was stuffy inside, and the air smelled of sweat and stale tobacco juice. Huddled on the wooden benches lay three miserable men. Pete Henderson raised himself on one elbow in acknowledgement of his boss’s arrival.

  “I’m sorry to have made trouble, Mr. E. We can’t have yellow fever, ‘cause we wasn’t near anybody sick in Memphis. We went down there to deliver a spare part and fix a locomotive that was stuck with a broken flywheel. Then we jumped right back on the train and headed home.”

  “The men outside said you were throwing up. Is that so?” Nellie asked.

  “Yes, M’am, and you would have, too, if you’d had to ride all that way from Memphis in a boxcar stinking from sulphur powder, creosote, and carbolic acid.”

  “No doubt. However, I’d like to examine you for myself, if you don’t mind.”

  “Nellie, it may not be wise to get too close to them.”

  “And how else are we going to determine whether they are infected, George? Let me do my job.” She bent over each man in turn, checking pulses, listening to their breathing, and noting the goose bumps on their arms despite the heat of the day.

  “Do you have a headache, Mr. Henderson?”

  “Yes, M’am, from all those fumes.”

  “I see. Can I bring you something to eat?”

  He grimaced at the thought of food. “No, thank you kindly. My appetite’s kind of puny these days.”

  Nellie drew George to one side. “It’s a bilious fever of some kind, certainly. Their heartbeats are like little bubbles under the skin. They’re pale, chilled, and dehydrated. I can’t say it’s yellow fever without the evidence of black vomit, but I suspect that will come soon enough. We’ve got to get them to a place where they can get proper care.”

  “There’s no place to take them, Nellie. When Thankful Caroline Terry and her husband had the yellow fever in town a couple of weeks ago, not a single doctor would attend them. People locked them in their house and stayed away. They died at home, alone, and there was trouble enough finding somebody willing to bury them. If we have yellow fever here, all we can do is quarantine the victims where they are, put up a sign to warn folks off, and then burn the place after they are gone.”

  “You realize that would sentence them to death, don’t you? I can’t allow that. Go bring the wagon down from the hill and we’ll take them to the hotel.”

  “You can’t do that. You’d be exposing every railroad employee to the fever.”

  “To quote you, George, I can and I will. That’s my hotel, too.”

  “But. . . .”

  “The second floor is unoccupied. We’ll put them, and whatever other patients turn up, in those rooms, close off the stairs, and keep everyone else away. With proper care, many people who get this disease develop only mild cases and survive without ill effects. We’ve got to give them that chance. You, Emma, and Chester can run the hotel downstairs, and I’ll handle the nursing upstairs.”

  “Nellie! Think what you’re saying. I can’t let you sentence yourself to death.”

  Nellie shook her head impatiently. “I’m not going to catch it, George. I’ve already had the fever, down in Hilton Head, and I survived. Nobody gets it twice.”

  “Are you positive that’s what you had?”

  “Sure enough. Same symptoms, and it was connected with swarms of mosquitoes, like this outbreak in Memphis. Now go get the wagon. I’ll help the men out, so you don’t have to get too close to them.”

  “But the folks outside aren’t going to. . . .”

  “Believe me. Nothing’s going to break up a mob quicker than the approach of a yellow fever victim.”

  Paris was in a panic. During the following week, four more deaths occurred in town, two of them young children. Newspaper reports confirmed that every town along the track of the Memphis line had cases of yellow fever. Some forty families packed up all their belongings and moved far away, while innumerable others went to the countryside, hoping to escape the pernicious effects of the railroad. The streets
of town were white with disinfectant. On Sept. 9th, a body was discovered along the tracks about four miles outside of town. Despite a doctor’s declaration that the man had died from the effects of alcohol, it took two more days before anyone could be found to bury the body.

  The disease wiped out one entire family who shared a household. The Tedros and Mrs. Tedro’s parents, Mr. And Mrs. Foley, were new Irish immigrants to Paris. Mrs. Foley was the first to die, followed by the Tedros and their children, and then last, Mr. Pat Foley. E. E. Milam, the only doctor who had been willing to help Nellie with her patients, collapsed and died of yellow fever. More railroad employees joined the ranks of the sick—the station agent, a freight agent, a conductor, and several members of passing train crews. The train dispatcher walked off the job, announcing he would return in two months, if there was still anything to return to by then. Nellie’s case load doubled, and then tripled, although reports from the hotel announced all patients were doing well and were expected to recover.

  On the morning of September 18th, George Earnest noticed Nellie had not collected the morning breakfast supplies. He opened the door and called up the stairs, thinking she might need help. Then he stared harder at something lying at the top of the stairs. Nellie lay crumpled where she had fallen. He rushed to her, lifting her into his arms. To his relief, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled weakly. “Don’t make a fuss, dear, There’s nothing I need.” Then she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  George bounded back down the stairs, cradling her in his arms. “Emma! Chester!”

  “Oh, Lordy, What’s happened to Miss Nellie?” Emma Williams stood wringing her hands.

  “I’m taking her to the Yellow Fever hospital in Louisville. You and Chester will have to close up the hotel.”

  “But there’s patients upstairs. You can’t just close the door and let them die up there,” Chester protested.

  “Send them back to the depot. Do whatever you have to do. Don’t wait for orders from me.”

  At the depot, he faced another argument. “There’s no tickets available to Louisville until next week, Sir. The trains are booked full out of Memphis, and the locals won’t let any passengers disembark here,” the new station master told him. “I can’t make room just because you ask for it, even if you are the boss.”

  “This woman is my wife, Mr. Steed, and she is in danger of losing her own life because of her efforts on behalf of this railroad. We’re getting on the next train. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll do what I can, but you may have to ride in the coal tender.”

  “Where we sit doesn’t matter. What does matter is time. Every minute we waste here takes her that much closer to death.”

  George rode on a makeshift bench with Nellie in his arms. Shortly before they arrived at their destination, Nellie revived again, and once again she tried to smile. “Don’t look so stricken, George. I’m not afraid to die.”

  “I won’t let you die.”

  “Oh, yes, you will. In this case, you will not have a choice. But it’s all right. During the war, I learned the meaning of a good death. I’ve always believed I was meant to give my life for some great cause. I thought it would be the war. Since it wasn’t, I’ve been waiting to learn what else I was meant to do.”

  “Nellie. My love, I can’t. . . .”

  “Hush, George. Let me finish. I would have disliked growing into a cranky and idle old age. I can’t imagine that. I hate leaving without you, but I don’t mind the going.”

  Nellie Chase Earnest died in Louisville’s Yellow Fever Hospital on the morning of September 20, 1878. The nursing staff gently led George from her bedside. Their worried looks indicated concern for more than his grief. He was pale, clammy, and debilitated. Two days later, he, too, died of yellow fever.

  Back in Paris, the deaths continued as well. J M. Wells fell ill on the 18th and was dead on the 23rd. Mr. Thomas Lewis and his son, W. J., contracted the disease at the depot and died on the 24th. Others, who had been patients in Nellie’s makeshift hospital, continued to improve. Later, the records would show that of twenty-seven cases treated by Nellie, the majority survived. Railroad employees, however, continued to fall victim to yellow fever in disproportionate numbers. Deaths in late September and early October included Mr. Beler, another freight agent, John Kayton, an engineer, and Ed Carroll, a conductor. Two brakemen and another conductor had only mild cases, but the new depot agent, W. H. Steed, succumbed, as did both Emma Williams and Chester Price. Two more doctors died, along with several nurses. Finally, on October 20, 1878, a killing frost put an end to the mosquito infestation, and along with it, any further outbreak of yellow fever.

  The president of the railroad, E. D. Standiford, examined his books at the end of the epidemic. As nearly as he could tell, the L&R Railroad had 145 employees stricken with yellow fever, nearly half of whom survived. He also estimated that the company had lost over $350,000 from failed revenues. He was, however, particularly saddened by the deaths of George and Nellie Earnest, whom he had sent to the jobs that had cost them their lives.

  “Do we know where the Earnests were buried?” he asked his clerk.

  “Yes, we received a letter from the hospital, telling us they had a contract to bury all yellow fever patients in the Cave Hill Cemetery.”

  “Were their graves marked?”

  “Only with simple name plaques, I believe. But we do know that they were buried side by side.”

  “That’s not good enough. I want a monument erected to them—something dignified, but large enough to attract the attention of visitors—a stone arch, perhaps, spanning the space between them to recognize their joint efforts. It should be suitably inscribed, and dedicated with some ceremony. George Earnest and Nellie Chase gave their lives, first to the service of their country, and then to the good of this company. Their deaths were meaningful, and I will not allow them to be forgotten.”

  ggg

  Photo courtesy of Cave Hill Cemetery, Louisville, Kentucky

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  History is not the facts, not the truth, not the story of what happened. History books only record what we think we know about what happened at any given moment. The challenge for a writer of historical fiction is to take that incomplete historical record and fill in the blank spots with a plausible story—one that explains and adds to what we think we know about an event, without violating established facts.

  Nellie Chase was an intensely private individual. She left behind no children, no diary, no letters. Only a few official records of her life exist: a problematic 1850 Maine Census record that may or may not refer to her family and an 1870 Kentucky Census record in her married name. The notice of her marriage has disappeared from the archives of Davidson County, Tennessee. Her badly-spelled and inaccurate obituary appeared in a Reading, Pennsylvania newspaper. A monument to her and her husband still stands in the Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville, Kentucky. All else is hearsay.

  Everything I think I know about Nellie comes from her friends, her patients, and her co-workers. The officers and men of the Hundredth Pennsylvania Regiment knew her best. Colonel Daniel Leasure often referred to her and praised her nursing care in his correspondence. His letters, and those of the other officers, are accessible in the M. Gyla McDowell Collection (Historical Records and Labor Archives, Pattee Library, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA). Most of the italicized quotes in this book come from that major collection.

  Rev. Robert Audley Browne also wrote about her in his daily letters to his family. His opinion, however, stands in sharp contrast to the high regard in which others held her. His original letters, housed in the Browne Collection (U. S. Military History Institute, U. S. Army Heritage and Education Center, Carlyle, PA), reveal his intense dislike of the lady and his ongoing suspicions that she was a loose woman with nefarious intentions.