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A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London by Daniel Defoe
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their consternation was very great: and the richer sort of people,
especially the nobility and gentry from the west part of the city,
thronged out of town with their families and servants in an unusual
manner; and this was more particularly seen in Whitechappel; that is to
say, the Broad Street where I lived; indeed, nothing was to be seen but
waggons and carts, with goods, women, servants, children, &c.; coaches
filled with people of the better sort and horsemen attending them, and
all hurrying away; then empty waggons and carts appeared, and spare
horses with servants, who, it was apparent, were returning or sent from
the countries to fetch more people; besides innumerable numbers of men
on horseback, some alone, others with servants, and, generally speaking,
all loaded with baggage and fitted out for travelling, as anyone might
perceive by their appearance.

This was a very terrible and melancholy thing to see, and as it was a
sight which I could not but look on from morning to night (for indeed
there was nothing else of moment to be seen), it filled me with very
serious thoughts of the misery that was coming upon the city, and the
unhappy condition of those that would be left in it.

This hurry of the people was such for some weeks that there was no
getting at the Lord Mayor's door without exceeding difficulty; there
were such pressing and crowding there to get passes and certificates
of health for such as travelled abroad, for without these there was no
being admitted to pass through the towns upon the road, or to lodge in
any inn. Now, as there had none died in the city for all this time, my
Lord Mayor gave certificates of health without any difficulty to all
those who lived in the ninety-seven parishes, and to those within the
liberties too for a while.

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