Fever 1793 (6 page)

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through with your famous sword and sit down to a hearty dinner. But there may be cause for caution, old friend. Listen to the mayor's orders which Andrew has just printed." He picked up a broadsheet and read:

"ON
ADVICE FROM THE COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS:

1. ALL PERSONS SHOULD AVOID THOSE THAT ARE

INFECTED.

2. THE HOMES OF THE SICK SHOULD BE MARKED.

3. SlCK PEOPLE SHOULD BE PLACED IN THE CENTER

OF LARGE AIRY ROOMS WITHOUT CURTAINS

AND SHOULD BE KEPT CLEAN.

4. WE MUST SUPPLY A HOSPITAL FOR THE POOR.

5- ALL BELL TOLLING SHOULD CEASE IMMEDIATELY.

6. THE DEAD SHOULD BE BURIED PRIVATELY.

7- THE STREETS AND WHARVES MUST BE KEPT CLEAN.

8. ALL PERSONS SHOULD AVOID FATIGUE OF THE

BODY AND MIND.

9- ALL PERSONS SHOULD AVOID BEING IN THE SUN,

DRAFTS, AND EVENING AIR.

10. ALL PERSONS SHOULD DRESS APPROPRIATELY

FORTHE WEATHER.

11. ALL PERSONS SHOULD CONSUME ALCOHOL IN

MODERATION."

"I'm glad they'll stop ringing the bells," I said.

"Sensible advice, most of it," Grandfather said. "Still, I don't understand why so many run scared."

"They've taken over Rickett's Circus building on Twelfth Street to house the poor," said Mr. Brown.

"Isn't that why we have an almshouse?" asked Grandfather.

"The almshouse is closed. They want to protect their residents from the disease. So the fever victims lie on the floor of Rickett's with little water and no care. Once a day they remove the bodies for burial. A neighbor threatened to burn the place down if the sick are not removed," explained Mr. Carris.

"But where will they go?" asked Grandfather.

"No one knows."

I hadn't heard about that. They were burying fever victims every day?

"How many have died, Mr. Carris?" I asked.

He turned to Mr. Brown.

"How many dead, Andrew?"

Mr. Brown shrugged. "It's hard to say with certainty."

"I've heard several hundred, at least," said Mr. Carris.

Grandfather paused. "Even a few hundred isn't enough to call it an epidemic," he said.

"Some doctors warn we may see a thousand dead before it's over. There are forty-thousand people living in Philadelphia, William. Can you imagine if one in forty were to die?"

The room quieted as we all pondered the number.

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"I don't believe it," said Grandfather finally. "People exaggerate. What news from our friend Evans?"

Mr. Brown looked up.

"His wife is ill, and he has closed his shop. My business dwindles daily. I have already lost one of my lads, gone with his family to Wilmington."

"Mrs. Ogilvie said that everyone of fashion has fled to their country estates," I offered.

"I heard one of her daughters was stricken," said Mr. Brown.
"Myself,
I straddle a fence. One foot stays here in Philadelphia. The other foot is in the country. We know the air there is pure and the people safer. I say safer, mind, not safe. There are reports of fever in Bucks County and Delaware."

"What of the government, then?" Grandfather asked.

"Jefferson still comes into town every morning, though everyone says he'll soon quit and retire to his farm at Monticello," said Mr. Carris.

"Bah! We don't need Jefferson. We have the general. President Washington won't abandon us!"

Mr. Carris blew his nose loudly. "The president retires to Virginia for a respite every September. He is not a man to change his habits. Even if he called the Congress back, few would dare return. I tell you, William, men who stood unafraid before British cannon run in fear from this foul pestilence. I fear for Philadelphia. I fear for the people, I fear for myself."

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Grandfather did not say a word as we walked home. I silently counted on my fingers: twenty-eight days until the end of September, then on into October until the first frost. Frost always killed fever. Mr. Carris said it drained the poison from the air. The Ludingtons' were sounding better. Slopping pigs couldn't be that much harder than serving in the front room, and it would be better than falling ill or dying. I'd be there over harvest. They would make me work in the fields and feed me bread and water. But I wouldn't get sick.

Grandfather stayed silent until we approached a limping man dressed in dark rags, pushing a cart.

"Wonder where that fellow's going?" he said. "Looks like he belongs on the waterfront."

A thin white arm flopped over the side of the cart as it jostled over the cobblestones.

"Hullo there, good man!" called Grandfather. "There is no place for the dead up here. Hullo!"

The man ignored us and pressed on steadily.

"Perhaps he is transporting a poor woman to Rickett s Circus, like Mr. Carris said," I suggested.

"She should be moved at night, when good people are safe in their beds. Now what is he doing?"

The man had stopped at the corner of High and Seventh, in front of our coffeehouse.

Grandfather sped up. "Sir, I protest most vehemently!"

I lifted my skirts and ran ahead of Grandfather. An

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unnamed fear shot through me. My eyes filled with tears.

"No, this is too much," Grandfather called angrily. "Sir," he shouted. "Take that away from my home. Off with you now and take your cargo, or I should call the constable."

The man turned back and looked at Grandfather, then lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and dumped the woman on the street.

"Mother!" I screamed.

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CHAPTER NINE

September 2nd, 1793

He's the best physician that knows the worthlessness of most medicines.

-Benjamin Franklin
Poor Richard's Almanac,
1733

1 stood dumbly while Grandfather knelt by Mother's side.

"She's alive!" he said. "Take her feet, Mattie. We must get her inside."

Eliza screamed as we carried Mother through the front door. She dropped a clay pitcher on the floor. It shattered into bits.

"Is she... ?"

"She was overcome by the heat," said Grandfather. "She'll be fine after a short rest. That's all she needs. A short rest."

Mother didn't open her eyes until we tucked her into bed. She looked around in confusion.

"You fainted," Eliza explained.

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"It's what you get for working too hard," added Grandfather.

I waited for Mother to throw off the quilt and scold us. Instead, she shivered.

"I'll sleep a few moments, then I'll feel better," she said patting my hand. "Go downstairs, Matilda. Be useful."

Something was desperately wrong. Mother was sleeping in the middle of the day. I wanted to stay and watch over her, but Eliza and Grandfather shooed me out of the room. There was no time to argue; a customer banged through the front door and called for something to drink.

Nothing went right that afternoon. The coffee urn leaked. The biscuits burned in the oven. I dropped an entire drawer of tea leaves on the floor. The gentlemen were all quarrelsome and fractious. I snuck upstairs once, but Mother still slept. Eliza gave me what-for when she caught me.

As I cleared the dirty mugs off the last table, Grandfather stood deep in conversation with Mr. Rowley. I motioned to Eliza.

"Isn't he a doctor?" I asked.

Eliza shook her head.

"Not a proper physician, but he sees sick folk and prescribes medicines. All the real doctors are down on Water Street. It's been a terrible day there. They say bodies are piling up like firewood."

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"I don't believe it."

"Shush," said Eliza. "I heard it at the Society. If Reverend Allen said it, you can believe it's the truth. Here they come."

Grandfather introduced Mr. Rowley. I curtsied.

"Mr. Rowley here has vast experience treating female complaints," said Grandfather. "He'll get Lucille back on her pins in no time."

I had my doubts. His hands were uncommonly dirty, and he smelled of rum.

It seemed immodest to let a strange man into our bedchamber, but Grandfather and Eliza showed him in to see the patient. I followed close behind.

He first took Mother's pulse, then felt the skin on her ankles and wrists, then peered down her throat and under her eyelids. He worked without a word, grunting occasionally, and making a tsking sound with his tongue. Mother did not wake. I wanted to throw a bucket of water in her face. It was against the laws of nature for her to lie in bed with the sun so high.

At last Rowley rose from the bed. We waited for him to speak, like a congregation expecting the minister's benediction.

"It is not yellow fever," he said.

Grandfather sighed in relief.

"But Dr. Rush says yellow fever is spreading everywhere," Eliza said.

"Dr. Rush likes to alarm people," Mr. Rowley

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replied. "There is a great debate about this pestilence. Yesterday a physician I shall not name diagnosed yellow fever in an elderly woman. Her family threw her into the street. She died, but she didn't have yellow fever. It was all a mistake. I use the diagnosis sparingly. And I assure you, there is no fever in this house."

Grandfather beamed.

"See, Matilda? I was right. We have no cause to run out of the city like children scared by a ghost. Lucille will be scolding us by sunrise," he chuckled.

Rowley wagged his finger at Grandfather.

"I wouldn't predict that," he said. "She'll need more than a good nap to recover. Be sure to bathe her every four hours and keep her clean and cool. I'll give some remedies to your servant. And now," he said, holding out his hand and showing his gray teeth, "my fee."

Giving my mother a bath felt upside down and backside front. I didn't want to do it. Daughters aren't supposed to bathe their mothers, but Eliza could not manage alone.

We moved my bed to Grandfathers chamber and replaced it with the tin bathing rub. Every four hours, we filled the rub with hot water mixed with black pepper and myrrh. The worst part was dragging Mother from her fitful sleep and getting her to sit in the water. The fever had taken hold of her senses, and she wept, calling my father's name.

While Mother dozed in the rub, we stripped the

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linen from her bed and laid on fresh. She was supposed to drink dittany tea sweetened with molasses, but it tasted too horrible. As soon as we had her back in bed, Eliza emptied the tub and put more water on to boil.

Mother shivered so hard, her teeth rattled. Even with all the blankets in the house on her, she could not warm. She lay under the faded bedding like a rag doll losing its stuffing, her hair a wild collection of snakes on the pillow, her cornflower blue eyes poisoned with streaks of yellow and red. It hurt to look at her.

After the sun set, Eliza set a candle by her bed.

"You grandfather is sleeping at old man Carris's house," she explained.

"Just as well," I said. "Are you going home?"

"I must," she said. "My brother is expecting me."

I nodded. Eliza lived with her brother's family. They would be very worried if she didn't come home.

Til be fine," I said. "I think she'll sleep through the night."

Eliza kissed my forehead. "Don't forget your prayers," she said. "I'll come early and try to bring a doctor with me."

After she left, I locked the doors and closed the shutters. A church bell struck ten times and I shivered. The coffeehouse was filled with shadows and dark noises. I took two extra candles from the clothespress and hurried upstairs to watch over Mother.

She did not notice when I entered the room. Her face was pulled taut in pain, and she jerked in her sleep.

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I so wanted to touch her. The tops of her hands were roped with muscle and veins, but her skin was wrinkled and soft. Had she ever enjoyed anything? Had every day been a struggle? Perhaps death would be a release, a rest for the weary.

A slight breeze waltzed through the room. Silas strolled in and jumped onto the bed. He settled himself so gently by her feet that she did not stir. No mice would disturb her, that was understood.

Mother wrinkled her brow and moaned. I smoothed her hair.

"I'm here, Mother," I whispered. "Be still."

She shook her head from side to side on the pillow.

Tears threatened again. I sniffed and tried to control my face. No one could ever tell what Mother thought or felt by looking at her. This was a useful trait. I needed to learn how to do it. There were so many things she had tried to teach me, but I didn't listen. I leaned over to kiss her forehead. A tear slipped out before I could stop it.

I quietly sat beside her and opened my Psalm book, praying for deliverance, or at least the dawn.

I must have dozed off. One moment, the room was still, the next, Mother flew off the pillows and was violently ill, vomiting blood all over the bed and floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

I jumped up from the stool.

"Eliza!" I screamed. "Help!"

There was no answer. Eliza was gone. I was alone.