Fever 1793 Quotes

Had she ever enjoyed anything? Had every day been a struggle? Perhaps death would be a release, a rest for the weary.

What did it feel like to die? Was it a peaceful sleep? Some thought it was full of either trumpet-blowing angels or angry devils. Perhaps I was already dead.

It had been a good day, all things considered. I had managed rather well on my own. I opened Grandfather's Bible. This is what it would be like when I had my own shop, or when I traveled abroad. I would always read before sleeping. One day, I'd be so rich I would have a library full of novel to choose from. But I would always end the evening with a Bible passage.

She looks like a china doll,” observed Grandfather as we departed. “I will break just as easily,” I muttered.

Too much sleep is bad for your health, Matilda." She slipped a freshly made ball of butter into a stone crock. "It must be such a grippe, a sleeping sickness.

Life was a battle, and Mother a tired and bitter captain

Wit is the most dangerous talent you can possess. It must be guarded with great discretion and good-nature, otherwise it will create you many enemies.” —John Gregory A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters, 1774

No. Absolutely not. I forbid it. You'll have nightmares." "She was my friend! You must allow me. Why are you so horrid?" As soon as the angry words were out of my mouth, I knew I had gone too far. "Matilda!" Mother rose from her chair. "You are forbidden to pseak to me in that tone! Apologize at once.

Our inhumane neighbors, instead of sympathizing with us tauntingly proclaim the healthfulness if their won cities…

One had to be careful with elbows and boys

Sometimes...I lose myself in looking back upon the ocean which I have passed, and now and then find myself surprised by a tear in reflecting upon the friends I have lost, and the scenes of distress that I have witnessed, and which I was unable to relieve. —Dr. Benjamin Rush

Like most blacks in Philadelphia, Eliza was free. She said Philadelphia was the best city for freed slaves or freeborn Africans.

If the president was back, then the fever was truly over. If the president was back, we were safe. I threw my arms around Nathaniel and planted a big kiss on his cheek. He pulled back in surprise. “Do you always do that when the president rides by? If so, I’ll take a job working for him.” I blushed and looked down at my feet.

I’ve got a cake rising,” Eliza said. “I’m not leaving that for any man

that's pretty good, for a young girl" from Fever 1793

Dr. Kerr rose off the bed. “Damned fool,” he growled. “Excuse me?” I said. “Rowley, the imposter. Autumnal fever indeed. Your mother has yellow fever. There’s no doubt at all.

The yellow sun rose, a giant balloon filled with prayers and hopes and promise.

I’m just tired and I can’t sleep yet. A woman’s work is never done, isn’t that what the fools say?

Good afternoon, Nathaniel. Kindly return my basket.” “Is that all you have to say? You disappoint me. I thought you would send me sailing into the horse trough at least. I guess you respect my new position as a man of the world.” “You are not a man of the world, you clean paintbrushes, though for the life of me I don’t know why Mr. Peale bothers with you. And you will end up in that trough if you don’t give back my basket.” I paused. “Your shoe buckle is missing.” “What?” I grabbed the basket as he looked down to inspect his shoe. “Very funny,” he said.

Have you considered what you might do to help? You have recovered, so you cannot get the fever again. You are young and strong. We have a real need for you.” “How can I help anyone? I’m just a girl.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to pinch myself. The first time anyone treats me like a woman and I respond like an infant.

That winter the fever of mass murder, atheism and reckless spending in Paris seemed to be approaching its climax. At Christmas the obscene and diseased journalist, Hebert, presided over the Feast of Reason in Notre Dame, where a whore was elevated at the high altar amid Rabelaisian rites. In the prisons thousands of innocent men and women, flung there by some Party sadist's whim, fed out of troughs on offal or were driven in droves chained like cattle through the streets. (1) To decent English minds it seemed unthinkable that men could survive who broke every law of God and man, who robbed and murdered and blasphemed, who denied justice, pity and humanity itself in their ruthless search for power. “From the nature of the mind of man and the necessary progress of human affairs,” Pitt declared in Parliament, “it is impossible that such a system can be of long duration.” “Surely,” cried the high-minded Windham, “Heaven will presently put a whip into every honest hand to lash these villains naked through the world.

The West Indian campaign had even graver effects on the course of the war. In January, 1794, Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Grey's 7,000 troops, after a six weeks' voyage, reached Barbados. Despite their small numbers they at once attacked the French islands, and as a result of brilliant co-operation between Grey and Vice-Admiral Sir John Jervis overcame all resistance in Martinique, St. Lucia and Guadeloupe by the end of May. But the real campaign had scarcely begun. Almost at once the victors were simultaneously assailed by reinforcements from France and a negro and mulatto rising. For by denouncing slavery—the gap in Britain's moral front—the French had secured a formidable ally. With the help of the revolted slaves the force from Rochefort, which had evaded the loose British blockade, was able to reconquer Guadeloupe before the end of the year. Yet it was yellow fever more than any other cause which robbed Britain of her West Indian conquests. Within a few months the dreaded “black vomit” had destroyed 12,000 of her finest soldiers and reduced the survivors to trembling skeletons.

Life was a battle, and Mother a tired and bitter captain. The captain I had to obey.

tried to reach the cake plate. My fingers fell just short. If I stretched all the way across the table, the seam under my arm would split open. Jeannine saw my dilemma, picked up the plate, and passed it in the opposite direction to her mother.

His concern focused on a series of illnesses that had struck his patients throughout the year—the mumps in January, jaw and mouth infections in February, scarlet fever in March, followed by influenza in July. “There was something in the heat and drought,” the good doctor speculated, “which was uncommon, in their influence upon the human body.

You might not hear back from your mother for a while, though. The post has become most unreliable.

A plan began forming in my mind, but I quickly shushed the thought. I didn't have time to dream or plan. I would deal with each hour as it came, one step at a time.

Dead animals were routinely tossed into this soup, where everything decayed and sent up noxious bubbles to foul the air.

Philadelphia was then the largest city in North America, with nearly 51,000 inhabitants

Washington was then president of the United States, and Philadelphia was the temporary capital of the young nation and the center of its federal government.

No one knew that a killer was already moving through their streets with them, an invisible stalker that would go house to house until it had touched everyone, rich or poor, in some terrible way.

August 23, 1793. (THE LIBRARY COMPANY OF PHILADELPHIA)

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The sickness began with chills, headache, and a painful aching in the back, arms, and legs. A high fever developed

Historians now estimate that as many as 20,000 people abandoned the city during the fever.