Page 71 - Fever 1793

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE September 27th, 1793
. . . at other places we found a parent dead, and none but little innocent babes to be seen, whose ignorance led them to think their parent was asleep...
—Richard Allen and Absalom Jones
A Narrative of the Proceedings of the Black People During the Late Awful Calamity in Philadelphia in the Year 1793
Her mother was dead, broken in the eyes of tiny Nell. Her name was the last bit of information I could get from her. Seeing her mother s body, quite clearly a victim of yellow fever, on the bed seemed to make her mute. She stood before me, and before I realized what I had done, I picked her up and cradled her close.
Now what? I couldn’t care for Nell; I could barely care for myself. And her mother needed burying, though I didn’t relish another trip back to the public square. I had to find someone to care for her.
None of the neighbors who answered their doors knew anything about the family, and they all had enough problems of their own without taking in the child. “You might try Reverend Alien’s group,” offered one woman. “I seen two women carrying a basket down the alley not long ago. They’ll know what to do with the child, and they’ll send one to care for the mother.”
“Where do I find them?” I asked.
“If you can’t find any of their members hereabouts, go down Fifth Street, south of Walnut. They hold meetings there, where they’re building a church. You’ll find someone there to help, I’ll wager.”
Fifth Street, south of Walnut. So many blocks to walk, and I’d have to do it with Nell on my hip. But it would be farther to carry her to the orphan house and farther still to the coffeehouse. Nell looked at me. There was no choice. I hoisted her high in my arms and started south.
I kept my eyes open for anyone who might help, but the only folks in the street were sailors, and most of them were drunk. I was nearing the dockside taverns. I held Nell close and tried to walk faster. I did not want to delay in this part of town.
Two black women ahead of me caught the attention of a rowdy group hanging outside a tavern door. They moved swiftly, ignoring the taunts and vicious words the men called after them. I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. There was something about the straight line of the taller woman’s back, the color of the cap on her dark head.
“Eliza?” I whispered. I blinked again. The sunlight on the water had left spots dancing in front of my eyes. The women walked steadily away from me, each holding a large basket over their arms.
“Eliza?”
They turned into an alleyway and disappeared.
“Eliza!” I screamed. My feet found their strength, and I took off at a full run, Nell bouncing painfully
and gripping my shift for her life. “Eliza!”
A filthy man from the group in front of the tavern broke off from his friends and chased after me. “Hello, love,” he slurred. His breath carried the stench of dockside garbage: whiskey and filth,
hardtack and disease. “Come and dance with me.”
He tried to pluck Nell from my arms. “Come dance,” he insisted.