“I'm sorry,” I say, “but I am a very busy man right now. Your wife will have to retrieve the nitre when she returns.”
“Please, Doc. I don't know where she's gone to. She might be gone for hours for all I know. She's always runnin' over to a neighbor's and complainin' about that rotting coffee. Didn't ya come over here to help me out?”
[[I guess I should fetch the nitre...|fetch_nitre]]
[[I am not this man's servant!|refuse_nitre]]
It is not a physician's place to antagonize his patient, and I can see that my inquiries into Mr. Berry's appearance have agitated him quite a bit.
I attempt to change the subject by asking Mr. Berry if I might take his pulse. He consents to this, and I find his pulse to be full and quick. This, combined with his earlier faint, makes me think that his system would benefit from a gentle bleeding.
<html> <div class = "image"> <img id="venesection" src="/images/issues/2/2/fever/venesection.png" /> <p class = "caption">Mr. Berry will benefit from a gentle bleeding.</p> </div> </html>
I retrieve a lance from my bag and take several ounces of blood from Mr. Berry's arm. Although he is a bit squeamish during the letting itself, he seems to be much relieved by its effects.
I instruct Mr. Brewster to keep the man from any excitement. I suspect that all this talk of fevers has simply made him overwrought.
<<display 'fearnot2'>>
My wife always says that I must not let my curiosity get the better of me, but I must see what this woman is about. I ask the driver to stop a moment and jump out of the carriage.
“Do you know this man?” I ask the struggling woman.
“Not really,” she replies, lifting the man's arm over her shoulder.
“The just what are you doing here?” I ask her.
“Don't reckon it's any business of yours. You want to help me, then I'll tell you the whole story. Otherwise leave me be. You and your carriage have drawn enough attention to things as it is.”
I must disagree about this being none of my business. I am a citizen of this community and I will not abide by thievery and villainy taking place right under my nose! My instincts tell me that I should [[restrain the woman immediately and summon a watchman|watchman]]. Yet, her brazenness amazes me. Why would she ask me to help her if she were truly up to no good? Maybe I should [[hear her out|apologize]].
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The woman takes me to a building just off Mulberry street. The apartment we enter is rather a nice home, nicer than I had expected given the woman's markedly slovenly appearance.
“Please, sir. He's my only child. My husband refused a doctor when he fell ill last week and the fever carried him off just yesterday. I cannot bear to lose my son now, too. You can save him, can't you? Please, you must save him.”
She takes me to the child's bed. The boy's yellowed face and gaunt expression do not give me much hope. I take his pulse, hoping to find some reason to believe that he might recover. Sadly, his pulse is slow and weak.
I moisten his lips with water but he makes no effort to drink. In fact, he seems hardly aware of my presence. I know it will grieve the mother deeply, but I am certain her son does not have long to live.
<<set $paths[15] = 'true'>>
[[Tell her there is nothing I can do.|murdered_2]]
[[Give her false hope.|murdered_3]]
As tempting as it is to relent, I trust in Dr. Rush's judgment. Although the dose of these purgatives seems alarming, he must have reason for assigning them as such. If Sarah is to have any chance of survival, I must act with decisiveness. Any weakness on my part now could easily spell her doom.
I shall apply Dr. Rush's cure with diligence and [[hope for her recovery|choke_2]].
<<set $rushremedy="true">>
I see how dangerously upset the woman is. I cannot bear to break her heart further with the grim news that I can do nothing to improve the condition of her son, and that the boy is likely to die the same horrible death as his father.
I tell the woman that I shall bleed the boy, as many patients find a bleeding to be a comfort.
I do my best and tell the woman I shall send someone to check on her and the boy tomorrow. But the woman refuses to let me leave.
“You must stay,” she says. “What if he needs you? You must stay and watch over him. He's so weak now. You cannot leave him.”
The woman paws at my coat with a look of wild desperation in her eyes. There is nothing more I can do here. I must leave now.
I grab my bag and let myself out of the apartment door. Halfway down the stairs, I hear a creak at the top of the landing. The woman is following me. Why can she not understand that there is nothing more I can do? And why does she have a most peculiar grin on her face? Is it possible that the grief is too much for her?
[[Attempt to console her again.|murdered_4]]
[[Back away slowly.|murdered_4]]
I tell her as gently as possible that the boy is not long for this world, but the strange look on her face tells me that my words are having little effect.
I get up from the bedside and begin to leave the room, but the woman blocks me, dropping to he knees and tugging at my coat.
“You have to save him,” she pleads. But there is nothing further I can do. I hate to leave this poor soul in such a wretched state, but I cannot stay to console her.
“The boy is in God's hands now,” I tell her.
Suddenly, she lets me go without any further difficulty. I can only pray that she find some respite to her pain in the coming days.
I grab my bag and let myself out of the apartment door. Halfway down the stairs, I hear a creak at the top of the landing. The woman stands at the top of the stairwell with a most peculiar expression on her face.
[[Ask her what she wants.|murdered_4]]
[[Back away slowly.|murdered_4]]
I am worried that my wife has been looking less than her usually rosy self lately. It could be mere coincidence, but so many have been carried off by this fever in just this month alone that it is impossible not to worry. And fear seems to be the order of the day—neighbors who have not already departed the city in fear are now shutting themselves up inside their homes, refusing to see, or even to speak to those around them.
But there as been some upside to this fear in that it has inspired a call to collective action from many of our city's best and brightest physicians, government officials, clergy, philanthropists, and other good citizens. I understand they have opened a new hospital at the Bush Hill estate where patients of the fever are being treated. I should like to know more about this hospital and what methods they are using to fight the terrible scourge.
And yet, as much as I would like to tour the hospital, I worry that I should not neglect Sarah's health.
[[Insist on examining Sarah.|wifeill_1]]
[[Learn about the treatments at Bush Hill.|pre-bushhill]]
Before I can even move, the woman speaks. Her voice is rough and dissonant. Her words echo in the hallway.
“Why won't you save my child?”
I don't know what to say to her.
“WHY WON'T YOU SAVE MY CHILD?!?”
This time, she does not wait for a response. She flies down the stairs in a single leap, a crooked kitchen knife clenched in her right fist.
My breath is taken away as the knife sharply penetrates my left flank. Both she and I are off balance and tumble to the floor. I feel several more sharp pains in my chest, as she plunges the knife into me again and again. Oddly, the pain seem to diminish with each additional thrust. She must be growing tired. I, too, am suddenly growing quite tired....
[[Sleep|murdereddeath]]
<<set $paths[7]="true">><<set $track=4>><<set $wife="dead">>\s
“Sarah, your unflagging optimism is a breath of fresh air! Still, my dear, you would be hopeless as a physician. I tell you that it is dangerous to ignore your symptoms, mild though they may be now. We need to start treatment immediately!”
I send my son John, Jr. to go retrieve some of the purgative pills that Dr. Rush has advertised especially for treatment of this disease. I understand that they contain a combination of calomel and jalap, which is guaranteed to elicit frequent evacuations.
In the meantime, I tell my wife to take to bed. I perform a bleeding. I am committed to sitting by her bedside until she is well.
John, Jr. returns with the pills for Sarah. The dose of these purgatives seems frighteningly high to me. Can Dr. Rush really be certain this is necessary?
[[Be steadfast in following Dr. Rush's treatment.|wifeill_5]]
[[Relent. The treatment is worse than the disease!|wifeill6]]
I am not usually in the habit of refusing help when called, but there's something about the boy's sulking nature that doesn't entirely agree with me. The little rogue ought to be in a workhouse or reformatory, not roaming the streets making trouble for busy, upstanding citizens like myself. Despite the scamp's pleading look, I send him on his way.
<<set $shutup = $shutup + 1>><<if $shutup gte 2>><<set $badges[5] = 'true'>><<popup 5>><<save>><<endif>>
<<display 'patients'>>
<<if $badinvestigator eq "true">>It was with great shock and dismay that I learned of the death of both the Brewsters' maid and the clerk within days after I attended the house. In addition, a second housemaid was carried off, along with Mr. Brewster's mother and youngest daughter. All were lost in little over one week's time.
I cannot help but wonder if there was anything I could have done to stop this tragedy, but it seems the entire city has be rendered helpless before this disease. Rush's proposed remedy provides a faint beacon of light, but it seems likely that this storm will worsen before it improves.<<else>>Unfortunately, my attempts to aid the Brewsters were largely futile. Both the Brewsters' maid and the clerk died within days after I attended the house. My one consolation is that the disease did not spread further within the household, but there is no saying if that was the result of my medical interventions or of God's mercy.
<<endif>>
<<if $vomit eq "true">>Making matters worse, despite my intention of burning my dirty laundry from the Brewsters, Sarah got to my clothing first and washed my vomit-encrusted shirt with her own bare hands. Perhaps nothing will come of it, but I cannot yet forgive myself for my carelessness...
<<endif>>
<<display 'wifeill_0'>>
----
<<set $ending[13] = 'true'>><<set $currentEnd=13>>
John, Jr. emerged from the house to find a city still in the throes of the lingering epidemic, but found that many hardy souls had remained in the city, doing their best to endure the chaos around them.
The boy was able to solicit the help of an older black woman, who, along with many other black residents of Philadelphia, had taken up the important task of nursing those in need. She immediately recognized the now all-too-familiar signs of yellow fever in the Brooks's home.
Although there was little that could be done for John, Jr.'s father, mother, and little brother Matthew, John and his four-year-old sister Mary were safely removed from the disease-ridden house. They both survived the epidemic.
THE END.
----
<<set $paths[16]="true">>
<<display 'ending tracker'>>
I shall have to try to find Dr. Rush some other time. At the moment, I really must fulfill my duties to my waiting patients.
I begin walking south toward my first appointment, <<display 'strangeboy'>>
<<set $track = 5 >><<set $bushhillme ='true'>>\s
<html> <div class = "image"> <img id="bushhill" src="/images/issues/2/2/fever/bushHill.png" /> <p class = "caption">The estate at Bush Hill.</p> </div> </html>
Bush Hill is a large manor estate northwest of the city that has been appropriated for the care of yellow fever victims. The temporary hospital was established at the start of the epidemic, but I have paid little attention to it until recently. My impression was that the management was haphazard at best and it was said that the hospital was struggling to keep up with the demands created by this odious plague.
Now, however, it occurs to me that I might be able to learn something more about this fever by visiting the hospital and seeing what they have learned from treating so many cases. Assuming, that is, that the hospital is anything more than a mass grave. I hail a carriage and set out to the manor.
<html><div class = "image"><img src="/images/issues/2/2/fever/ellipsis.png" /></div></html>
Upon my arrival at the makeshift hospital, I am impressed by the orderliness of things. I feared the hospital would be grossly understaffed, as each day that the cloud of sickness hovers over our city makes nurses harder and harder to find. But I am pleased to see that the hospital is quite respectable indeed.
Management of the hospital has been recently taken over by two local merchants, Stephen Girard and Peter Helm. Neither is a physician, and yet by taking charge of the city's sick and destitute, they demonstrate their bravery and compassion at a time when many physicians are refusing to perform their sworn duties.
I ask how they are treating these fever victims. Mr. Girard is a busy man, but he spares a few moments to show me around. I am surprised to find that at Bush Hill, they have chosen to ignore Dr. Rush's aggressive treatment and offer mostly clean environs and restorative care for the fever patients.
“Does it really work?” I ask.
“Of course, we lose patients every day,” Mr. Girard replies. “But many survive as well. I do not think anyone has the means right now to cure everyone. But we provide the best care possible.”
His words are humble, but I can see a fire in his eyes that tells me that he is as committed to fighting this fever as even the best physicians in this city.
Perhaps I should [[volunteer my services|volunteer]] as a physician. After all, it looks like they will need all the able hands they can find.
Then again, it would seem that the hospital is shaping up quite admirably without me. I might be more valuable [[serving those miserable wretches in the city|helpwretches]] who cannot make their way to Bush Hill.
I do not want to worry Sarah unnecessarily over this mysterious fever, especially when so little is known about it. I decide that it is best to simply feign ignorance of any danger and convince Sarah that I merely have her and the children's best interests at heart.
Putting on a jovial face, I tell her that the children are looking wan these days. “Perhaps they could use a little sunlight and fresh farm air,” I suggest. “And besides, you haven't been to visit your parents in over a year. It would be good for all of you, especially since I anticipate being busy with work now that a great group of sick passengers on a recently arrived ship at the docks.”
Sarah gives me a strange look, but I think she finds my story convincing...
SLAP!!
“How dare you criticize my care of the children. They do not look pale and I do not know what has caused this beastly accusation of yours, but I'll not stand for it.”
I—I had never expected Sarah to react in this manner. I must apologize and explain myself.
“No, John, not one more word from you!” Sarah will not even let me try to explain. “Go [[attend to your patients|aftermath]] or something. But you leave this house now before I slap you again for your rude, impertinent meddling in my management of the children.”
I guess there is no talking to her now.
“Sir, are you in the habit of dyeing fabrics for the shop?” I ask the clerk.
“No, of course not. I am a shopkeeper, not a laborer,” is Mr. Berry's curt reply.
I have obviously wounded the man's pride with my question. Hastily I respond, “I apologize for any offence, but your skin, along with that of the housemaid, appears to have a yellowish hue. Is there anything at the shop at all which might have produced this coloring on the two of you?”
Both the clerk and Mr. Brewster deny that there is any such substance on the premises that would color a man yellow.
I do not like to [[leave such a mystery unsolved|unsolved]], but since neither gentleman seems to have even the faintest guess as to the cause, I am uncertain whether there is anything to be gained by [[investigating further|unusualskin2]].
<<set $paths[15] = 'true'>>\s
<<if $track eq 8 && $sarahcrazy eq 'true'>>\s
<<display 'crazysarah'>>
<<else if $track eq 8>>\s
<<display 'widower'>>
<<else>>\s
<<display 'hospitaldeath'>>
<<endif>>
As much as the presence of a nearby bonfire irks me, I must get back to my children right away.
I am anxious to get home. I force myself to walk as briskly as possible.
<<display fire_end>>
badge0 = Met The Doctor (spoke to the great Dr. Benjamin Rush)
badge1 = Keen Investigator (push patients for the truth)
badge2 = Hey, Romeo! (get familiar with Prudence)
badge3 = Autopsy (dead bodies don't scare you)
badge4 = A Family Man (tried to keep your wife and kids out of harm's way)
badge5 = Grumpy Old Man (you have no time for whippersnappers)
badge6 = Prejudiced (Sent an innocent woman to rail)
badge7 = Snake Collector (start your own cabinet of curiousities)
badge8 = Last Words (left the world a note on your deathbed)
badge9 = No Escape (missed the chance to leave the city)
badge10 = The Guardian (took in the orphan boy)
badge11 = Tipler (you like to drink, but not too much)
badge12 = Dry Roast (savor that cuppa joe)
badge13 = Guardian Angel (saved all members of the Cook family)
badge14 = No Means No (keep your hands to yourself next time)
badge15 = Liar, Liar (making promises you can't keep)
badge16 = A True Scientist (engage in discourse with other physicians )
badge17 = Model Citizen (civic duties come first, always)
badge18 = Lifeguard on Duty (attempted artificial respiration)
badge19 = Sanitation Officer (corpses are bad, m'kay?)
badge15 = Widower (only your wife survived) ***May not exist!!
badge? = Callous (refusing aid to others)
badge? = Hypocrite (only help those you like)
badge? = Met Stephen Girard
badgeX = A Grieving Father? (for Matthew or JJ)
<<actions "Rest and hope for the best." "Send for a doctor." "Send for a minister." "Get my worldly affairs in order.">>
My efforts to get Sarah to Bush Hill came far too late.
Before we were even halfway there, she died, right there in that awful wagon, atop so many other nameless victims of this horrible scourge.
Worse still, despite my strenuous objections, the driver would not allow me to remove her from the wagon after she had passed. He insisted on carting her body off with all the others, to be buried in haste and anonymity in a Potter's Field. Oh, the horror of knowing that she shall never have a proper grave! What kind of a husband could allow that to happen?
<<display 'wife_dead_choice'>>
<<set $badges[7] = "true">><<popup 7>><<save>>\s
Although I am loathe to return upstairs without the nitre, this wheezing, hissing piece of burlap has me concerned. I cannot retrieve the nitre without disturbing it, yet I am unwilling to pry any further into the contents of Mr. Mills's cellar without full knowledge of what I may find.
Trudging up the stairs, I ask Mr. Mills about the mysterious floor covering.
“Oh! Oh, of course! I forgot all about that. Yes, I keep several kinds of snakes in my cellar. Some wealthy curiosity collectors will pay a high price for taxidermied snakes, you know. So I find 'em, trap 'em, and then keep 'em in my cellar until I'm ready to eat 'em and stuff 'em. Hoo hoo, Doc, it was probably a good thing you didn't disurb 'em. Quite mean, some of 'em. I'll go ahead and have Felicity get the nitre later. Thank you for all your help, Doc.”
Can he be serious? Were there really...?
“Hey, Doc,” he continues, “if you'd like, go ahead and take that taxidermied snake by the door on your way out. Consider it a present for making a house call while this cursed yellow plague is floating about.”
Although I have no use for such a terrible artifact, I can hardly think of a polite way to decline the proud man's generous offer of a stuffed snake. I thank him as politely as I can, grab the snake, and leave.
I can only hope to receive fewer such unusual presents while attending the sick [[in the coming days|choke_2]].
I see no need to alarm Sarah by discussing the particulars of the fever, nor do I see the need to have to justify my decision. I gently but firmly restate my instructions.
“Take the children and leave town. Do not return until I write granting you permission to do so.” I am trying to be gentle, but I can see my stern words are having a peculiar effect on Sarah.
“Permission? Permission?!?” Sarah echoes the word back to me in a shrill voice that means only one thing: trouble.
“John Brooks, unless you want a row, you had better reconsider your words to me. I won't stand for you barking orders at me like I'm a slave.”
Swallowing hard, I quickly try to think of a way to extricate myself from this predicament. Sarah is usually quite mild-mannered, but when her temper is roused, she is not usually the first one to back down in a fight.
[[“I just meant the children look like they could use a vacation...”|palekids]]
[[“I didn't want to alarm you...”|tellher]]
[[“I have my reasons...”|obeyme2]]
<<set $drink += 1>>\s
<<if $drink gte 5>><<set $paths[6]="true">>\s
My face feels hot and my hands a bit tingly, but I think I can surely manage one more ale before I leave. After all, I am really having such a lovely time with these jolly fellows, I hate to spoil everyone's fun by leaving.
I order another pint and throw it back with gusto.
This really is a fine ale!
I think maybe I'll just order one more. But damn if I'm not having a difficult time staying upright in this vexingly wobbly chair.
“Stay still, man! Can't you see I'm trying to sit here?” The chair seems to pay me no mind. What a rude, impertinent chair!
One of the sailors asks if I'm all right. I tell him about the chair.
“I've half a mind to complain to the owner about allowing such an insolent, sassy chair in this establishment,” I tell him.
“You do that,” he replies with a hearty laugh. “The stingy old codger is right down there, he says, pointing a wobbly finger at the end of the room. Tell him we don't need no rambunctious chairs intefering with our merrymaking!”
“Indeed I shall!”
I rise up out of the thoroughly disagreeable chair and make my way toward the owner, but now this mongrel chair has got a hold of my leg! I try to shake my leg loose, but to no effect. I am finally able to set myself free by pummeling the chair with my fist, but I can see it giving me the most discourteous looks as I make my way down to the end of the bar.
I explain to the owner how disappointed I am in his establishment's choice of ill-mannered furniture. He laughs and tells me to sit down.
Clearly, I am not explaining the situation to him plainly enough, so I try again, speaking more loudly and using smaller words so that even this thickheaded buffoon can understand the situation.
Ah, now he seems to be taking an interest in my complaint.
“Yes, do come over here and see just how impudent these chairs are!” I say. I should show him exactly what I mean. I'll just quickly pick up this chair and bring it to him.
“Why even the dumbest, most half-witted brute can see the uselessness of these things,” I explain, brandishing the defective chair.
I hear a loud CRACK! in my right ear and have the strangest sensation of falling. I'm not sure I...
<<display "drunk_end">>
<<else if $drink eq 2>>\s
I order another pint so as not to seem too obvious in my eavesdropping. It is not the greatest ale I've ever had, but it goes down easily enough.
Their conversation thus far continues to be about the travails of life aboard a ship.
[[Have another drink.|drunk]]
[[I should leave.|patients]]
<<else if $drink eq 3>>\s
I edge a little closer to the sailors. The conversation seems to have shifted to the topic of women now. I try not to listen, as I am only here to learn about the fever. But I cannot help but overhear one of them recite the following bit of doggrel:
//The Idalian Dame,
Ordains it shall all sizes fit,
Provided, that it first be wet;
And, when put off to End of Time,
Should smell of fish, and feel of slime.//
At this, they burst into racuous laughter. I turn away quickly so that they cannot see the look of shock on my face, but it seems I am discovered. One of them taps my shoulder and I turn to find them all staring at me now.
I do not want to insult them, but perhaps I should no longer listen in on their conversation.
[[Have another drink.|drunk]]
[[I should leave.|patients]]
<<else if $drink eq 4>>\s
The fellows seem to relax a bit as I order another drink. They regale me with stories of their lives on the high seas and, although I insist I'm a married man, they discuss some of the... attributes of various ladies they have known in Philadelphia.
It is quite nice to be invited into this fascinating conversation, but I have the strange feeling I'm forgetting something...
[[Have another drink!|drunk]]
[[I should leave.|patients]]
<<endif>>
Sarah...?
<<if $wife_promise="no">>
<<timedgoto "pray5" 4s >>
<<else>>
<<timedgoto "pray4" 4s >>
<<endif>>
end0 - a drunken demise
end1 - backalley brutality
end2 - fled the city
end3 - attacked by snakes
end4 - mugged and murdered
end5 - carriages are dangerous
end6 - a new life begins
end7 - a grieving widow
end8 - the sole survivor
end9 - Sarah survives
end10 - a happy ending
end11 - look for a lawyer
end12 - behind closed doors
end13 - orphaned children
end14 - a broken father
end15 - a madwoman knows no mercy
end16 - an unremarkable death
end17 - complete devastation
end18 - a watery grave
end19 - a nursery made silent
----
<<set $ending[4] = 'true'>><<set $currentEnd=4>>
Dr. Brooks closed his eyes for the last time on <<print $date>>. His valiant efforts to treat his fellow Philadelphians cannot be said to have been in vain, but they certainly cost him his life.
In the end, the chaos of a city ravaged by disease and abandoned by many of those with the resources to flee was ultimately Dr. Brooks's undoing.
THE END.
----
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<<set $paths[14]="true">>\s
I am trying to resist the temptations of sleep, but I am simply too weary. I must close my eyes now...
[[Sleep|feverdeath_end]]
<<set $badges[14] = 'true'>><<popup 14>><<save>>\s
I must get an answer to my question!
I keep a firm grip on the nurse's arm and demand once again to see Mr. Girard.
The nurse's expression changes slowly from one of irritation to a much for deferential demeanor. She bids me wait a moment and she'll return with Mr. Girard.
At last, I am finally going to be able to communicate the good news of my treatment to someone who will be in a position to make use of it.
While I am waiting for the nurse to fetch Mr. Girard, I take the opportunity to observe some of the patients. Although a great many sick are here, I can see that care has been taken to insure that all have been made as comfortable as possible. Nurses treat the ill with kindness, and there is an obvious effort to keep the building clean, despite the tendency of the fever victims to soil all they touch.
The facility is by no means perfect, and for all the kind attention patients here seem to receive, a quick glance out the window reveals the steady traffic of bodies being removed from the main building. Still, it is a far more agreeable atmosphere than I might have imagined.
At last I see the nurse returning, but instead of bringing just Mr. Girard, she seems to be accompanied by three large men, none of whom seem to be in a very pleasant mood.
I am annoyed at the nurse's seeming inability to follow my very basic instruction, but I am determined to get my message through to Mr. Girard.
“I am here to see Mr. Girard regarding a very urgent matter. Would one of you be him?” I ask, trying to remain as polite as possible.
But the men quickly close ranks around me.
“You need to leave. Now.” the biggest says.
“I have important information regarding this fever to convey to Mr. Girard. Please step aside!”
The impertinent thugs refuse to move. I have no choice but to try and push myself past them.
I try and shove myself past the smallest one, but I am not successful. Not only do I fail to break away from the dour fellows, but it seems my efforts only convinced them to expell me from the building.
Although I protest vehemently, the three men make short work of throwing me out of the hospital.
It seems I must [[return home|fools]] in failure.
Surviving History:
The Fever!
“Stop!” a thin man with an overgrown beard comes dashing down the street toward myself and the Father.
“You, you are a doctor, yes?” he pants, apparently out of breath from his little sprint, “Dr. Brooks, that is?”
“Who is asking?” I reply, a little uncertain of how to respond to this thin, unkempt fellow. I am not sure how he knows who I am, but I certainly do not know him.
Suddenly the man grabs me by the arm and pulls him in close to him. Whispering in my ear he says, “You treat the //fever//, right?” I suspect I can smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.
I pull myself away from him and put a few paces between myself and the wild man.
“I am on my way to attend a few cases of it now. If you'll excuse me, I really have no time to waste,” I tell him and signal to the priest that it is time to go.
We get only a few steps ahead before the thin man runs in front of us. I supposed I am not surprised that this strange fellow would not let me away so easily.
He looks at me, then at the priest, and then he settles his gaze back on me. He straightens himself up and tugs gently at his disheveled coat.
“You gentlemen will have to forgive me,” he says, speaking much more calmly now. “I missed you at your house, Dr. Brooks, and was afraid I wouldn't catch you. You see, I am actually here on behalf of the Mayor. He would very much like to see you, and to discuss with you the city's efforts to combat the fever.”
The man pauses for a moment. It is possible he is waiting for my answer, but truthfully I am so surprised by his shift in demeanor and by this startling news of the Mayor wishing to speak with me, that I have no words.
The man continues, “Dr. Brooks, I can see you are busy and the Mayor of course respects your time. But he is very keen to do the best for the city during this terrible crisis. Would you please accompany me to his office?”
Well, this really is something! I should very much like to [[share my thoughts with the Mayor|go_with]] and see what kind of efforts can be implemented city-wide to fight the yellow fever.
Still, there seems something not quite right with this man. Maybe I should tell this man that I will visit the Mayor after I [[finish my obligations to the priest|the_priest]].
Having left the foul confines of that pestilent abode, I am grateful to draw a breath from the outdoors, even if the scents of Hell Town can hardly be said to be fragrant.
Eager to be away from this place, I scurry to finish the rest of my appointments. The remainder of my cases are thankfully uneventful. I am hopeful that all the whispered rumors and fears of this new plague are greatly exaggerated, but I suppose [[only time will tell...|choke_1]]
I can no longer count just how many cases of yellow fever I have attended personally, but I know that the disease's workings are as mysterious to me now as they were when this epidemic first began. All our best physicians continue to disagree about the fever's mechanisms and the means of curing it. It would seem that for all our efforts, the only thing we know for certain is that the disease has a fearfully high mortality rate.
With those somber reflections in mind, I fear that I can no longer deny the fact that my own body appears to be succumbing to this dread illness. I have tried mightily to dismiss the symptoms I've experienced over the past three days: the headaches, the dry tongue, and feverishness. But today, I feel so lightheaded and weak that I cannot continue my work. Perhaps I am merely overworked and [[need only to rest a bit|fatefulrest]]. <<if $bushhillme eq 'true'>>Then again, if it is the fever, maybe I should [[ask Sarah to take me to Bush Hill|bushhilldeath]] rather than leave it up to my family to watch me weaken and suffer.<<endif>>
<<if $grandsonlives eq 'true' || $bushhillme eq 'false'>>
But maybe I need to consider the very real possibility that I am at this very moment, standing on the threshold of death. Should I use what little strength I have to [[begin making my final preparations|lawyer]]?
<<endif>>
I am usually quite confident about my diagnoses, but for some reason, this just doesn't seem right. Scarlatina might explain the child, but this woman...
The fever and the inflamed throat seem right, but the piles of dried vomit and hollow, sunken look of her eyes seem to hint at something more.
I shall send the boy to the apothecary for some laudanum and calomel. The laudanum I hope will suppress her vomiting and bring her some much needed rest, while the calomel will work to purge her system of any remaining putrescence.
It may not be a specific remedy for a specific cause, but I trust that these medicines should be sufficient to bring her to a healthier state than she is in now.
[[There is nothing more than I can do now.|choke_1]] I shall check on her again soon and see how she progresses.
<center><span class="chpt-heading">Chapter 3: <br>A City in Ruins</span></center>
October 9, 1793<<set $date="October 9, 1793">>
<<if $track eq 10>>By some miracle, Sarah survived the fever, but watching her suffer in illness for so long has taken its toll on me. I no longer hope to discover a cure, but merely to survive without being visited by any further grief.
<<else if $grandson eq 'true'>><<display 'grandson'>>
<<else if $track eq 6 >> My dear boy John, Jr. succumbed to the fever within just a few days of my discovering his illness. Even though I watched over him night and day and applied myself relentlessly to bringing about a cure, death refused to be denied its young victim.
<<else if $track eq 8>>My heart is filled with sorrow over the death of our infant son Matthew, followed closely behind by the death of our only daughter Louisa. <<if $sarahcrazy eq 'true'>>I felt so certain that my discoveries in Hell Town had given me some advantage over this fever, but it seems I was terribly, terribly wrong.<<else>>I cannot help but wonder if I should have intervened as soon as I had the chance instead of relying on the advice of another physician.<<endif>>
The sleepless nights, punctuated by their moans of pain and unrelenting pleas for something to quench their thirsts will haunt me for the rest of my days.
<<endif>>The church bells in the city have ceased tolling, but it is not for a lack of victims of the yellow fever. No, the bells have stopped tolling because all normal discourse in the city has ground to a halt in the hopes of preventing the fever's further spread.
If I am to be honest, the silence is a relief. For a time, those bells only served to bring terror to the living, and hopelessness to the sick and in despair. At the same time, however, the silence is also an admission of defeat.
Not only are church doors closed during the trying times, but nearly ever channel of communication has been disrupted. Newspapers no longer circulate. Mail delivery has ceased. Coffee houses and taverns have shut their doors. The Mayor's Court no longer operates. Even the College of Physicians, which had pledged to meet weekly throughout the epidemic, has been unable to fulfill that agreement. Everywhere I turn in this city, I see the signs of the yellow fever's crushing victory over the humble residents of Philadelphia.
Though it seems new cases of the yellow fever are diminishing in frequency, the city remains a most frightful place to be. By some accounts, the dead are being laid to rest at a rate of upwards of 150 a day. Few who remain in the city who have been untouched by this scourge. Then again, there are few who remain in the city at all. Of our usual 50,000 residents, nearly 20,000 have fled. Most do not feel it is safe to return.
At times it seems as though the only ones still working in this city seem to be the private nurses, many of whom now command a sum only the wealthiest denizens can afford. And of course, there are the wagons, still wending their way up and down the city streets, their haunting calls, “Bring out your dead!” echoing in the otherwise silent streets.
Will this Judgment on the poor inhabitants of Philadelphia never end?
<<if $wife eq 'dead'>><<display 'wifeDead'>>
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<<else if $track eq 6 >>The death of my eldest son has left me reeling. I feel like only a shadow of a man. I make the motions that a normal human should, but the world seems plunged into darkness. It is a morbid thought, but I sometimes wish that this wretched fever would take me as well. I try my best to hide these feelings from Sarah and the children, but with so much death surrounding us all, it is, at times, simply impossible to feign any sense of normalcy.
<<display 'jjdead'>>
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My initial skepticism about the danger of this fever has proven to be a grave miscalculation. I can only hope now that it will not cost my family or myself too dearly.
It seems everyone who can is leaving the city behind. Eight days ago, even President Washington rejected Philadelphia's pestilential confines and retreated to the safety of Mount Vernon.
I am sorely tempted now to flee with my family while none of us have yet fallen ill, but I also see now that the need for physicians in this city shall be greater than ever before. Should I embrace my obligations as a healer and [[stay to aid the sick|help_the_sick]] as I am sworn to do, or do I [[take my wife and children far away|failflee]] from this wretched, miasmatic town?
There is no need to be overly morbid. I am weak and fatigued, but I must not let myself think the worst. I shall sleep for a bit and see if that does not restore my spirits.
[[Sleep.|i_am_sick]]
<center><span class="chpt-heading">Chapter 2:<br>In Health One Day and Buried the Next</span></center>
September 18, 1793 <<set $date="September 18, 1793">>
The fever is no longer a mere rumor. It is very real and it is ruthlessly laying waste to the good people of Philadelphia. For each soul carried off by the fever, a church bell tolls. The church bells of the city have been tolling day and night.
The disease is being referred to as the “Yellow Fever” for the way that the skin and eyes of those affected often takes on a yellowish hue, although this distinctive symptom is not present in every case.
Many newspapers, both local and national, have ceased printing as a result of the pestilence. In the few that continue to circulate, I have seen ads taken out by Dr. Rush, suggesting that he has found a cure for the disease. I would very much like to believe that this is true, but from what I have seen, the yellow fever travels through the city unabated. Those of us who remain in the city can only hope that this dreadful trial shall soon come to an end.
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As I am not in the business of caring for the dead, so the corpse shall just have to remain where it is until the mother is recovered enough to have it removed to a cemetery.
Right now, my concern is for the living, and it seems the woman will not be long for this world if I do not intervene swiftly and decisively.<<endif>><<if $badinvestigator eq 'true'>>Right now, my concern is for the living, and it seems the woman will not be long for this world if I do not intervene swiftly and decisively.<<endif>>
It is hard to say for certain what the cause of the woman's illness is, although the death of the young child may be a clue. Although I am loath to approach the woman again, I must examine her throat.
Ah, yes! Her tongue is quite red in color, as are the tonsils, fauces, and uvula.
<html> <div class = "image"> <img id="mouth" src="/images/issues/2/2/fever/grayMouth.png" /> <p class = "caption">The woman's tongue, tonsils, fauces, and uvula are inflamed.</p> </div> </html>
The high fever, rapid pulse, red tongue and throat all suggest to me that she has a serious case of scarlet fever. Lately, I have seen many instances of the mild variety of scarlatina simplex affecting children in our city. It is entirely probably that both she and her dead child managed to contract the more complex and dangerous variety, scarlatina anginosa.
True, the disease is not as common among adults as it is children, but it would not be unprecedented. Yes, I say scarlatina is a plausible, nay, a sensible diagnosis. Why then, am I hesitating? <<if $talk_to_rush eq "yes">>Is it possible this could, in fact, be a case of the terrible yellow fever that Dr. Rush described?<<endif>>
<<set $paths[2]="true">><<set $track=2>>
[[I trust myself and will treat for scarlet fever.|boy_patient_2]]
[[I am plagued by doubt. I should only recommend palliative care.|palliative]]
<<if $talk_to_rush eq "yes">>[[I fear I must treat this as yellow fever.|boy_patient_3]]<<endif>>
I cannot stay the course! This treatment is simply too severe. What could Dr. Rush have been thinking? Nearly 80 grams of jalap and calomel? I think even a horse would weaken under such doses. I cannot fathom Sarah surviving the treatment even if she were not diseased.
No, as frightening as this illness is, I must content myself with palliative care and [[pray that it is enough|pray1]].
<<set $homeremedy="true">>
<<set $vomit = "true">>\s
“Sir, I am merely concerned by the rather unusual color of your skin. You are sure you did nothing that might have contributed to its yellowish appearance?”
“Of course I did no such thing. What do you mean 'yellowish color'? Mr. Brewster, what is he talking about?”
Mr. Berry looks at his employer with a look of wild desperation. In response, Mr. Brewster flashes me a sharp look—I am disappointed that the old merchant does not appear to understand the vital importance of getting at all the facts.
“Please, Mr. Berry, get a hold of yourself,” I say. “We have only just begun our work here. Now, I must take your pulse.”
Mr. Brewster tries to calm the young clerk down, but to little effect. If we cannot settle him, it is going to be impossible to get an accurate assessment.
“Mr. Berry, please,” I say sternly, “there is no need to act like a child. Now settle yourself. We shall take your pulse in a minute, when you are calm. In the meantime, let me examine your throat. Please, open your mouth, wide, sir.”
The clerk still has a wild look about him. Must he be so petulant and defiant?
I demand once more that he open his mouth. This time, he swallows hard and complies. His tongue is red and smooth, almost glistening in appearance. His throat appears inflamed, but not overly so. I should like a closer look, but Mr. Berry is now squirming under my gaze. Why can this petulant man not be still?
“Mr. Berry, please—” but I am unable to finish my thought. With no warning at all, Mr. Berry begins vomiting.
Mr. Brewster and I both attempt to dodge the vile discharge, but we are without success. The poor clerk is like a font of foul, black vomit. I have never in my life seen anything quite like this.
After a seemingly interminable length of time, Mr. Berry's vomiting at last ceases. I am at a loss for what to do with the man, whose illness bears no resemblance to any I know. I tell Mr. Brewster to have one of his maids bring clean bedclothes and some strong, cold chamomile tea to help relieve the man of his nausea.
Mr. Brewster and I step outside the room while these preparations are underway.
“This is indeed a surprising case, Mr. Brewster. I advise you to see to it that the young man takes a few drops of elixir of vitriol should his vomiting be unquieted by the cold tea. See that he does not leave that room until I can research his symptoms further.”
“As you wish, Dr. Brooks. Would you—” he pauses, noting the foul black stains on our clothing. “I suppose you best not attend to the housemaid just now.”
“No, I should think not. I shall return tomorrow to see her and visit the clerk again.”
Although Mr. Brewster is not the type of man to show it, I am certain I see the unmistakable traces of fear in the furrows of his brow. I wish that I could give him an assurance that all will be well.
I should [[go home now|homejump]] and change clothes.
With each step, my feet feel like they are full of lead. If only I weren't so very thirsty.
It's not very far now. Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Just a little bit further... maybe if I stop and catch my breath for just a moment.
I'll sit, I think. Actually just lie down here and regain my strength.
I just need to close my eyes, take a short nap to restore myself. I'll get right up in just another minute or two.
----
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Dr. Brooks did not reach his destination. He collapsed on the nearly deserted streets of Philadelphia on <<print $date>> and died where he lay.
THE END.
----
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I have never been one to shy away from a mystery, and I simply cannot imagine what could be producing this noise. I lift up the burlap sack, but the darkness of the basement makes it hard for me to easily see what lays underneath. It looks to be some kind of a pit.
Leaning in closer to examine the pit's contents, I am suddenly struck in the face. I do not know by what, but the pain is sharp and searing. The piercing blow startles me so, and I lose my balance and fall into the pit.
More stinging blows follow. Even though my eyes are swelling shut, I can see all too clearly now what is happening. The pit is alive with snakes!
Unfortunately for me, these snakes are rather unhappy at my clumsy intrusion. I can feel them continue to bite at my arms and legs. For some reason though, the pain now grows less intense with every bite...
<<set $paths[9]="true">>
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I cannot ignore my wife's condition, not in these dangerous times. I must insist that she let me examine her and see if she is suffering from the early stages of the fever.
Sarah at first attempts to refuse, saying that she is well enough, but I swear that I can see a yellowness to her eyes. With such irrefutable evidence of illness, Sarah at last confesses that she has felt an ache in her bones these past few days and that she has been concealing a mild fever from me.
“But John, surely this cannot be same the dreaded fever that has carried so many off. I thought it was debilitating, and accompanied by terrible sweats and vomiting. As you can plainly see, I'm not as ill as all that!”
I agree that at the moment, [[her illness does not appear to be very severe|wifeill_3]]. Perhaps she will improve without any intervention. But then again, her symptoms seem remarkably like those of the yellow fever. [[Any further delay in treating her might prove fatal.|wifeill_2]]
<<set $badinvestigator = "true">>\s
I shrug off the unpleasant sight and eagerly make my way home for a quick meal.
Upon my arrival, I am sad to see that my family is not there to greet me. Although we often take our dinner together, it seems that today my wife has taken the children out.
Grabbing some bread, cheese, and a few hard-boiled eggs, I hastily prepare a modest dinner for myself. I decide to take advantage of the quiet house and read the papers as I eat.
What's this? A curious message from Mayor Clarkson. It says something about having <html>“</html>great reason to apprehend that a dangerous, infectious disorder<html>”</html> is spreading through the city.
So there is some truth to the rumors about a fever... But surely, there is not much to worry about! I've seen no evidence of any such illness.
Perhaps the mayor is merely trying to startle our citizens into at last removing their filth from the streets. Now that, I can certainly support. Why just the other day I was nearly bowled over by two stray dogs as they were fighting over spoiled meat along Water Street.
Well, if Mayor Clarkson wants to encourage my fellow citizens to be more diligent in the consolidation and removal of their waste, I shall not be one to complain! Still, I shall be happy when [[these rumors of fever have finally blown over.|choke_1]]
As a professional healer, I know that I cannot leave the residents of this city behind in the face of epidemic. However, I can shield my family from sharing in whatever terrible fate may be in store for those who remain in this pestilential city.
Perhaps there will be nothing to this disease, but if it is even half as bad as Dr. Rush fears, the days ahead will almost certainly be harrowing.
In the Middle Ages, during outbreaks of the black plague, the public often became hysterical with fear. Chaos reigned the streets of afflicted cities, and those fearing the end of days would march through the streets, flagellating themselves as an outrageous gesture of penitence.
Although I am confident that our native citizens are made of greater stuff than the peasants of medieval times, I still fear the amount of civil disorder that might spring from an outbreak of this modern day yellow plague. It is my duty as a husband and father to ensure my family's safety.
Hurrying home, I find my wife, Sarah, and our three children just finishing their morning cleaning. The children greet me happily, but it is evident that my unexpected return home has made Sarah uneasy.
“Is everything all right, John?” she asks me, a wary look on her face.
Not wanting to startle the children, I pull Sarah aside and I instruct her to write her mother and explain that she and the children will be coming to stay at their farm outside of New Brunswick for a fortnight.
Confused and not a little upset, Sarah asks me what the matter is. I am not entirely sure what I should say.
[[Tell her about the fever|tellher]]
[[Tell her to do as you say|obeyme]]
[[Tell her the children look pale|palekids]]
Upon my arrival home, Sarah is mortified by my appearance.
“My God, John, what happened? What is this?” she says, looking at the dried black vomit encrusted on my coat and shirt.
“It's nothing,” I tell her, forcing as nonchalant an expression as I can muster. “A most unusual case is all. I should change out of these soiled clothes.”
Sarah stares at me with wide eyes, but I refuse to explain further. I do not want to worry her with the details of the incident. However, I must not forget to burn these clothes straightaway in the morning.
<<set $track="1">>
Despite the stoic face I am putting on for the sake of Sarah and the children, I fear for what [[the days ahead|choke_1]] will bring.
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“Please forgive me for speaking so boldly. My only concern is that there seems to be an air of panic hovering over the city of late, and I do not want to encourage it. Rather, I would like to collect facts, that we might better combat any adversary that lurks within our borders.”
The hardness slowly fades from her face, and Miss Brewster seems to be considering my words carefully.
“You are right, Dr. Brooks. I was letting my concern for those who live and work under our roof carry me away. Of course you need to investigate using all the tools at your disposal. Just...”
She looks like she is unsure whether or not to finish the thought. I encourage her to go on.
“Just please remember to be compassionate in your work. Your medicine may be a rational pursuit, but the people you apply it to are often consumed by pain and fear. Science alone does not always ease their suffering.”
Her estimation of the restorative power of the healing arts is a bit more dismissive than I would like, but I am nevertheless touched by her desire to comfort those in anguish. I assure her that I will take her advice to heart and make my way to the staircase. But something about what she said suddenly gives me pause.
“Miss Brewster, before I go upstairs, could you answer one further question for me?”
“Of course,” she replies. “Anything.”
“Are you certain that you are feeling all right? After all, if there is a plague befalling our city, it could be the airs in this very shop that might have affected your clerk. I will not go upstairs unless you first assure me that you are feeling no ill effects from all this excitement.”
I could be mistaken, but Miss Brewster seemed to blush slightly at my query.
“It is very kind of you to worry about me, but I feel just fine. I only wish I could say the same about the clerk, Mr. Berry. Please, do check on him.”
At her insistence, I proceed upstairs and find Mr. Brewster in a state of anxiety rivaling that of his daughter.
<<display 'brewster_2'>>
I cannot ignore Mrs. Holden's ominous utterance. If a mysterious disease is indeed carrying people off, I ought to know about it. I approach one of the men loading the body into the carriage to be removed to the cemetery.
<html>“</html>Pardon me, sir. But I wonder if you might tell me what has happened here.<html>”</html>
I'm afraid the man shows no sign of making a reply, so I block his path into the carriage. The gaunt laborer seems chagrined, but at long last he shrugs at me and points to the doorway of the modest brick residence. Just inside the entryway, I see a man, well dressed but visibly shaken with grief, leaning against the wall as though he himself might soon collapse.
I approach the shaken fellow. Although the haunted look upon his face ages him, he cannot be more than 25 years of age. I repeat my query.
<html>“</html>We don't know what carried my sister off,<html>”</html> is his tearful reply. <html>“</html>It was a most terrible, fearful illness. Her eyes and skin turned an unnatural yellow color. And she—she couldn't hold down any food. She just kept getting sick. Foul, foul stuff it was. Like nothing I've ever seen before. And it seemed to happen so quickly...<html>”</html>
His voice breaks and he turns away from me. It seems he cannot bear to recall her illness any further.
I do not wish to burden the man further with my curiosity, but I confess that his description accords with no illness that I know of. I would very much like the opportunity to study this further.
[[Go to the medical library.|library]]
[[Call on the rest of my patients.|patients2]]
As confident as I am that I have stumbled on to a powerful treatment for this yellow fever, I fear I would never forgive myself if I later thought I had treated my own infant in haste. I will send for a more dispassionate colleague at once and [[pray that my hesitation does not cost my family|choke_2]].
I feel so very weak and thirsty now. I cannot make it to another law office, but I hope I have the strength to make it home.
I begin to retrace my steps. <<display 'dropdead_end'>>
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I think it best to go where the activity is. There are a handful of sailors, recently arrived in town, who have settled in for drinks and a meal.
[[Have a drink and listen for news.|drink]]
[[Buy a round of drinks for the sailors.|round]]
[[Leave.|patients]]
We arrive at last at a rather sizeable and well-kept home. I notice the name Pierce engraved alongside the doorbell.
The man escorts me inside where I am hardly surprised to discover that I am not wanted by the Mayor after all. Rather, this man's wife and two daughters are sick with the fever.
“I am sorry for the deception, but I could find no doctor who would come,” he explains.
“You could have taken them to the hospital at Bush Hill rather than deceive me,” I say, for I am certainly in no mood to treat anyone under duress.
“Are you daft? I might as well just go ahead and toss my family into Potter's Field as send them to Bush Hill! I told my wife we should leave town, begged her to, in fact, but she thought that the best medical help and the most conveniences would be available in the city. And yet, look at what we've been reduced to.”
A dark cloud falls over the man's face. Although I do not agree with his methods of bringing me here, his distress is obviously genuine. I suppose I can examine his family quickly and then return to the priest.
“I will treat your family,” I tell him, “but no more lies, Mr. Pierce.”
He seems startled that I have discovered his name, but then recovers himself. “Thank you, Dr. Brooks. And I apologize for my rudeness earlier. My name is Roderick Pierce. I deal in dry goods and commodities, and I assure you I will pay handsomely for your services and for coming here when no one else would.”
I hold my tongue even though I am sorely tempted to remind him that I did not exactly come out of my own free will. But I am here now and chastising the man further is not apt to do much good. Instead, I ask him to take me to my patients.
The woman and children are in a bad way, but I do believe they are not beyond hope. I set the distressed husband to preparing some gruel so I may treat the two in peace. I bleed them both and give the restless children both a mild sedative.
After a long while Mr. Pierce finally returns with some chicken broth.
“Will this do?” he asks me.
“Gruel or creamed rice would be better,” I tell him. “They seem to be past the stage of vomiting now. I am concerned about keeping up their strength.”
The man says nothing, but looks helplessly at the broth and then at me.
“It will do,” I reply and take the dish from him.
I see to it that each takes some of the broth, although I am not able to get the children to take as much as I would like. At this point, there is little that can be done but wait.
I tell Mr. Pierce that I must now leave and attend to other patients.
“No!” he says, a frantic look in his eye. “You can't leave. You won't come back. You must stay until they are well!”
“I cannot possibly do that,” I tell him, trying to remain calm in the face of his growing phrenzy. “Mr. Pierce, I assure you my staying here would do no good. My watching over them will not facilitate the healing process one bit. Be reasonable, sir. You know that I speak the truth.”
He considers my words and looks as though he may relent, but then he begins to shake his head. I cannot let him argue with me further. I pick up my things.
“I will check in on them,” I assure him, “but I must now go to Willing's Alley. There are many others there who are also depending on me to be good to my word.”
“I- I know, Dr. Brooks. But I cannot care for them alone. The servants have all fled. I am just a trader in dry goods. I know nothing about managing the house or caring for the sick. My wife is... my wife...” he cannot complete the thought.
“Surely you can afford to hire a nurse,” I tell him.
“Are you not listening? I could not entice anyone to come to this house to see to them. I don't know why they wouldn't help us. It's as though we were cursed.”
I am not unsympathetic, but I am growing tired of listening to this man's excuses. I really must depart.
“Fine,” I say, “I will have my son John, Jr. to help you with the house until I can return. Is that assurance enough for you?”
At last the man seems to revive from his reverie of self-pity.
“Yes. Yes, thank you. Thank you!” he says. “Oh, I do appreciate it Dr. Brooks. I'll send for the lad right away. And I will pay you handsomely for this. Thank you!”
At last I am free from the pathetic Mr. Pierce. I do hate to make his problems my son's problems, but the boy is capable, moreso than Mr. Pierce at least. I expect I will be checking in on the Pierce household rather frequently in [[the coming days|forced_jjdead]].
----
<<set $ending[9] = 'true'>><<set $currentEnd=9>>
On <<print $date>>, Dr. Brooks arrived at the Bush Hill hospital in a state of unconsciousness. Within six hours, he was dead of the yellow fever.
John, Jr. would also succumb to the fever within four days of his father passing, leaving Sarah Brooks as the only living yellow fever survivor in the Brooks family. Although she would remarry, Sarah remained childless. She died of typhoid fever in 1852.
THE END.
----
<<display 'ending tracker'>>
I know Dr. Rush is confident in his skills as a physician and believes that the disease can be successfully combatted, but what if he is wrong? At this moment, even he admits he is powerless before this bilious remitting yellow fever. What good can I possibly do by staying? I have my family and myself to think of...
My mind is made up! I shall go home at once and tell <<if $meet_family eq "yes">>Sarah and the children <<else>>my family <<endif>> that we are leaving the city. Why should we stay and face this scourge when we have the means to do otherwise?
<<set $paths[3]="true">>
<<display "flee_end">>
<<set $sarahcrazy = 'true'>>
I //will// prove the efficacy of my treatment method and I //will// save my son.
Wasting no time, I begin <<$dirtymethod>>. All I can do now is [[watch and wait|choke_2]].
“The only epidemic I see in this city, Mr. Brewster, is an epidemic of fear. <<if $maid eq "true">>Your maid seems to have a fairly common remitting fever, and looks as though she should make a full recovery. As for your clerk, why, the<<else>>The<<endif>> fretful man has simply worked himself up into a phrenzy.”
Mr. Brewster looks at me somberly. I should think he would be relieved by this news, but his