EPIDEMIC

It was early in July, 1855, that deep grief came to us through the death of my sister Elizabeth, Mrs. George Hert-Freer. In this same month began that fearful epidemic of yellow fever which decimated Norfolk and cast its shadow of horror and dread over the surrounding country. Many people who could have left the city refused to believe there was danger until too late, while many at once escaped to safety.

The horrors of those dreadful months can only be imagined. Often whole families died, and little children would be left wandering helpless and forlorn in the streets to be picked up and cared for by some of the good Samaritans who had come to the assistance of the stricken community. These poor little waifs were the first inmates of the Jackson Orphanage, a memorial to the Rev. Mr. Jackson, rector of Christ Church, who laid down his life while ministering to these sick and suffering people.

There were many refugees in our neighborhood. We had a house full of friends until late in the fall, for the quarantine was not raised until some time in November. Only then were the absent citizens allowed to return to their homes in this city of desolation, there to find that friends and relations had been buried in unknown graves.

No schools were opened in Norfolk that winter. As soon as the Baltimore boats resumed their trips to Norfolk after the yellow fever, my Aunt Jane Brown took me to Philadelphia, where we had many relatives whom she often visited. My aunt placed me in a school there that was then much patronized by southern girls, also spending her winters there during the years of my school life. It was during one of these winters that Aunt Sally, my father's oldest sister, died at Ingleside. My next vacation homecoming was a sad one, for we all dearly loved this sweet and gentle aunt. Next

Sister Sally's Recollections 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

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