In Fever 1793, Mattie Cook observes, “Yellow fever was wrestling the life out of Philadelphia, infecting the cobblestones, the trees, the nature of the people.” Throughout the book, Anderson highlights the varied reactions and decisions of many ordinary Philadelphians in order to show how crisis reveals the hidden potential of human hearts. Sometimes that potential is shockingly selfish and even destructive, while other times, the love displayed is remarkably noble and even creative in its efforts to unite people. Through this exploration of human motives, Anderson argues that when catastrophic events occur, all people have a choice to either indulge their worst tendencies or rise above them.
The yellow fever epidemic brings out the worst in some people, highlighting the ability of stressful crises to bring about prejudice and self-serving behavior. Some white Philadelphians blame Santo Domingan refugees and Philadelphia’s poor for the yellow fever outbreak. As an aristocratic neighbor complains, “Those filthy refugees and creatures who live in the crowded hovels by the river, they’re always sick with something. But it is a gross injustice that my gala should suffer because the lower class falls ill.” This quote is an example of a selfish, prejudiced mindset that scapegoats groups deemed undesirable by society. Thus the epidemic lays bare dehumanizing attitudes that have already been present under people’s polite exterior.
When Mattie and her grandfather hitch a ride to the countryside with another fleeing family, the group is questioned about their fever exposure, and the other family abandons them out of fear: “‘They aren’t my family,’ the farmer said […] ‘They was walking and we picked them up.’ ‘He’s lying!’ I shouted. ‘I don’t have no fever,’ the farmer continued. ‘My wife and baby are healthy. Let me just drive through so I can get to Bethlehem by nightfall.’” Though the farmer understandably wants to protect his family, his fear prompts him to leave Mattie and her grandfather on the roadside without provisions—an example of how disaster can bring out self-serving panic in otherwise decent people.
After she’s recovered from a bout of fever and is returning home, Mattie is warned, “The streets of Philadelphia are more dangerous than your darkest nightmare. Fever victims lay in the gutters, thieves and wild men lurk on every corner […] If you are determined to return home with your grandfather, then you must stay there until the fever abates.” The fever has altered the temperament of the city itself, as Mattie further discovers when her house is broken into—some take advantage of the devastation in order to prey on the vulnerable.
The epidemic brings out the very best in others, however, even encouraging people to cross the boundaries of prejudice and selfishness. One of the novel’s shining examples of human kindness is the Free African Society, a benevolent organization run by and for freed slaves. The Society goes out of its way to provide food and nursing to any fever-stricken household in the city, as Mattie’s friend Eliza explains: “Rev. Allen said this was a chance for black people to show we are every bit as good and important and useful as white people. The Society organized folks to visit the sick, to care for them and bury them if they died […] The Africans of Philadelphia have cared for thousands of people without taking notice of color.” In light of the emergency, the Free African volunteers don’t limit themselves to their usual beneficiaries, but implicitly serve even those who might reject them in everyday life—an example of how a crisis can summon people to exemplary acts.
Similarly, when Mattie cares for an orphaned little girl, Nell, a volunteer nurse named Mother Smith warns her, “Don’t love her […] She’s not yours. You can’t keep her. You had any sense, you’d take her right down to the orphan house tomorrow and hand her over.” Though Mattie goes as far as to carry Nell to the orphanage, convincing herself that it’s the reasonable choice, her love for Nell changes her mind at the last moment. She then forms an unconventional family including Nell, Eliza, and Eliza’s nephews, showing that it’s not only possible to make loving choices in the midst of disaster, but that disaster sometimes creates the opportunity to break down conventional boundaries, in a way that ordinary life doesn’t do so readily.
When the epidemic has passed, Mattie observes both positive and negative developments in the aftermath. On one hand, the return of the city’s wealthier residents, who fled to the country and avoided the worst, makes her feel as though some people are “dancing on a grave with no thought to the suffering they had escaped.” On the other hand, the establishment of better hospitals and the heroic efforts of benevolent societies have a lasting impact on the city’s disadvantaged. Like any historic event, the epidemic reveals persistent human blind spots, as well as the potential for communities to be better than they were before.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Disaster and Human Nature ThemeTracker
Disaster and Human Nature Quotes in Fever 1793
“The only people left in Philadelphia seem to be shopkeepers and wharf rats. Robert has an appointment with the mayor this very day to insist that he put an end to the rumors of yellow fever.”
“I heard a man died of the fever in the middle of the street, and three black crows flew out of his mouth,” said Jeannine.
“Don’t be vile, Jeannine,” snapped her mother. “Those filthy refugees and creatures who live in the crowded hovels by the river, they’re always sick with something. But it is a gross injustice that my gala should suffer because the lower class falls ill. Don’t you agree, Lucille?”
“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 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.”
“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.
“Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “There’s nothing wrong. . . .” He broke off coughing again. I stared in horror, first at Grandfather, then at the doctor.
“You must help him,” I cried. “If he is sick, you must help him.”
The farmer grabbed me under the arms, pulled me from the wagon, and threw me onto the road. He and the doctor lifted Grandfather and deposited him beside me. King George squawked and circled above the commotion.
“They aren’t my family,” the farmer said as he motioned for his wife to climb aboard. “They only rode in back the last mile or so. They was walking and we picked them up.”
“He’s lying!” I shouted […] I stared, mouth open, as the wagon disappeared into a cloud of dust. Our food, our clothing—gone. This couldn’t be happening.
The city had turned a mansion on Bush Hill into a hospital for fever victims. According to the gossips, Bush Hill was one step away from Hell, filled with dead bodies and criminals who preyed on the weak. It was a place to stay away from, not a place where a young girl should lay about and sip broth, even if her grandfather was mooning over her nurse.
Mrs. Flagg lifted a mug of cool tea to my mouth. “You listen to me. This here Bush Hill is not the same Bush Hill of last week. Mr. Stephen Girard, Lord bless his name, has taken over and turned this into a right proper hospital. All them thieving scoundrels have been driven off. You’re lucky you were brought here. We have doctors, nurses, medicine, food— everything a fever victim needs. And we have enough problems without you running off the ward.”
I fumbled with the tread of the hollow stair, then threw it to the side and lifted out the metal box. I opened the lid. It was still there, pence and shillings. Thank heaven for that.
I returned the box to its hiding place. It could be worse, I thought. The house is still standing. We’re alive. Mother and Eliza must be somewhere safe, I had to believe that. The fever would soon be over, and our lives would return to normal. I just had to stay clever and strong and find something to eat.
A tear surprised me by rolling down my cheek. “None of that, Mattie girl,” I whispered to myself as I scrubbed the tear away. “This is not the time to be childish.”
I held my breath and waited for the earth to stop spinning. The sun need not rise again. There was no reason for the rivers to flow. Birds would never sing.
The sound came straight from my heart, as sharp as the point of a sword. I shrieked to the heavens and pounded the floor with rage. “Nonono! Don’t take him! Nonono!”
I picked up the sword and attacked a chair as if it were Death itself. When the chair was a pile of firewood and the sword dull, I fell to my knees by the side of my grandfather’s body.
I stared at the grave diggers. They took off their caps and bowed their heads. Movement in the park stopped, as those watching laid down their shovels and bowed their heads. The book opened to the familiar words. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and began to read loudly, so that all could hear.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...” The men around me moved their lips and then gave voice. Our voices rose together as one, proclaiming faith, joining in grief. At the end of the reading, some crossed themselves, others wiped their eyes. I stood straight and tall.
Rev. Allen said this was a chance for black people to show we are every bit as good and important and useful as white people. The Society organized folks to visit the sick, to care for them and bury them if they died […] The Africans of Philadelphia have cared for thousands of people without taking notice of color. If only the doctors had been right, we could look to these days of suffering as days of hope.
“Don’t love her,” warned Mother Smith.
“Pardon me?”
“I said, don’t you fall in love with that baby girl. She’s not yours. You can’t keep her. You had any sense, you’d take her right down to the orphan house tomorrow and hand her over. Don’t look back […] She stays with you, you feed her, wash her, sing to her, mother her, then give her away. How’s that going to make her feel? You’re the cruel one.”
Early morning was the only time I felt as if there were ghosts nearby, memories of the weeks of fear. That’s when I found myself listening for Polly’s giggle or Grandfather’s voice. Sometimes they felt so close. Close enough to tell me I should stop dawdling and get to work.
I smiled as the mist faded. The yellow sun rose, a giant balloon filled with prayers and hopes and promise. I stood and shook the idleness out of my skirts.
Day was begun.
