I don't think I will ever get over it, ever forget the terror, the horror, that continues to plague my days, my memory.

Name's Jake.  Jacob Esau Pennington.  I live in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where I am ensconced in an orphanage full of other children (most younger).  I live here because I lost my family to the terrible fever that ravaged our beloved city last year.

For three long, terrible hot months, we suffered under the blanket of illness.  One by one, I saw my family disappear like ghosts in front of my eyes.  Mother, Father, my sisters Rememberance, Forgiveness, and little Charity, and my baby brother, John Washington (called "Li'l John" for short).  One by one, all fell ill to the fever that yellowed their skin and eyes, caused them to cough up black, foul-smelling blood, and caused them to become extremely fatigued and weakened.

During the final dregs of illness, I lived in fear.  I was so terrified I'd be next; however, much to God's saving grace, I remained well.  Didn't get as much of a low grade fever, not even a hint of yellow or cough to settle in my lungs.  I remained healthy, robust, free of disease.  It hurt me to see Mother, Father, Rememberance, Forgivness, Charity, and Li'l John suffering so frightfully; I wanted to help them, but nay, I could not do nothing excepting to watch them die.

And to think all of this started with a tiny creature, the lowly mosquito.  It wasn't just any mosquito:  this mosquito came from one of the ships that came to our harbour; it probably journeyed across the ocean on its trek from southern parts, most likely South America or Mexico.  It was a mosquito that carried pestilance.

Apparently, during a family jaunt, my family got bitten by the mosquito; this was how they became sickened several days later.  Yellow fever was something to be feared because it decimated populations all over the world; just the name was enough to cause people to become terrified.

A few days after they were bitten, Mother, Father, my baby brother, and my sisters all developed alarming symptoms:  mild fever, muscle aches, fatigue.  After three days, all reported to be feeling better.  We thought the worst was over. However, a few days after this, my family all developed high fevers, nausea and vomiting, and severe pain.  They started coughing up foul-smelling vomitus that was streaked with blood; they also reported to have bleeding from their mouths and noses; and their eyes, skin took on a yellowish cast.

I summoned for a doctor, who tried his best to help; however, as my family became sicker and sicker, there was really nothing much that could be done except try to make them comfortable.  It hurt me to see them vomiting terrifying amounts of black vomitus, then lie back in their beds, gasping for breath, their yellowed eyes wide open with a combination of fear and shock.

I can remember lying in my trundle bed, praying to God to spare me the worst of this illness, to make my family well.  I fell asleep to the sounds of their retching and coughing; when I woke up, all was quiet.  Too quiet.  I figured they were asleep; when I went to check on them, they were gone. 

My family, my beloved family, had died.  All of them.  Mother.  Father.  Rememberance.  Charity.  Li'l John.  Forgiveness.  Yellow fever had done its cruel, ugly work; one by one, this yellow monster claimed them as its own.

For months afterward, this yellow nightmare continued in earnest.  Somehow I was spared the worst of the symptoms; I never became ill, no, not once.  I was then forced to go into an orphanage, where I remain to this day, hoping that another family will take me in as their own. 

It is now spring of the following year; however, I am still plagued with the memories of this fever epidemic and how it changed my life in such an unforgiving, horrific, cruel way.