terror has entered Baltimore
,’ she wrote, ‘and has 1
removed hundreds in a week with the yellow fever.
The countenances of the citizens wear a solemn gloom.
(Every one imagines that “I may be next.” ) Days of fasting and prayer are daily appointed through all the city.
The youth, the aged, and the middle-aged are cut down in a few hours, raving like wild creatures,—no sense of this world or any other until they appear before the Judgment.’
She herself fled with the multitude into the country, and while there was called to attend Mrs. Dorsey
, a daughter of Timothy Pickering
, in her last illness.
‘I lost a dear friend in her,’ she wrote.2
Returning to the city in the fall, she again fell sick and was confined to the house for months, and she only rallied from one attack to succumb to another, so that her letters for the next three years are mainly a record of the constant inroads which disease was making upon her. Much of the time she was dependent upon the charity of friends, of whom she seems never to have known a lack, and all necessary care and attendance were constantly assured to her. A severe hemorrhage of the lungs in the spring of 1820 nearly proved fatal to her, and she experienced much agony of mind at the thought of leaving her children alone and unprovided for.
‘Thank God,’ she wrote to Lloyd in her convalescence, ‘I3 am well taken care of, for both Black and White are all attention to me, and I have every thing done that is necessary.
The ladies are all kind to me, and I have a Coloured woman that waits on me, that is so kind no one can tell how kind she is, and although a Slave to Man, yet a free born soul, by the grace of God.
Her name is Henny, and should I never see you again, and you should ever come where she is, remember her for your poor mother's sake.’