The needling whisper of mosquitoes filled the air. It had been a
warm winter in Memphis, Tenn., a warm spring, and on July 4,
1878, a writer for the Appeal observed the mosquitoes “are
increasing in numbers, and are becoming more vindictive and
ferocious, if it were possible to do so.” It was an unknowing,
prophetic turn of phrase. Yellow fever was about to overwhelm
the city, killing more than 5,000 and shaking the faith of many
who survived. They did not know the connection between
mosquitoes and the viral disease. They looked for answers in
municipal filth or, as had generations before them, in a
wrathful God who’d unleashed this “destroying angel.” Kezia
DePelchin, a Houstonian who’d survived a childhood bout with
yellow fever, nursed in Memphis throughout the awful summer
chronicled in Fever Season. When the disease was finally waning,
she looked back on the experience with a profound sadness. “I
often wondered if I had sinned that my patients did not recover.
I have prayed more than in all my life put t