Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 3

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Unfortunately for me, the atmosphere in the grove was damp, and it sprinkled occasionally during the meeting—the clouds being very dark and lowering. But this, in itself, was a very trifling circumstance. My labors, for the last four weeks, had been excessive—in severity far exceeding anything in my experience. Too much work was laid out for both Douglass and myself, to be completed in so short a time; yet it was natural that our Ohio friends should wish to ‘make the most of us’ whilst we were in their hands. Sunday night was a¹ very restless one to me, and on Monday morning I arose² feeling as if my labors in Western New York must be dispensed with. My brain was terribly oppressed and highly inflamed —my system full of pain—my tongue began to give symptoms of a fever that might be more or less protracted—and I felt indescribably wretched. In an hour, as it were, I was a crushed man—helpless as an infant. During the day I went to the bed to which I am still confined. . . . In the evening, feeling it would be imprudent longer to tamper with so determined a foe, I sent for Dr. Williams, a skilful homoeopathic physician, and gave myself unreservedly to his care. My case he soon ascertained to be that of a bilious, intermittent type, with a tendency to typhoid. Tuesday, Wednesday, and³ Thursday were days of great restlessness, distress, and anxiety; the fever was upon me in its strength; not a moment's sleep could I realize, day or night. It reminded me of my scarlatina sickness, though it was not quite so dreadful as that.⁴

Yesterday, I began to feel better, and have since been⁵ improving up to the present hour. I am now decidedly convalescent, though still exceedingly weak, as a matter of course. In the course of another week, I expect to be so far recovered as to leave for home. Eight hundred miles is the distance which separates us—200 by steam across Lake Erie, and 600 miles by railroad from Buffalo to Boston. This would be formidable indeed without the power of steam.

Now, my dear, I have given you the worst of the case, that you may have no scope left for the imagination. Possibly you may see the following paragraph, which appeared (very imprudently indeed) yesterday in the True Democrat:⁶ Mr. Garrison was so unwell as to be unable to proceed to Buffalo with his friends on Monday last. He is now at Mr. Jones's, quite low with the bilious fever. Visitors are prohibited by his physician from calling upon him. Thomas Jones.

It is true that, for a day or two (so numerous were the calls upon me), Dr. Williams forbade visitors coming to my room, but