For several days before the arrival of Thanksgiving-day, a great feast was anticipated and on that day enjoyed, including a favorite dish called by them “son-of-a-gun,” composed of bread, raisins, milk, and a little blubber; nor did the exiles omit the reading of a few chapters from the Bible. In the evening Lockwood entertained the party with his experiences as a farmer at Annapolis, all being interested, and he wound up by inviting the whole of the company to assemble there and enjoy a dinner with him on the next Thanksgiving-day, the said dinner to be composed in part of a roast turkey stuffed with oysters and eaten with cranberries. In return for this compliment, each one of the audience invited Lockwood to partake with him of a feast after their return home, and expatiated with great gusto on the dishes that he proposed to have served. The promise made by Lynn was a roasted turkey; Ralston, hot hoe-cake; Ellis, spare-rib; Long, pork-chops; Biederbick, old regiment dish called buffers; Connell, Irish stew; Bender, a roasted pig; Snyder, tenderloin-steak; Brainard, peaches and cream; Fredericks, black cake and preserves; Saler, veal cutlets; Whistler, flapjacks and molasses; Jewell, roasted oysters on toast; Rice, clam-chowder; Israel, hashed liver; Gardiner, Virginia pone; Ellison, Vienna sausage; Pavy, pâté-de-fois-gras; Henry, Hamburg steak; Kislingbury, hashed turkey, chicken, and veal; Greely, Parker House rolls, coffee, cheese, omelette, rice, and chicken curry. It was after this jolly discussion of imaginary good things that the party sat down to a stew of seal-blubber and nothing more. The next day Lockwood partook of his first dish of seal-skin which he found as hard to digest as it was difficult to swallow.
On one occasion, when nearly all were asleep, a scratching noise was heard upon the roof, and it was ascertained that a blue fox was trying to make an entrance. The same night the ears of the sleepers were saluted by a loud roar, caused by the ice moving down the straits, a sound most terrible to human nerves. At one time, after Lockwood had expressed his gratitude for enjoying warm feet for a whole night, he resumed the subject of food, and then penned the following: “My mind dwells constantly on the dishes of my childhood at home. O my dear home, and the dear ones there! Can it be possible I shall some day see them again, and that these days of misery will pass away? My dear father, is he still alive? My dear mother and sisters, Harry, and my nieces and brothers-in-law, how often do I think of them! Only three days more to the top of the hill!” (alluding to the longest night, or winter solstice).
“As to my bread, I always eat it regretfully. If I eat it before tea, I regret that I did not keep it; and if I wait until tea comes and then eat it, I drink my tea rather hastily and do not get the satisfaction out of the cold meat and bread I otherwise would. What a miserable life, where a few crumbs of bread weigh so heavily on one’s mind! It seems to be so with all the rest. All sorts of expedients are tried to cheat one’s stomach, but with about the same result. By way of securing the idea of a warm piece of meat, I sometimes pour upon it a bit of my hot tea, but the effort proves futile.”
On the 21st of December, the day which Lockwood had long been anticipating with pleasure, he expressed his gratification in these words: “The top of the hill! the most glorious day of this dreary journey through the valley of cold and hunger has at last come, and is now nearly gone. Thank God, the glorious sun commences to return, and every day gets lighter and brings him nearer! It is an augury that we shall yet pull through all right.” In view of his ultimate fate, how unutterably touching are these hopeful words!
Before the close of that day, however, he made another record in his journal, which forcibly illustrates their deplorable condition, as follows:
“Had a good fox-stew this evening. By a great effort I was able to save one ounce of my bread and about two ounces of butter, for Christmas. I shall make a vigorous effort to abstain from eating it before then. Put it in charge of Biederbick as an additional safeguard.”
Among the entertainments enjoyed by the party were lectures by Lieutenant Greely on the several States of the Union. After one of them, on Louisiana, had been delivered, Lockwood added to it an account of his trip from Baltimore to Texas, and that from New Orleans to Cincinnati, all of which narrative was well received.
For several days before Christmas, all were eagerly looking forward to the grand forthcoming dinner and talking about it, a number of them, like Lockwood, saving up a part of their scanty daily allowance for the occasion. Lockwood mentioned that when he proposed to exchange the promise of a fine Christmas-dinner on their return home for a piece of dog-biscuit delivered at once, he found no one ready to accept his liberal offer. The Christmas-dinner was similar to that on Thanksgiving-day; various songs were sung, and, at the close of the feast, hearty cheers were given for Lieutenant Greely, Corporal Ellison, Rice the photographer, and the two cooks.
On Christmas-night all the party enjoyed a refreshing sleep, and the next day there was much talk about the distant homes and friends. Lockwood was greatly pleased to learn that his comrades had formed a high opinion of his father from what Greely and he had occasionally told them; and, while describing the family reunions in Washington, he was affected to tears for the first time during his Northern campaign, excepting when Rice had come from Esquimaux Point with the Garlington records, when his tears were the result of gratitude.
In a region where eating had become pre-eminently the chief end of man, it is not strange that the business of marketing should have become popular. How it was managed may be gathered from the following paragraph: “To-day has been a market-day, everybody trading rations—bread for butter, meat for bread, bread for soup, etc. A great deal of talking done, but not many solid trades made. I traded about half of my to-morrow’s son-of-a-gun for about eight ounces of bread; then I gave Brainard one ounce and a half of butter for two dog-biscuits, but my trading did not prove profitable.”