Tuesday, December 29.
Since I began this letter no mail has come in until this morning, and none has gone out. The mail boat was sunk by ice, and I have been anxiously watching for the boat that didn’t come. I have got to carry the mail down in half an hour, so must close.
CXXV
Point Lookout, Md., December 31, 1863.
I AM in Quint’s sutler shop, writing on the head of a barrel. Quint [Atherton W., of Manchester] is sutler at the prison camp, and I help him a little, just enough to pay for the butter and other sutler’s goods that I want. I have an ocean of waste time, and the arrangement is profitable and highly satisfactory both to Quint and myself.
We had rather a jolly time here Christmas day. First, there was a greased pig, which made no end of merriment. He was one of those gaunt, ugly creatures that run wild in these southern woods. He had just been brought in, and was as wild and savage as a wolf. So when his pursuers closed in, on, over, around and under him, he made a gallant fight for liberty and freely used all the defensive weapons the Lord had provided him with. Then there were wrestling and sparring matches and a footrace.
Seven boatloads of negroes have come in from Virginia today. I was down on the beach when one load landed. There were 32 men, women and children, with all their household truck, packed into one boat. It was a smart likely-looking lot of contrabands, and no doubt some poor misguided rebel is now mourning the loss of several thousand dollars’ worth of live stock. A great many of the negroes that come in are probably from Maryland, but all are received alike, and but very few, if any, of the refugees ever get back into their masters’ hands.
January 1, 1864.