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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 123 [07-28-1862]

              111
                                  St. Augustine.
particulars see let-
ter.  I went with
Thompson and Hay
to the Magnolia House,
kept by a fat, portly,
easy going Georgian
named Buffington �
Colonel, of course.
It was apparently in
a side street, but
really the main one in
the town, named after
the patron saint of En-
gland; a large wooden
hotel, thoroughly South-
ern in aspect, with a
garden and verandah,
and not far off, a
nursery.  The two
young aides had lived
at the place before
and established flir-
tations with the Colonel�s
daughters, who were
out-and-out rebels in
sentiment and had a
brother in the Southern

 [newspaper clipping]
         {Written for the New South.}
                     In Quarantine.
    On board the U.S. Steamboat Delaware   }
  St. Helena Sound, S.C., September 6, �62. }
  The word Quarantine has a musical, an agreea-
ble sound, yet is the condition it specifies an un-
desirable one.  Subject to it, you become a
sanitary Pariah, one of a community of temporary
Robinson Crusoes, cut off from intercourse with
your fellow-man, condemned for a limited time to
a maritime purgatory.  Nay, more, you are in-
voluntarily forced into the position of an enemy
of your species, suspected of being an incarnate
infection, a promenading pestilence, and anticipa-
tory ghoul, and Ancient Mariner with the albatross
of disease constantly slung round his neck.  In
the imagination of shore-going mortals, you pace
the deck arm in arm with Yellow Jack, impatient
to introduce him to your fellow-creatures.
  All of which, happily, not the case on board
the Delaware.  Subsequent to her departure from
Key West on the fourteenth of last month, one of
our passengers, Dr. Cornick, medical director of
the post, was taken sick of what at first appeared
as a bilious fever but presently developed into a
yellow one.  Thanks to the unremitting attentions
of a non-medical friend, he had become entirely
convalescent some days before our arrival off Hil-
ton Head; so much so, indeed, that he is now on
his way back to his post and duty, according to
Gen. Hunter�s order.  That is the only case of yel-
low-fever we have experienced.  In truth, the
blusterous, squally weather which kept us impris-
oned at St. Augustine, and accompanied us in our
voyage northwards, would have dispersed any
possible infection.  Nevertheless, we recognize the
wisdom of using all necessary precautions and bow
to Gen. Hunter�s authority.  And our probation-
ary term has nearly elapsed.
   Our prospect is not a diversified one.  As the
tide changes, we swing round, gradually and grace-
fully, presenting our larboard or starboard side to
the low, sandy, sedgy shore of Otter Island or the
more distant wooded one of St. Helena, and vice
versa.  There is, anchored not far from us, the
war-frigate Shepherd Knapp, and also, and unlucky
bark, in similar plight with us, which we all re-
member as sending a modest request to us to tow
her out of the harbor of St. Augustine.  When all
day long the bar was a sea of tossing, tumbling
foam which, at night, roared like Niagra!  We
bumped twice in getting over it.               
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