In St. Helena Sound.
immensely humorous person. I heard his
name but did not then think of identifying
him with Capt. Eytinge, elder brother of my
former acquaintance Sol, the artist. A
drinking-party in the pursor�s room at night,
based on Thompson and Hay�s whiskey.
A poor soldier died, at 6 P.M., on board,
of dysentery. Schofield, a comrade and
an Englishman, painted an head-board
for his grave. A dull, weary, dreary
time generally: everything damp and clam-
my on board, since the change of weather.
28. Thursday. Another visit from
Capt. Eytinge, who took back Gen. Terry
and Capt. Bacon to his frigate. The poor
soldiers body taken ashore and buried. I
was asked to read the service over it and
had accepted, but discovering that the
men thought that an officer ought to accord
that mark of respect to their dead comrade,
I got Bacon to do it, attending myself,
with Hay. A lonely little burial ground
on Otter Island, where slept some score
or more victims of the war, a few tall pi-
nes and some negro huts. A mild, dull
day. Writing to Hannah in the afternoon.
29. Friday. Reading the atlantic mag-