February 2nd, 1776
Last evening, a cannonade from the ships; to what purpose, we have not been told. We can divine no meaning nor strategy.
This day, the first smallpox sores appear upon the sick.
The day was consumed in bringing water to the afflicted. There is a miserable shortness to our supplies of that indispensable element. Pomp, who suffered the sickness as a child, circulates with me among the afflicted, bathing them comfortably and urging them to resist scratching and worrying at the sores, lest they rupture.
I recall too well the stench of this affliction; it resembles no other smell. It recalls me intolerably to those final days in Canaan.
Slant is in great anguish at the apprehension of the fever. He moves in perpetual agitation.