June 22nd, 1776
There were no drills this day, nor no digging of earthworks. His Lordship hath no use for us.
No one speaks of Slant.
A cult of suicides hath grown up by the burial ground upon the east side of the island, a communion of willed starvation. Dr. Trefusis and I today walked to that melancholy place, to view the suicides’ pitiable condition and inquire whether we might in some wise offer succor.
They wait to die amidst the grove of red pines, sitting naked, leaned against the scaly flanks of the trees. They refuse all sustenance, as they do benefit of liquid. They are slow in their motions; most are afflicted with the smallpox or some other distemper.
They will not speak to any. The officers will not walk among them. We watched one crawl to the graves and begin to eat the dirt, coughing and gagging all the while.
I offered assistance to one, lifting him from the ground; but he filled himself with heaviness, until all my efforts could not support him. He being placed again upon the pine needles, he curled and put his hands in his mouth; his lips were dry with clay.