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            <title>James Merrill Linn Diary: 1861-1862</title>
            <author>James Merrill Linn</author>
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                  <persName>Diane K. Jakacki</persName>
                  <orgName>Bucknell University </orgName>                 
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               <resp>Professor, Lead Investigator</resp>
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                     <persName>Calvin McGuire</persName>
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            <pb facs="https://leaf.bucknell.edu/sites/default/files/2026-01/diary21.jpg"/>
            <dateline>Monday Jan 13.</dateline>
            <p>When I woke up this morning the <objectName type="vehicle">ship</objectName> was pitching and rolling very much. Every one
               almost was sick. I went out to wash, and came back for a touch when it struck me
               about the pit of the stomach - I got outside &amp; got well enough, until I came
               in to get breakfast - &amp; had to rush out, and got up all the bile in me.
               About ten we arrived opposite <placeName>Hatteras inlet</placeName> &amp; in a half hour crossed the bar
               and anchored opposite <placeName>Ft. Clark</placeName>. I could not help laughing at the woe begone
               expression of the countenances for the last few days; <persName>John Smith</persName>, the Col's
               servant suffered particularly. <persName>Dick </persName>was sick too until we stopped inside the bar.
               <persName>Cap Snyder</persName>, <persName>Lt Gaulen</persName>, <persName>Beaver</persName> and several others were sick all the time. The
               Col. was also in best most of his time. I had a sort of tremulous fear of it,
               until last night, when though there was a <objectName type="weather">good deal of high seas</objectName>, I felt so well
               that I had given up all expectation of being sick. During the night there was a
               <objectName type="weather">severe wind</objectName>, and nearly every one on the <objectName type="vehicle">boat</objectName> was sick. I however slept through it
               all - toward morning I wakened up by being nearly pitched out. I had no suspicion
               of my own fate until I got up. I found <persName>Dick</persName> rolling around the floor, and after
               the most ridiculous attempts falling over my trunk pitching in to <persName>Capt Shawl's</persName>
               <objectName type="food">bread basket</objectName> with my head, and seeing <persName>Capt. Shawl</persName> immediately after make a motion
               as if he were going 
               <pb facs="https://leaf.bucknell.edu/sites/default/files/2026-01/diary22.jpg"/> to die, and landing head formost among a pile
               of trunks. I steadied myself with one arm around a post, and managed to get my
               stock on. I then went out to wash - &amp; coming back was seized with a burning
               sensation in the pit of the stomach and commenced gaging: I rushed out, but it
               ended in gaging. I went out on the side of the stern and lay there watching the
               fleet. We were farthest out, just opposite <placeName>Cape Hatteras</placeName>. Between us and the shore
               was a white steamer, the <objectName type="vehicle">Eastern Queen</objectName>, the <objectName type="vehicle">George Peabody</objectName>, having the little
               propeller <objectName type="vehicle">Picket</objectName> in tow, and several other steamers following behind. They were in
               the worst of the <objectName type="weather">rolling waves,</objectName> and rolled and pitched wonderfully: we could see
               them roll down until the sides were covered. We could see<persName> Gen. Burnside</persName> standing
               on the Deck of the <objectName type="vehicle">Picket</objectName>, seemingly unaffected. The propellers rolled like logs.
               We soon stood in towards shore, and crossed the bow of the <objectName type="vehicle">Peabody</objectName>. A splendid
               steamship came up past us, the <objectName type="vehicle">Spaulding</objectName> - the little gunboat pilot came out, she
               hailed us, and asked our draft - 8 feet replied the Captain - "Too much sea to
               cross the Bar." Our paddles stopped, but the <objectName type="vehicle">Spaulding</objectName> &amp; <objectName type="vehicle">Picket</objectName> made a dash.
               It was a splendid sight - The <objectName type="weather">waves rolling</objectName> and chasing each other until they
               broke in madness, dashing high the spray - the <objectName type="vehicle">Spaulding</objectName> went through, and we
               followed hard after her, getting in before the little <objectName type="vehicle">Picket</objectName>. I stood on the
               hurricane deck as we went through. Even our big boat pitched so that we had to
               hold fast. But just before this I had been down aft - <persName>Foster</persName> came out pale and
               dizzy looking -<persName> John Smith </persName>stuck his out of a little window - had colored in hue -
               each making desperate efforts to relieve the stomach. Foster recovered and
               proposed to go in to breakfast. I consented - went in - took a piece of <objectName type="food">ham</objectName> -
               &amp; was waiting for <objectName type="food">bread</objectName> - when I was seized with an intense nausea - I started
               aft - fell over a trunk overset the Col's table, which went down with a tremendous
               clatter - &amp; succeeded in getting out to relieve myself of considerable bile.
               Since then I have been perfectly well, except being weak from not having eaten
               anything. Four o'clock we had dinner and a hungrier set of men were never seen -
               Some had not eaten for two days. I feel most splendidly now. All have recovered
               &amp; are in fine spirits. This is a dreadful windy place. We interested ourselves
               in watching the other ships come through the inlet. Very few of the sailing
               vessels have come through, owing to the <objectName type="weather">head winds</objectName>, and are riding outside. But
               nearly all the steamships have arrived, and the harbor looks lively. The point is
               a low beach of sand - <placeName>Fort Clark</placeName> near the point, with one or two board houses on it.
               The inlet is but a quarter of a mile wide and very dangerous. The book prescribes that no one should go in without a pilot. When we reached <placeName>Cape Hatteras</placeName> last evening, we turned back and ran north until midnight &amp; then
               turned passing the light house at the Cape about nine o'clock. The 48th Penn Reg,
               Col Nagle is on this place garrisoning <placeName>Ft. Clark.</placeName></p>
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