December 30th, 1775
Starvation rations. There is word that a great fever is broken out on other ships.
Last night, shots and bombardment. A sailor informed us that the enemy fired upon the Otter sloop-of-war and that fire was returned from the six- and nine-pounders.
This day, the rebels again changed guard full in sight of our fleet, as if to mock us for our inactivity; they paraded with their hats hung on their bayonets. There is word that our Command hath sent an ensign ashore under flag of truce and issued an ultimatum: that the enemy must cease mustering their illicit guard within sight of the King’s forces or suffer destruction.
We have heard of no answer.
I look upon the shore, which is but some four hundred yards distant, and it seems an infinite distance, as if we shall never cross that little space of water; as if we shall never change our state, but shall remain here in this clamorous, reeking hold for eternity, reduced to maddening idleness when all the country is roused for us or against us, waiting for alteration.
Greek Zeno and Parmenides, saith Dr. Trefusis, claimed that there was no change nor motion; fire an arrow at a target, reasoned Zeno, and it can never get there, for it must travel half the way, and then half that distance, then half that distance, and again, and again; so that there shall always be an increment of space between the arrow-tip and target. So do I feel here upon this ship; that even did we open fire with our artillery upon the shore, that the grapeshot should move with infinite halving through the air, endless division, never arriving, always suspended.
At the close of our lesson on Locke, Dr. Trefusis, who must needs catch the ferry back with the washerwomen to the Dunluce, observed with some concern, “You do not speak when Pro Bono is by.”
I replied that Pro Bono was my elder, and I felt it unseemly to speak when my betters were conversing.
“That is no matter,” said Dr. Trefusis. “In Boston at the Widow Platt’s, you and I gabbled away the hours. Now you seem silent again, like that frightened youth I was acquainted with at the College, before he escaped and commenced a life of hazard. Where is your spirit of some months ago?”
I replied, “Perhaps I have not changed as you thought I had. Perhaps nothing changes, and there is no such thing as change nor motion.”
“When Diogenes the Cynic heard, in a debate, that there was no such thing as change nor motion, he refuted the charge by walking about the stage during his opponent’s speech, waggling his legs.”
“I was mistaken in the notion that I was become a man; I am still a child.”
“Octavian, we none of us reach manhood,” said Trefusis. “That is the great secret of men. We aim for manhood always and always fall short. But my boy, I have seen you reach at least half way.”