Christmas at FORT LOUDOUN

AM nearly prepared to make for old Fort Loudoun for the final time this year. I will be eating, drinking and making merry for the Christmastide with my old mates there. I have prepared the gift for the fellow whose name I was giv'n, and am quite pleased with the outcome of it on the whole. I shall keep his name a secret until after the festivities, should he read it in my journal here.

Part of the gift-giving tradition is to pen a ribald poem to accompany the gift. I have written a good deal of the thing, which I have entitled:

Wherein the story is told of young _____________,
and we discover that the Doctor can not write poetry."

Much to my dismay, I have been nary able to find a word that rhymes suitably with 'Loudoun'.

The weather has been beastly cold at night, and I am much afeard that I will freeze to death in the barracks unless they have taken some measures since my last visit. Otherwise, my two heavy woolen blankets, one red, one smoke gray, may not be equal to the task. I shall take my heavy gray woolen overshirt and black cloak just in case.

I am looking very much forward to seeing the boys at Loudoun again.

Toskegee, the nearby indian village, in the winter.

Yesterday, I used the experimental batch of ink that I brewed at Fort Boonesborough at the beginning of this present month. I used a concoction of walnuts and fine Kentuckee Tobacco. In the writing, it makes the most lovely yellow-brown, and the smell is most pleasing as well. My last batch of ink, made solely from walnuts, always had a smell that brought to mind damp earth.

I used the ink to pen the old alchemical symbols and their meanings as well as monies and what things are worth.

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