| | 1 | Author: | Smith
Seba
1792-1868 | Add | | | Title: | John Smith's Letters, with 'picters' to Match  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Dear Father—I take my pen in hand to let you
know that I'm as hearty as a bear, and hope these few lines will find you, and
mother, and grandfather, and cousin Debby, and
all the children, enjoying
the same blessing. We stood our march remarkable
well, and are all alive, and safe, and
sound as a whistle. And Sargent Johnson makes
a most capital officer. He's jest sich a man as is wanted down
here—there's no skeering him, I can tell you. He'd fight against
bears, and wild-cats, and the British, and thunder and lightnin', and any
thing else, that should set out to meddle with our disputed territory. And he's
taken a master-liking
to me, too, and says if he has any hard fighting
to do, although I'm the youngest in the company,
he shall always choose me first for his right-hand
man. He says I had more pluck at the drafting than any one in the whole
company, and he should rather have me by his side in battle, than any
three of the rest of'em. But maybe you'd like to hear something about our march
down here, and so on. Dear Father—Tell mother I ain't shot yet,
though we've had one pretty considerable of a brush, and expect every day to
have some more. Colonel Jarvis has took quite a liking to our little
Smithville detachment. He says we are the
smartest troops he's got, and as long as we stick by him, it isn't Sir John
Harvey, nor all New-Brumzick, nor even Queen
Victory herself can ever drive him off of Fitzherbert's farm. Perhaps you
mayn't remember much about this Fitzherbert's
farm, where we are. It is the very place where the British nabbed our Land
Agent, Mr. McIntire, when he was abed, and asleep, and couldn't help
himself, and carried him off to Frederiction
jail. Let 'em come and try to nab us, if they dare; if they wouldn't wish
their cake was dough again, I'm mistaken. We've got up pretty considerable
of a little kind of a fort here, and we keep it manned day and
night—we don't more than half of us sleep to once, and are determined
the British shall never ketch us with both eyes shet. Dear Father—We stick by here yet, takin' care
of our disputed territory and the logs; and while we stay here the British will
have to walk as
straight as a hair, you may depend. We ain't had
much fighting to do since my last letter; and some how or other, things
seem to be getting cooler down here a little, so that I'm afraid we ain't agoing
to have the real scratch, after all, that I wanted to have. A day or two
arter we took the logging camp and brought the men and oxen off here prisoners
of war, we was setting in the fort after dinner
and talking matters over, and Sargent Johnson
was a wondering what a plague was the reason
the British didn't come up to the scratch as they talked on. He said he
guessed they wasn't sich mighty fairce fellers for war as they pretended
to be, arter all. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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