University of Virginia Library

TO JOHN ADAMS.

I do not feel easy more than two days together
without writing to you. If you abound, you must
lay some of the fault upon yourself, who have made
such sad complaints for letters; but I really believe
I have written more than all my sister delegates.
There is nothing new transpired since I wrote you
last, but the sailing of some transports, and five deserters
having come into our camp. One of them
is gone, I hear, to Philadelphia. I think I should be
cautious of him. No one can tell the secret designs
of such fellows, whom no oath binds. He may be

sent with assassinating designs. I can credit any
villany, that a Cæsar Borgia would have been guilty
of, or Satan himself would rejoice in. Those who
do not scruple to bring poverty, misery, slavery, and
death upon thousands, will not hesitate at the most
diabolical crimes; and this is Britain. Blush, O
Americans, that ever you derived your origin from
such a race.

We learn from one of these deserters, that our
ever valued friend, Warren, dear to us even in death,
was not treated with any more respect than a common
soldier; but the savage wretches, called officers,
consulted together, and agreed to sever his head
from his body and carry it in triumph to Gage, who
no doubt would have "grinned horribly a ghastly
smile," instead of imitating Cæsar, who far from being
gratified with so horrid a spectacle as the head
even of his enemy, turned away from Pompey's with
disgust, and gave vent to his pity in a flood of tears.
How much does Pagan tenderness put Christian
benevolence to shame! What humanity could not
obtain, the rites and ceremonies of a mason demanded.
An officer, who, it seems, was one of the brotherhood,
requested, that as a mason, he might have the
body unmangled, and find a decent interment for it.
He obtained his request, but, upon returning to secure
it, he found it already thrown into the earth, only with
the ceremony of being first placed there with many
bodies over him;

Thus far I wrote and broke off; hearing there was
a probability of your return, I thought not to send it;
but the reception of yours this morning, of July 23d,
makes me think the day further off than I hoped. I
therefore will add a few lines, though very unfit. I
went out yesterday to attend the funeral of the poor
fellow who, the night before, fell in battle, as they
were returning from the lighthouse; I caught some
cold. Sabbath evening there was a warm fire from
Prospect Hill and Bunker's Hill, begun first by the
riflemen taking off their guard. Two men upon our
side were killed; five of their guards were killed,
two taken. I believe my account will be very confused,
but I will relate it as well as I am able.[1] Sabbath
evening a number of men, in whaleboats, went
off from Squantum and Dorchester, to the lighthouse,
where the general, Gage, had again fixed up a lamp,
and sent twelve carpenters to repair it. Our people
went on amidst a hot fire from thirty marines, who
were placed there as a guard to the Tory carpenters,
burnt the dwellinghouse, took the Tories and twenty-eight
marines, killed the lieutenant and one man,

brought off all the oil and stores which were sent,
without the loss of a man, until they were upon their
return; when they were so closely pursued, that they
were obliged to run one whaleboat ashore, and leave
her to them; the rest arrived safe, except the unhappy
youth, whose funeral I yesterday attended, who
received a ball through the temple, as he was rowing
the boat. He belonged to Rhode Island. His name
was Griffin. He, with four wounded marines, was
brought by Captain Turner to Germantown, and
buried from there with the honors of war. Mr. Wibird,
upon the occasion, made the best oration (he
never prays, you know,) I ever heard from him. The
poor wounded fellows (who were all wounded in
their arms) desired they might attend. They did,
and he very pathetically addressed them, with which
they appeared affected. I spoke with them,—I told
them, it was very unhappy that they should be obliged
to fight their best friends. They said they were sorry;
they hoped in God an end would be speedily put to
the unhappy contest; when they came, they came in
the way of their duty, to relieve Admiral Montague,
with no thought of fighting, but their situation was
such as obliged them to obey orders; but they wished
with all their souls, that they that sent them here
had been in the heat of the battle; expressed gratitude
at the kindness they received; and said in that
they had been deceived, for they were told, if they
were taken alive, they would be sacrificed by us.
Dr. Tufts dressed their wounds.

I had a design to write something about a talked

of appointment of a friend of mine to a judicial department,[2]
but hope soon to see that friend, before
his acceptance may be necessary. I enclose a compliment,
copied by a gentleman from a piece in the
Worcester paper, signed "Lycurgus."

I can add no more, as the good Colonel Palmer
waits. Only my compliments to Mrs. Mifflin, and
tell her I do not know whether her husband is safe
here. Bellona and Cupid have a contest about him.
You hear nothing from the ladies but about Major
Mifflin's easy address, politeness, complaisance, &c.
'T is well he has so agreeable a lady at Philadelphia.
They know nothing about forts, intrenchments,
&c., when they return; or, if they do, they
are all forgotten and swallowed up in his accomplishments.

Adieu, my dearest friend, and always believe me