I went to bed about twelve, and rose again a little
after one. I could no more sleep, than if I had been
in the engagement; the rattling of the windows, the
jar of the house, the continual roar of twenty-four
pounders, and the bursting of shells, give us such
ideas, and realize a scene to us of which we could
form scarcely any conception. About six, this morning,
there was quiet. I rejoiced in a few hours'
calm. I hear we got possession of Dorchester hill
last night; four thousand men upon it to-day; lost
but one man. The ships are all drawn round the
town. To-night we shall realize a more terrible
scene still. I sometimes think I cannot stand it. I
wish myself with you, out of hearing, as I cannot
assist them. I hope to give you joy of Boston, even
if it is in ruins, before I send this away. I am too
much agitated to write as I ought, and languid for
want of rest.
