I suppose you have had a formidable account of the alarm we had
last Sunday morning. When I rose, about six o'clock, I was told that the
drums had been some time beating, and that three alarm guns were
fired; that Weymouth bell had been ringing.
I immediately sent off an express to know the occasion, and
found the whole town in confusion. Three sloops and one cutter had
come out and dropped anchor just below Great
Hill.[160] It was difficult to tell their
designs; some supposed they were coming to Germantown, others, to
Weymouth. People, women, children, from the iron-works, came
flocking down this way; every woman and child driven off from below
my father's; my father's family flying.
Dr. Tufts is in great distress, as you may well imagine, for my
aunt had her bed thrown into a cart into which she got herself, and
ordered the boy to drive her to Bridgewater, which he did.
The report which they heard was that three hundred had
landed, and were upon their march up into town. The alarm flew like
lightning, and men from all parts came flocking down, till two
thousand were collected. But, it seems, their expedition was to Grape
Island for Levett's hay. There it was impossible
to reach them, for want of boats; but the sight of so many persons, and
the firing at them, prevented their getting more than three tons of hay,
though they had carted much more down to the water.
At last a lighter was mustered, and a sloop from Hingham,
which had six port holes. Our men eagerly jumped on board, and put
off for the island. As soon as the British perceived it, they decamped.
Our people landed upon the island, and in an instant set fire to
the hay, which, with the barn, was soon consumed;—about eighty tons,
it is said. We expect soon to be in continual alarms, till something
decisive takes place.
Our house has been, upon this alarm, in the same scene of
confusion that it was upon the former. Soldiers coming in for a
lodging, for breakfast, for supper, for drink, &c. Sometimes
refugees from Boston, tired and fatigued, seek an asylum for a day, a
night, a week. You can hardly imagine how we live; yet
"To the houseless child of want
Our doors are open still;
And, though our portions are but scant,
We give them with good will."
I wish you were nearer to us; we know not what a day will bring
forth, nor what distress one hour may throw us into. Hitherto I have
been able to maintain a calmness and presence of mind, and hope I
shall, let the exigency of the time be what it will. Adieu, breakfast
calls.
