University of Virginia Library

TO JOHN ADAMS.

My father has been more afflicted by the destruction
of Charlestown than by any thing which has heretofore
taken place. Why should not his countenance
be sad, when the city, the place of his father's
sepulchre, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed
with fire? Scarcely one stone remaineth
upon another; but in the midst of sorrow we have
abundant cause of thankfulness, that so few of our
brethren are numbered with the slain, whilst our
enemies were cut down like the grass before the
scythe. But one officer of all the Welsh fusileers

remains to tell his story. Many poor wretches die
for want of proper assistance and care of their
wounds.

Every account agrees in fourteen or fifteen hundred
slain and wounded upon their side, nor can I
learn that they dissemble the number themselves.
We had some heroes that day, who fought with
amazing intrepidity and courage.

I hear that General Howe has said, that the battle
upon the plains of Abram was but a bauble to this.
When we consider all the circumstances attending
this action, we stand astonished that our people were
not all cut off. They had but one hundred feet intrenched,
the number who were engaged did not exceed
eight hundred, and they with not half ammunition
enough; the reinforcement not able to get to
them seasonably. The tide was up, and high, so that
their floating batteries came upon each side of the
causeway, and their row-galleys kept a continual fire.
Added to this, the fire from Cops Hill, and from the
ships; the town in flames, all around them, and the
heat from the flames so intense as scarcely to be
borne; the day one of the hottest we have had this
season, and the wind blowing the smoke in their
faces,—only figure to yourself all these, circumstances,

and then consider that we do not count sixty men
lost.[1] My heart overflows at the recollection.

We live in continual expectation of hostilities.
Scarcely a day that does not produce some; but, like
good Nehemiah, having made our prayer unto God,
and set the people with their swords, their spears,
and their bows, we will say unto them, "Be not ye
afraid of them; remember the Lord, who is great
and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons
and your daughters, your wives and your houses."

I have just received yours of the 17th of June, in
seven days only; every line from that far[2] country is
precious; you do not tell me how you do, but I will
hope better. Alas, you little thought what distress
we were in the day you wrote.[3] They delight in
molesting us upon the Sabbath. Two Sabbaths we
have been in such alarm that we have had no meeting;
this day we have sat under our own vine in
quietness; have heard Mr. Taft, from Psalms, "The
Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over
all his works." The good man was earnest and
pathetic; I could forgive his weakness for the sake of
his sincerity, but I long for a Cooper and an Eliot.

I want a person, who has feeling and sensibility, who
can take one up with him,

Mr. Rice joins General Heath's regiment to-morrow,
as adjutant. Your brother is very desirous of
being in the army, but your good mother is really
violent against it. I cannot persuade nor reason her
into a consent. Neither he nor I dare let her know
that he is trying for a place. My brother has a
captain's commission, and is stationed at Cambridge.
I thought you had the best of intelligence, or I
should have taken pains to be more particular. As
to Boston, there are many persons yet there, who
would be glad to get out if they could. Mr. Boylston,
and Mr. Gill, the printer, with his family, are
held upon the black list, it is said. 'T is certain
they watch them so narrowly, that they cannot escape.
Mr. Mather got out a day or two before
Charlestown was destroyed, and had lodged his papers
and what else he got out, at Mr. Cary's, but
they were all consumed; so were many other people's,
who thought they might trust their little there,
till teams could be procured to remove them. The
people from the almshouse and workhouse were sent
to the lines, last week, to make room for their
wounded, they say. Medford people are all removed.
Every seaport seems in motion. O North,
may the groans and cries of the injured and oppressed
harrow up thy soul. We have a prodigious army,
but we lack many accommodations, which we

need. I hope the appointment of these new generals
will give satisfaction; they must be proof against
calumny. In a contest like this, continual reports
are circulated by our enemies, and they catch with
the unwary and the gaping crowd, who are ready
to listen to the marvellous, without considering of
consequences, even though their best friends are
injured.

I have not ventured to inquire one word of you
about your return. I do not know whether I ought
to wish for it; it seems as if your sitting together
was absolutely necessary, whilst every day is big
with events.

Mr. Bowdoin called Friday, and took his leave of
me, desiring I would present his affectionate regards
to you. I have hopes that he will recover, he has
mended a good deal. He wished he could have
stayed in Braintree, but his lady was fearful.