 | Letters of Mrs. Adams, |  |
TO JOHN ADAMS.
The intelligence[1]
you will receive before this reaches
you, will, I should think, make a plain path, though
a dangerous one, for you. I could not join to-day, in
the petitions of our worthy pastor, for a reconciliation
between our no longer parent state, but tyrant
unworthy to be our brethren. Let us renounce
them; and, instead of supplications as formerly, for
their prosperity and happiness, let us beseech the
Almighty to blast their counsels, and bring to nought
all their devices.
I have nothing remarkable to write you. A little
skirmish happened last week; the particulars I have
endeavoured to collect, but whether I have the facts
right, I am not certain. A number of cattle were
kept at Lechmere's point, where two sentinels were
placed. In a high tide, it is an island; the regulars
had observed this, and a scheme was laid to send a
number of them over and take off the stock. Accordingly
a number of boats and about four hundred
men were sent. They landed, it seems, unperceived
by the sentinels, who were asleep; one of whom
they killed, and took the other prisoner. As soon
as they were perceived, they fired the cannon from
Prospect Hill upon them, which sunk one of their
boats; but, as the tide was very high, it was difficult
getting over, and some time before any alarm was
given. A Colonel Thompson, of the riflemen, marched
instantly with his men; and, though a very stormy
day, they regarded not the tide nor waited for boats,
but marched over neck high in water, and discharged
their pieces, when the regulars ran, without waiting
to get off their stock, and made the best of their
way to the opposite shore.[2]
The General sent his
his men. Major Mifflin, I hear, was there, and flew
about as though he would have raised the whole
army. May they never find us deficient in courage
and spirit.
Dr. Franklin invited me to spend the winter in
Philadelphia. I shall wish to be there unless you
return. I have been like a nun in a cloister, ever
since you went away, and have not been into any
other house than my father's and sister's, except
once to Colonel Quincy's. Indeed, I have had no
inclination for company. My evenings are lonesome
and melancholy. In the daytime family affairs
take off my attention, but the evenings are
spent with my departed parent. I then ruminate
upon all her care and tenderness, and am sometimes
lost and absorbed in a flood of tenderness, ere I am
aware of it, or can call to my aid my only prop and
support. I must bid you adieu; 't is late at night.
| Letters of Mrs. Adams, | |